CHAPTER XIXTHE SPECIAL MEETING
Thatnight it began to snow again, the fine, steady snow that always promises a real storm. When Mr. Marley came home to supper, his overcoat was covered with the white flakes.
“It’s lucky that every one lives near,” said Mrs. Marley, lighting another electric lamp to make the dining-room more cheerful. “No one would want to go very far on a night like this.”
“Oh, they would, Mother, if they were going to the Riddle Club,” Artie assured her. “I’d go anywhere to a Riddle Club meeting.”
Mrs. Marley laughed and said she was thankful she didn’t have to tramp through a snowstorm to reach the meeting.
“Isn’t it lovely to have this room?” said Polly to Artie, when, a little later, they went upstairs to the warm, well-lighted, pretty clubroom. Artie had borrowed the key from Ward, because they wanted to make sure the heat was turned on before the guests arrived.
“Think how it would be out in the barn on a night like this,” remarked Artie, breathing on the window panes so that he could see out. “Gee, Polly, it’s snowing yet.”
A stamping and scuffling on the porch announced that the members and guests of the Riddle Club had arrived. The Williamsons, of course, had come from no further away than the next house and the Larues from across the street, but they were covered with the snow. They took off their coats and shook them on the porch, and even then, when Mr. Williamson took off his hat inside the house, a powdery shower of white fell to the rug.
Polly glanced at her mother as though to remind her of something.
“You’ll want to have a business meeting before we come upstairs,” said Mrs. Marley, pleasantly. “So run on up, children, and when you are ready for us, let Artie call.”
Polly led the way up to the clubroom and called the meeting to order promptly.
“This is to be a short business meeting,” she said gravely. “We have no unfinished business to consider and so there is only one thing to do.”
“What’s that?” asked the unsuspecting Fred.
“Collect the dues,” said Polly, holding out a new copper bank to the club treasurer.
Margy declared afterward that she thought Fred was going to cry. His face got very red, and for a moment he did not say anything.
“You want me to collect the dues?” he asked, when he did speak. “Dues from you, after I lost all the club money?”
“Don’t be silly,” said Jess, from her corner. “Everybody knows you didn’t lose the bank purposely. We’ve all brought our money, and it’s up to you to collect it.”
And Jess walked over and put a shining new dime in the slit in the bank. Artie followed her.
Never had Fred, in his experience as treasurer, found it so easy to collect dues from the entire membership. Even Ward did not argue, but insisted on paying his dime. And none of them would hear of Fred giving the bank to any one else to take care of, or leaving it in the clubroom.
“You’re the treasurer, and you take care of it,” said Polly. “You suit us, and if we don’t fuss about the money that’s lost I don’t see why you should. Artie, go call the folks to come up.”
The grown-ups came in and sat down in the chairs provided for them. Polly, who was now used to talking “standing up,” as she said, thought it best to explain the purpose of the meeting again.
“This is a special kind of session of the Riddle Club,” she said earnestly. “Instead of forfeits,the ones who fail to guess a riddle must pay money, and the money collected is going to school, to be used for a poor family. But don’t try flunking the riddles, because that isn’t fair.”
“You’d rather have good sportsmanship than a tray full of money, Polly?” asked Mr. Williamson, smiling.
Polly nodded.
“If we win the prize riddle to-night, we’re going to give that to the collection, too,” she said.
“That reminds me of something I have to say,” Mr. Williamson declared. “I said I had a secret for you, and this is it: I’ll pay ten cents to the school collection for every riddle that is guessed correctly here to-night and an extra five dollars if the prize riddle is solved, the extra money to go in the club bank.”
Polly saw that Mr. Williamson had chosen that way of helping Fred make up the money lost, and she thought it was a most generous way. She didn’t say so, but she smiled at Mr. Williamson and he knew that she understood what he was trying to do.
“I thought we’d open the answers to the prize riddle first,” said Polly.
Choosing from the six folded papers on the table before her, she opened one and read it aloud.
“The riddle was, ‘Why do pianos bear the noblest characters?’ And this answer says, ‘Because they’re always cheerful.’”
“They’re not,” said Margy, positively. “I guess I ought to know.”
“No piano is cheerful when you’re practicing your music lesson on it,” agreed Mrs. Williamson, smiling.
“The second answer reads, ‘Because they keep in tune,’” read Polly.
“Not so bad,” said Mr. Williamson. “But it doesn’t happen to be the one we’re after.”
Polly picked up a third paper.
“This one says, ‘Because pianos are expensive.’” She tried not to laugh when she read this. She recognized the writing as Artie’s.
“Here’s another,” she said hurriedly. “‘Pianos bear the noblest characters because they are grand, upright, and square.’ Why, that must be right!” added Polly, in surprise.
“Correct!” said Mr. Williamson. “See if that last paper has solved it, too. No? Well, then, will the prize winner please step forward and receive the prize?”
