CHAPTER IX.
THE I. I.’S.
“Come, Fuzzy, come!” said Bess, opening the front door an inch, and speaking in a tone of gentle persuasion.
But Fuzz only gazed fixedly at some distant point of the landscape, and refused to move.
“Come, good little Fuzz; come right in!” And Bess tried to express the idea that some pleasing secret lay hidden behind the door that she held open a crack. Slowly the dog turned the white of one eye towards his mistress; but otherwise he was deaf to her voice. Becoming impatient, she went out on the step.
“Come right here. Fuzz!” she said, very decidedly.
The little animal looked at her for a moment, wagged his brief tail as if to say, “Excuse me,” and then darted to the gate, where he stood barking furiously, occasionally turning his head to see if his mistress were still waiting for him. She stepped back into the house and shut the door, with an elaborate care that he should notice the fact. Then she applied her eye to one of the glass panes. The dog trotted to the steps, looked about him, and, seeing that the coast was clear, leisurely came up them and lay down on the mat.
“Now I have him!” thought Bess exultingly, and, suddenly opening the door, she made a quick snatch at the spot where the dog had been,—had been, for at the first click of the latch he was several yards away, barking defiance at some imaginary foe.
“Oh, dear!” sighed Bess, adjusting the folds of her pretty spring suit. “How could Bridget be so careless as to let that dog out when I told her not to?” And again she peered out through the glass, only to see the dog peacefully lying on the lower step, with his little black nose laid up on the one above it.
“Can’t you get him to come to you with a piece of bread?” queried Fred’s voice from the next room. “I’ll go ask Bridget for a piece.”
He returned in a moment and offered Bess a thick slice of bread, and then passed his hand approvingly down over her gown.
“How fine you are!” he said. “It is a shame for Fuzz to act so.”
“He always does when I want to go away, so I usually shut him into the house. To-day he saw me putting on my hat and suspected a departure, and in some way ran out past Bridget. I am sorry, for I ought to call on Mrs. Walsh.”
As she opened the door and stepped out into the May sunshine, Fred stood leaning in the doorway, waiting to know if his plan were successful. Fuzz sat on the grass ten feet away, watching their manœuvres with a look of calm, unbiassed criticism.
“Come, Fuzz, come get some bread,” said Bess caressingly, as she broke off a bit and tossed it to the dog. He moved lazily towards it, ate it as if he were conferring a favor upon her, then came a step or two nearer to get the next one, and the next, artfully aimed by Bess, in order to bring him by degrees to her feet. But Fuzz was wary, and had no mind to forego either the present feast or the prospective walk. By watching his chance, he would contrive to run up to Bessie’s very toes, snatch the morsel, and then dodge away again, before she could touch so much as one of his curls. In this way, he possessed himself of the entire slice of bread, and then returned to his former seat, leaving Bess none the better for her efforts.
“Won’t he come?” asked Fred sympathetically, though with a strong desire to laugh.
“He hasn’t the remotest idea of such a thing,” replied Bess disconsolately, as she looked at her watch.
Mrs. Carter joined them on the steps.
“Fuzz, come here! Come to grandma!” she called authoritatively.
But Fuzz withdrew to the middle of the street, and contemplated a distant carriage.
“I’ll tell you, Bess, what you can do. We will all go in, and then, in a few minutes, you can go out the back way, and through to the other street.”
“A brilliant idea, mother. Come, Fred.” And she led the way into the house, and shut the door with an emphasis to attract the dog’s attention.
They waited until he returned to the step, and then, with a stealthy tread, Bess retired through the kitchen and was out of the house grounds when a small gray body rushed madly past her, and then returned to caper about her, leaving an occasional dusty foot-mark on her new gown.
“Bad Fuzz!” she scolded. “Fuzz must go right back!” But Fuzz would neither go of himself, nor let her pick him up to carry him. So she walked back to the house, saying to herself,—
“Well, I don’t mind my call, but I do hate to be late at Rob’s, when I’ve constantly tried to impress on those boys that they must be prompt at engagements. However, ‘the best laid plans of mice and men’ must be changed to suit the will of a small imp of a puppy.”
