But she refused to explain further until they turned up High Street and stopped at the dark and long-empty shop beside the drug store.
"Oh, gee! In Massey's store?" gasped Marty, when his cousin fitted a key to the lock.
"Come in and shut the door. Now stand right where you are while I light the lamp," commanded Janice.
She lit the hanging lamp over the table. The soft glow of it was soon flung down upon the dull brown cloth. Marty stared around with mouth agape.
His father had built a sort of counter at one end, with a desk and shelves behind it. Of course, there was not a book, or paper, in the place as yet—nor a game. But Marty needed no explanation.
"Janice Day! did you do all this?" he demanded, with a gasp.
"Of course not, goosey! Lots of people helped. And they're going to help more—if you boys show yourselves appreciative."
"What's that 'appreciative' mean?" demanded Marty, suspiciously.
"No fights here; no games that are so boisterous as to disturb those who want to read. Just gentlemanly behavior while you are in the room. That's all, besides a small tax each month to help toward the upkeep of the room. What do you say, Marty?"
"You done this!" declared the boy, with sudden heat. "Don't say you didn't, for that'll be a lie. I never saw a girl like you, Janice!"