To the utter astonishment of the roomful, Margy came forward.
“Margy Williamson, you never guessed a riddle, did you?” gasped her mother.
If it had been Fred, no one would have wondered. But Margy! She who always complained that every riddle was too hard, that she couldn’t spell the words in them or do the arithmetic they demanded of her. Margy!
“It isn’t very complimentary to be so upset, Margy,” said her daddy, putting a little white box in her hand; “but I must say you are the last member of the Riddle Club I thought would solve a prize riddle.”
Margy grinned and opened her box. In it were two beautiful five dollar gold pieces.
“One goes in the bank,” she said, slipping it in as she spoke, “and the other goes on the tray for the school collection,” and she put the gold piece on the silver tray Mrs. Marley had loaned for this special occasion.
“How did you ever guess it?” Ward asked respectfully.
It was a question that each one had wanted to ask.
“Well, you see,” Margy explained, “I can’t guess riddles unless I have time to think about ’em. I thought and thought andthoughtabout this one. Every time I sat down to practice, I thought some more. Then I heard Miss Elliott talking to the music supervisor one day, and shesaid something about our school piano being out of date.
“‘No school uses the old square pianos if they can get uprights,’ she said.
“I looked ‘upright’ up in the dictionary,” Margy went on, “and I found there was more than one meaning and one meant ‘honest and square’; so I guessed both words could count. And Mattie Helms told me one day in school that she was going to take music lessons as soon as her mother bought a grand piano—and there I had another word to use. They all fitted in, so I just used them.”
“Good for you, Margy!” cried Mr. Larue, clapping his hands. “You deserve to win the prize.”
They all clapped Margy, and she settled down happily again on the window seat, between Artie and Jess.
“Now we’ll ask the riddle,” said Polly. “Margy, you begin, because you won.”
“Daddy Williamson,” said Margy, seriously, “What is that which by losing an eye has nothing left but a nose?”
“A one-eyed man?” guessed Mr. Williamson.
“Forfeit!” cried Ward, so excited that he couldn’t keep still. “It’s noise.”
“Well, let Margy tell her own answers to her own riddles, Ward,” reproved Polly.
“How much is the forfeit to be?” asked Mr. Williamson.
“I don’t think you ought to pay any,” said Polly. “You gave us ten dollars, and that’s enough.”
“Oh, I want to pay a forfeit,” Mr. Williamson insisted. “Like my daughter, I don’t seem to be able to spell without thinking. Suppose we pay ten cents for the riddles we miss?”
The others were willing, so Mr. Williamson put ten cents on the silver tray.
“Mother,” said Ward, at a sign from Polly, “What is the difference between a schoolmaster and an engineer?”
“One trains the mind, the other minds the train,” answered Mrs. Larue, with a smile. “That was a pet riddle of mine years ago, Ward.”
“I guess you told it to me,” admitted Ward, “but I forgot.”
“Ten cents for the collection,” said Mr. Williamson, putting down a dime on the tray.
It was Jess’s turn to ask her father.
“What is that which never asks questions, yet requires many answers?” asked Jess, eagerly.
“I should say a-a-a- oh, Jess, I’ll pay ten centsgladly for the answer,” said Mr. Larue, placing two nickels with the other change.
“It’s a doorbell,” said Jess.
“Artie,” nodded Polly. “Your turn.”
“What mechanic never turns to the left, Mother?” he asked hopefully.
“The bricklayer?” she suggested.
“Forfeit!” cried Artie. “It’s the wheelwright.”
Mrs. Marley paid her money and explained to Ward what a wheelwright was, and then Fred was ready to tackle his mother.
“Bet you can’t guess this, Mother,” he said. “Of what trade were all the presidents of the United States?”
“Why, Fred, cabinet makers, of course,” replied Mrs. Williamson.
“Here’s the ten cents for you, Mother,” said Mr. Williamson, gleefully. “I’m glad one of us solved a riddle.”
“Polly’s last,” said Ward. “Go on, Polly, ask your dad.”
“Why is an egg lightly boiled like one boiled too much, Daddy?” asked Polly, smiling.
“I know nothing about cooking,” said Mr. Marley, pretending to frown. “Is it because you can’t eat it?”
“Forfeit, Daddy!” cried Artie. “He’s wrong, isn’t he, Polly?”
“The answer is, ‘Because it is hardly done,’” said Polly, holding out her hand for the ten cents.
They had planned to ask each other riddles, but when Mrs. Marley suggested they all go down to the kitchen and make molasses candy and cool it in the snow, the members of the Riddle Club decided that they had had enough riddles.
“We put our five dollars into the collection, so we are not being selfish,” said Polly, soberly. “How much money have we for the poor family, Fred?”
“Counting the five dollars, we have five dollars and sixty cents,” said Fred.
“That’s fine!” said Polly and Jess together, and Mr. Larue added forty cents more to make the fund six dollars.