"Of course, we expect to pay for it. Only we'd like to have you cut the rent in two for the first three months," said Janice, quickly.
"Say! that might be all right," the druggist observed, more briskly.
"But I don't know about all these harum-scarums collecting around this
corner. I have been glad heretofore that they have hung around
Pringle's, or Joe Henderson's, or the hotel, instead of up here.
They've been up to all sorts of mischief."
"If they don't behave reasonably they'll lose the reading-room. Of course that will be understood," said Janice.
"You can't trust some of 'em," growled the druggist. "Never!"
"We'll make those who want the reading-room make the mischievous ones behave," laughed Janice.
"Well," agreed the druggist, "we'll try it. Three dollars a month for three months; then six dollars. I can afford no more."
"So much for so much!" whispered Janice, when she came away from the store. "At least, it's a beginning."
But it was a very small beginning, as she soon began to realize. She had no money to give toward the project herself, and it was very hard to beg from some people, even for a good cause.
There was needed at least one long table and two small ones, as well as some sort of a desk for whoever had charge of the room; and shelves for the books, and lamps, and a stove, and chairs, beside curtains at the windows. These simple furnishings would do to begin with. But how to get any, of all, of these was the problem.
Janice went to several people able to help in the project, before she said anything more to Marty. Some of these people encouraged her; some shook their heads pessimistically over the idea.