“I’ve often thought I shouldn’t be, if I knew anything about the subjects he talks about,” confessed Polly. “There are Bertha and Agnes.” She trilled to the two girls ahead, who turned and waited.
On the flat roof of the boat house half a dozen 42 members of the club were assembled. Polly hastened to take her seat and call the meeting to order.
“Max Penfield will act as secretary, and we shall expect the minutes done in the most approved University style. Archie Bradly, will you please state the object of the meeting?”
“Fo’ de lan’s sake, no!” ejaculated Archie, sitting up and shutting his knife. “That’s the very thing I came to find out!”
“Very well,” said Polly, twinkling. “Then, of course, you will pay close attention. It will do you more good than carving Andover on the benches. There’s not much space left on them, now, and it’s still early in the season. Catherine, will you tell us the object of the meeting? Ouch!” for Archie had reached lazily behind her and given one of her yellow braids a gentle yank.
“You all know, already,” began Catherine, “except perhaps Archie! We’ve talked it over with the older people, and they think it’s perfectly practical, only some one or some organization has to take it in charge.”
“What’s ‘it’?” asked Archie innocently.
“Why, the library. The Boat Club is going to see that Winsted has a public library.”
“Turn into Carnegies?” inquired Max, doing a sketch of Geraldine Winthrop on the margin of the secretary’s book.
“Not exactly. We haven’t got our own dock 43 built yet, and I don’t think we are in a position to endow libraries. But I mean we can work and talk–”