As she entered the house. Fuzz, with a skill that would do credit to a civil engineer, at the very least, took up his position at such a vantage point that he commanded an unobstructed view of both modes of exit, and sat watching them with an unblinking steadiness. Bess waited for a long quarter of an hour, hoping that the dog would give up the idea and signify his desire to come in. But no imperative bark was heard. On the contrary, Fuzz appeared to be abundantly satisfied with his position. Then Fred went out and sat down on the steps, inviting the dog to join him. But he proved less attractive than usual, and neither his coaxing nor Mrs. Carter’s commands could move the delinquent from his post of observation. Then Bridget, now truly penitent for the carelessness that was causing “Miss Bess” so much delay, promenaded up and down before him, trailing behind her a perfectly bare beef-bone, tied to a string. Fuzz eyed her with seeming indifference, while she made three or four turns, then he darted forward, seized the bone, pulled till he broke the string, and then triumphantly walked off to a safe distance, where he lay down and fell to gnawing his bone. Annoyed and impatient as she was, Bess laughed outright, as she saw the quick act; and Bridget, in her turn, gave up.
Another period of waiting, and then Fred had a fresh proposal.
“See here. Miss Bess, if Fuzz wants a walk, I will give him one. I’ll put on my hat and walk out beyond the tennis court, and he will come too. Then you can go.”
“Could you, Fred? I am so anxious to go, only I hate to send you off alone,” said Bess doubtfully, for as yet Fred’s out-of-door excursions had mainly been made with her or Rob as escort.
“Yes, I’ll be all right,” said the boy, and then added wistfully, “How long shall you be gone?”
“No longer than I can help, my dear. Now be very careful of yourself.” And she gave him his hat and the light, strong cane he depended on when alone.
She watched him as he moved slowly off across the broad lawn, with Fuzz frisking along by his side, and occasionally jumping against him with such unexpected force that it made him totter.
“Bless the child!” she thought. “He grows unselfish and considerate every day; and how well and happy he seems. I hope he will enjoy this new plan.”
And she started on her errand, with one backward glance at the lad, as he sat down for a moment on one of the seats scattered about the lawn, and turned his face to the soft, clear air. Above his head the trees were in the beauty of their first tiny leaves, so light and delicate in their unfolding that they looked like a cloud of butterflies lighted on every little twig and stem. And the birds chirped and twittered in all the gladness of the sunshine, rejoicing in the new life about them. The influence of the spring was over them all, and vaguely, in his boy fashion, Fred felt it too. For a moment he went back to a year or two ago, and longed for the old free, happy days; but as he remembered the lonely, dull hours he had spent between the times of his return from Boston and his coming to live at the Carters’, his mood brightened again, and he patted the now docile Fuzz, saying cheerfully,—
“It isn’t so bad after all, is it, Fuzz?”
And the dog presented his little paw, as if to shake hands, in token of their perfect agreement.
In the meantime Bess had betaken herself to her cousin’s, where she was greeted by five 
‘“It isn't so had after all, is it, Fuzz’”—Page 168.
“I couldn’t help it, boys. Fuzz wouldn’t let me come any earlier.” And, to the merriment of the lads, Bess recounted her experiences of the afternoon, and then asked: “Is aunt Bess at home, Rob?”
“No; but she said tell you to go right in and make yourself at home. Do hurry up, for we’re awfully curious and can’t stand it another minute.” And Rob led the way to their pleasant sitting-room.
“Doesn’t Rob know what’s up?” asked Phil, as Bess seated herself deliberately, and the boys gathered around her.
“Not a blessed thing,” said Bess, disregarding her cousin’s winks begging her to keep silence; “only that I told him to have you meet me here this afternoon.”
“Oh ho, young lad!” exclaimed Ted, giving his host a sounding thump on the back, “you’re a fraud. Here you’ve been pretending all day you knew what was going on, and you are as much in the dark now as any of us.”
