“I’m too stiff to be happy,” said Lance. “I vote we furnish this club.”
Carried, nem. com. “I’m afraid, though,” said Sam, “that I shall not be able to contribute much.”
“Wait till you’re asked, my son,” said Dubby. “By the time we five have finished looting our homes, this place will be a little palace.”
Loot is a brave word, suggestive of the treasures of the purple East, but it was, in most instances, a case of permitted loot, the offscourings of lumber rooms. Sandy Reed, however, was the sort of boy who is happiest with a hammer in his hand, and Dubby had an eye for chintz. To repair the veteran furniture which they brought struck Sandy as work for a man. Behind him was his infantile past of fret-work and model yachts; before him the foremanship of the Hell-fire Club repair-shop. He worked and was the cause of work in others. And it was willing work, partly because it was for an idea, partly because that first day had threatened boredom and here was something definite to do, mostly because it was making a noise.
The ill-assorted chairs, tables and sofas which they collected under their roof had this in common at the end, that they were strong; and having by their own efforts made them strong, the boys did not by their rioting make them weak again. They respected their handiwork, and Dubby’s chintz procured a sort of uniformity.
A club, of course, must eat and drink, and kitchen utensils, mostly odd but all practicable, were gathered together that they might precede the pleasures of eating with the pleasures of cooking. It was camp-life in town, except that they went home to sleep, and so long as the activities of “settling in” endured, they relished it abundantly.
About a fortnight was what Sam had mentally set as the life of the Hell-fire Club, and he had no intentions of paying the rent by himself for more than a week or so. They had decided that Sunday was not a club-day—there were difficulties at home—and Sam took George Chappie for a walk. “I like this street,” he said as they turned the corner. “Madge always fancied this district.”
“Did she?” said George gloomily.
“We’ll go in here,” and Sam produced the key and introduced George to the Club premises. “What do you think of it?”
The chintz took George’s eye at once. “By gum!” he said.