“Smooth work, too,” said Varley quickly. “Garage once, wasn’t it?”
Inasmuch as the club-house was the property of Step’s father, Step felt called upon to make reply.
“No—stable.”
Varley turned to the tall youth. “Whatever it began with being, it’s all right now. And it’s a bully good scheme you fellows have. Great place to loaf, this is!”
Now this was said affably enough, and with no trace of the condescending note for which the boys were listening keenly. A chap—an older chap—from a big city might be disposed to be patronizing; and the Safety First Club did not care to be patronized. But no fault was to be found with Varley’s manner. Sam felt moved to explain the plan the crowd had followed.
“Oh, we got together what we could,” said he. “Each one contributed. Somebody brought an old sofa, and somebody else a table his folks weren’t using any more, and so it went on. And if anybody had a picture he liked, he hung or tacked it up. That’s the way it went, and—er—er—that’s about the whole story.”
Varley nodded, and crossed the room to examine an old engraving. From this he went to inspection of a very modern cartoon from a newspaper.
“Liberty hall—I get the idea,” quoth he. “And I like it. Gives variety. By the way, it’s like the plan they have in some of the big clubs. Members contribute odds and ends—curios—they pick up. It’ll make quite a museum after a while.”
“Or quite a junk shop!” interposed the Shark. He was staring hard at the visitor through his spectacles, and his expression was dubious, if not hostile. The other boys moved uneasily. They had begun to recover from the surprise of the visit, and to understand that Varley felt himself on a purely friendly errand. Therefore there should be allowance for his ignorance of the local code, and avoidance of controversy. The Shark’s speech embarrassed them, but not Varley. He laughed, lightly and good-naturedly.
“You’re on the mark, at that. Museums and junk shops are a lot alike; but that doesn’t prevent ’em from being interesting. Why, I went into a queer old shop one day, and there was an old machine, with all sorts of rings and pivots, and hung on ’em was a—a—well, it looked like an oblong sphere and——”