Patty was particularly attracted by a little boy about eight years old, who had broken his leg. The little fellow’s face was white and drawn with suffering, and his sad eyes made him seem far older than he really was. Instinctively, Patty made up her mind to bring all the pleasure and merriment into that child’s life that she possibly could; and just because he seemed to be the forlornest specimen of humanity present, she resolved to make him her special charge. His name, he said, was Tommy Skelling, and his leg had been broken in a trolley accident. But it was a compound fracture, and caused the boy almost continuous pain and suffering. It seemed especially pathetic even to try to make the little chap laugh, but Patty felt sure that diversion would do him more good than sympathy. So she told him the funniest story she knew, and picked out the funniest scrap-book for him. She was rewarded by finding him very appreciative, and succeeded in making him forget his pain for the moment, and laugh heartily at her fun.
As the girls were taking leave Tommy confided to Patty his opinion of the club.
“You’re the nicest one,” he said, “but,” pointing a skinny little finger at Flossy, “she’s the prettiest. And she,” indicating Clementine in the same way, “she’s the grandest; but she’s nice. You’re all nice, and I hope you’ll come again soon, and I wish I could have one of those peanut doll-babies.”
Luckily, there was an extra doll left, and it was given to Tommy, who laughed outright at the grotesque toy.
“Well, that performance was certainly a screaming success,” said Adelaide, as they were all in the omnibus going home.
“It was, indeed,” said Mrs. Morse, “and I think you girls are to be congratulated on your good work.”
“Somehow, it just happened,” said Patty; “we began this society more with the idea of having fun ourselves, and now the main object seems to be to make fun for others.”
“I think we can do both,” said Flossy, “and next week I want you all to come to my house, and not bring any work. We can make scrap-books and things at some meetings, but next time we’re just going to play.”
“That’s all right,” said Hilda, suddenly assuming her presidential air. “Of course we’re not going to work at every meeting. But remember, through the week we’re to scatter all the fun we can, and liven up the world in general. And I’ll try to find somebody besides a cat next time.”
Mrs. Morse and Clementine went around with the girls, and left each one at her home.