“Guess you wouldn't. Well, here it is—” Johnny spoke in emphatic whispers, Arnold's curly head close to his mouth: “There are a good many things in this town have got to be set right,” said Johnny.
Little Arnold stared at him. Then fire shone in his lovely blue eyes under the golden shadow of his curls, a fire which had shone in the eyes of some ancestors of his, for there was good fighting blood in the Carruth family, as well as in the Trumbull, although this small descendant did go about curled and kissed and barelegged.
“How'll we begin?” said Arnold, in a strenuous whisper.
“We've got to begin right away with Jim Simmons's cats and kittens.”
“With Jim Simmons's cats and kittens?” repeated Arnold.
“That was what I said, exactly. We've got to begin right there. It is an awful little beginning, but I can't think of anything else. If you can, I'm willing to listen.”
“I guess I can't,” admitted Arnold, helplessly.
“Of course we can't go around taking away money from rich people and giving it to poor folks. One reason is, most of the poor folks in this town are lazy, and don't get money because they don't want to work for it. And when they are not lazy, they drink. If we gave rich people's money to poor folks like that, we shouldn't do a mite of good. The rich folks would be poor, and the poor folks wouldn't stay rich; they would be lazier, and get more drink. I don't see any sense in doing things like that in this town. There are a few poor folks I have been thinking we might take some money for and do good, but not many.”
“Who?” inquired Arnold Carruth, in awed tones.
“Well, there is poor old Mrs. Sam Little. She's awful poor. Folks help her, I know, but she can't be real pleased being helped. She'd rather have the money herself. I have been wondering if we couldn't get some of your father's money away and give it to her, for one.”