“I ’spose she wont like it.”
“Wouldn’t you like to have your broken club mended?”
“Yes, yes,” replied Charlie, excitedly. “How?”
“There is one way to do it and fix all things right again.” As Will spoke he also attended to his breakfast, interjecting his words amid sips of coffee and mouthfuls of Aunt Stanshy’s flaky biscuit. He was hungry, as he had been out before breakfast in answer to a furious alarm of fire.
“You see, when a club is in pieces, that it may be mended again, each piece must resolve to do what it can toward a coming together again. Will you?”
“Yes, I will.”
“There’s one. Who is the next one to bring round, the next piece of club to make willing to be joined to the rest?”
“I guess Wort feels about as stuffy as any one. There he is out in the lane now.”
“Is he? Go, get him.”
The “stuffy” splinter of the club was brought in. Will had disappeared, but soon came back to the table, bringing from his room a neat, white package of—Charlie’s curious eyes could not guess what.