Jinnie looked up quickly.
“Of course I would,” she said eagerly. “What kind of a club is it?”
The girl’s faith in the cobbler was so great that if Lafe had commanded her to go into danger, she wouldn’t have hesitated.
“Tell me what the club is, Lafe,” she repeated.
“Sure,” responded Lafe. “Come here an’ shake hands! All you have to do to be a member of my club is to be ‘Happy in Spite’ an’ believe everythin’ happenin’ is for the best.”
A mystified expression filled the girl’s earnest blue eyes.
“I’m awful happy,” she sighed, “and I’m awful glad to come in your club, but I just don’t understand what it means.”
The cobbler paid no attention for some moments. He was looking out of the window, in a far-away mood, dreaming 74 of an active past, when Jinnie accidentally knocked a hammer from the bench. Lafe Grandoken glanced in the girl’s direction.
“I’m happy in spite—” he murmured. Then he stopped abruptly, and his hesitation made the girl repeat:
“Happy in spite?” with a rising inflection. “What does that mean, Lafe?”