“And we’ll meet here every Sunday afternoon,” cried Molly, clapping her hands. “And this shall be our club house.”
“Um,” observed Ned doubtfully. “Won’t it be a bit coolish in winter?”
“The house committee,” said Spud, “must look into the matter of heating the club house. Steam would do.”
“We ought to elect officers,” suggested Hoop. “I’ll be president.”
“You dry up. Molly’s president.” This from Sandy. “And I’ll be secretary. And Ned shall be—”
“This is a mighty funny election,” interrupted The Fungus. “What am I?”
“You’re a toadstool,” said Spud severely. “Sit down and subside. I move that Ned be elected something and that I be made treasurer.”
“There won’t be anything to treasure, Spud,” said Molly. “Except the apples.”
“Oh, we’ll have initiation fees and dues,” responded Spud cheerfully. “Pay up, please. I need the money.”
“Better let Ned be treasurer, then,” said Sandy. “He needs the money worse. He’s shy eight dollars.”