"Is the membership to be limited?" Tom asked.
Pauline smiled. "It will be so—necessarily—won't it?" For Winton was not rich in young people.
"There will be enough of us," Josie declared hopefully.
"Like the model dinner party?" her brother asked. "Not less than the
Graces, nor more than the Muses."
And so the new club was formed then and there. There were to be no regular and formal meetings, no dues, nor fines, and each member was to consider himself, or herself, an active member of the programme committee.
Tom, as the oldest member of their immediate circle of friends, was chosen president before that first meeting adjourned; no other officers were considered necessary at the time. And being president, to him was promptly delegated the honor—despite his vigorous protests—of arranging for their first outing and notifying the other members—yet to be.
"But," he expostulated, "what's a fellow to think up—in a hole like this?"
"Winton isn't a hole!" his sister protested. It was one of the chief occupations of Josie's life at present, to contradict all such heretical utterances on Tom's part. He was to go away that fall to commence his studies for the medical profession, for it was Dr. Brice's great desire that, later, his son should assist him in his practice. But, so far, Tom though wanting to follow his father's profession, was firm in his determination, not to follow it in Winton.
"And remember," Pauline said, as the three went down-stairs together, "that it's the first step that counts—and to think up something very delightful, Tom."
"It mustn't be a picnic, I suppose? Hilary won't be up to picnics yet awhile."