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Page 1
May Day in New Jersey is never a certain quality; it may be reminiscent
of the North Pole or the Equator. This happened to be the hottest day
of the year so far, and both Ethels had wiped their foreheads until
their handkerchiefs were small balls too soaked to be of any further
use. But they kept on, for this was the first Community Maypole that
Rosemont ever had had, and the United Service Club, to which the girls
belonged, was doing its part to make the afternoon successful. Helen,
Ethel Brown's sister, and Margaret Hancock, another member of the Club,
were teaching the younger children a folk dance on the side of the
lawn; Roger Morton, James Hancock and Tom Watkins were marshalling a
group of boys and marching them back and forth across the end of the
grass plot nearest the schoolhouse. Delia Watkins, Tom's sister, and
Dorothy Smith, a cousin of the Mortons, were going about among the
mothers and urging them to let the little ones take part in the games.
Everybody was busy until dusk sent the small children home and the
caretaker came to uproot the pole and to shake his head ruefully over
the condition of the lawn whose smoothness had been roughened by the
tread of scores of dancing feet.
It was while the Club members were sitting on the Mortons' veranda,
resting, that Helen, who was president of the Club, called them to
order.
"Saturday afternoon is our usual time of meeting," she began, "and no
one can say that we haven't put in a solid afternoon of service."
Groans as one and another shifted a cramped position to another more
restful for weary feet confirmed her statement.
"What I want to say now is that it's time for us to be thinking up some
more service work. We are all studying pretty hard so we don't want to
undertake anything that will use up our out-of-door time too much, but
we haven't anything in prospect except helping with the town Fourth of
July celebration, over two months away, so we might as well be planning
something else."
"Do I understand, Madam President," asked Roger, "that the chief
officer of this distinguished Club hasn't any ideas to suggest?"
"The chief officer is so tired that not even another glass of
lemonade--thank you, Tom--can stir her gray matter."
"Hasn't anybody else any ideas?"
Silence greeted the question.
"I seem to remember boasts that ideas never would fail this brilliant
group," jeered Roger.
"There were some such remarks," James recalled meditatively; "and I
remember that you prophesied that the day would come when we'd call on
you for information about some stupendous scheme of yours that was
literally as big as a house. Let's have it now."
"Do I understand that you're really appealing to me to learn my
scheme?" inquired Roger, swelling with amusement.
"If it's any satisfaction to you--yes," replied his sister.
Roger burst into a peal of laughter.
"Shoot off the answers, old man," urged James. "We're waiting."
"Breathlessly," added Margaret.
Roger settled himself comfortably on the top step of the piazza and
leaned his head against the post.
"It certainly does me good to see you all at my feet begging like
this," he declared.
"Bosh! You're at ours and I can prove it," asserted Tom, stretching
out a foot of goodly size.
"Peace! Withdraw that battering ram!" pleaded Roger. "I'll tell you
all about it. Tom's really responsible for this idea, anyway."
"Ideas, real fresh ones, aren't much in my line," admitted practical
Tom, "but I'm glad to have helped for once."
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