"Here comes Dick's father now," said Mr. Maynard, as he advanced a step to meet Mr. Fulton. "They tell me our sons have been writing miscellaneous letters," he said to Mr. Fulton, and, though there was a twinkle in his eye, Mr. Fulton saw at once that there was some serious matter in hand.
"Not only your sons, but your girls, too," growled another man. "My kid says this is your Marjorie's fist."
"Well, well, what are the letters all about?" asked Mr. Fulton, who did not like the attitude of the complainants.
"Read 'em, and see!" was the quick response, and half a dozen letters were thrust toward the two gentlemen.
Mr. Fulton adjusted his glasses, and both he and Mr. Maynard quickly scanned the notes that were only too surely the work of their own children.
"The signature is misleading," said Mr. Fulton, who was inwardly shaking with laughter at the absurd epistles, but who preserved a serious countenance; "but I feel sure it means 'The Village Improvement Society.' I have often thought such a society would be a good thing for our town, but I didn't know one had been started."
"But who is the society? A lot of youngsters?" demanded John Kellogg.
"Ahem! These documents would lead one to think so, wouldn't they?" said Mr. Fulton, suavely.
But the offended men were not to be so easily placated.
"See here," said one of them, assuming a threatening tone, "these 'ere letters is insults; that's what I call 'em!"