Ralph Henry Barbour

“ Well, my dear, I wouldn’t write it on postals then,” laughed her mother. “Don’t you know that any one can read it that way?”
“Well, it isn’t a secret—exactly,” explained Harry. “But it’s something you and papa mustn’t know about, yet. Are you reading it?”
“No, I’ve stopped, dear. But what is the F. H. S. I. S?”
“That’s it! That’s the secret. It’s a society.”
“‘Mama, you mustn’t see!’ she cried. ‘It’s a secret!’”
“Don’t you think, pet, that you are a little too young to belong to secret societies?” ”

“ The trouble is that he has hockey every afternoon.”
“Except Monday.”
“All right then; Monday it is. That’s five days from now, and we’ll have time to think up the letter to the grads. It’s settled then,” added Dick, as he slid off the grain chest. “Now let’s go and watch Roy practice hockey awhile.”
“Please don’t forget, Chub,” said Harry, “that you owe four dollars to the treasury. And I must collect from Roy, mustn’t I? Do you think I’d better open an account at the Silver Cove bank, Dick?” ”

“ Then we could find out which of the old boys are well off, and put it up to them; tell them So-and-So had given ten thousand dollars and ask them to go and do likewise. Of course, every grad ought to be allowed the privilege of contributing to the worthy cause, but there’s no use expecting to get much that way. And when the letters or circulars are sent out, a subscription blank ought to go along.”
“That’s a good scheme,” said Dick thoughtfully. “How can we find out who the wealthy grads are?” ”