“What is it, Miss Bess?” inquired Phil, swinging himself impatiently back and forth in his rocking-chair, as he sat astride of it, with an ankle clasped in either hand. “It’s sure to be fun, if you start it.”
“Don’t get your expectations too high, Phil,” said Bess. “It is only just this. If you boys have time enough to spare for it, how would you like to spend one evening a week with me?”
“Club?” suggested Rob, who had often begged for something of this kind.
“Yes, club; if you choose to call it so.” And there was an enthusiastic burst of applause from the boys, who took a true masculine delight in anything rejoicing in the name of club. When quiet was restored, Bess went on quite seriously:—
“Now, my boys, I don’t want you to be selfish in starting this club. It is for us all to enjoy together, and I want you to help me make it a great success; but most of all it is for Fred. He tries so hard not to be shy with you, but it is hard for him when he doesn’t see you but once in a long time. He needs boys and boy fun now, more than anything else, and he is staying with me so much that there is danger of his growing girlish and—and—what is it you call it?—a mollycoddle.”
“Not much danger of that when you are round,” said Sam, with a smile to point his intended compliment.
Bess took it as such, and beamed on him in return, before she continued,—
“Well, as I say, he needs you all to stir him up and give him a taste of the old fun. Now, it depends on you whether this fun will do him good, or only make him feel farther away from you than ever. Can you think what I mean?”
“Yes, I think I know, Miss Bessie,” said Bert, who was leaning back in the depths of his chair, his knees crossed and his hands loosely clasped in front of him, while his eyes were intently fixed on Bessie’s face. “You mean, if we stir him up in ways he can enjoy, or whether we tease him and do things he can’t have the fun of with us.”
“Who’d be mean enough to tease Fred Allen, anyhow?” asked Sam belligerently.
“Nobody; so keep cool and let Miss Bess go on,” said Teddy patronizingly.
“Bert has my idea. How many of you will help to carry it out?” and Bess looked around at the eager young faces, beaming with good-will to their absent friend.
“I! I!” shouted the chorus of five; and then Rob asked,—
“What kind of a club are you going to have?”
“How do you like this plan? Suppose you come up every Saturday evening early, say by seven, and stay two hours. At nine I shall send you off home, and to bed, for I don’t approve of late hours for children.”
“Children! Oh, cracky!” groaned Ted, in parenthesis.
“Yes, children,” repeated Bess, with a malicious pleasure in the word. “What else are you, I should like to know? But so much for times and seasons. And now for the way we are to spend our time. Beginning with myself, and working down by ages, I am going to let you each select some good subject for an evening, and then we will all bring in what information we can about it, and talk it over together. You can give out your subjects the week before, so we can prepare them, you know. I only make one condition, that you submit your subjects to me, first of all. Then we shall end with some games. How does the idea strike you?”
“First-rate” and “dandy,” exclaimed Phil and Ted in unison; and Sam added,—
“Have you told Fred?”
“Not yet, for I wanted first to talk it over with you, and see if I could depend on you to make it a success. It rests with you to decide, and if you go into it in the right way, each trying to help on the general good time, we shall have some very pleasant evenings, I am sure.”
“But I don’t see why we need study for it,” sighed Phil.
“For two or three reasons, you lazy boy,” answered Bess. “If we spent our evenings just playing games, we should soon be heartily tired of them and of each other. But a little work—I don’t mean it to be hard work—will give a variety, so we shall like them both better. And then it is high time you boys were getting some new ideas beyond your daily doses of arithmetic and geography. You can take any subject you wish, from the moon to potato bugs, or Napoleon Bonaparte, provided you take one about which we can really learn something. We shall work an hour, and play an hour, and enjoy each better for having the other.” And Bess paused amid a hum of admiration from her followers.
“What shall we call the club?” asked Rob.
“Genuine Grubbers,” said Phil, in whose mind the thought of study was still rankling.
“The Brotherhood of Frederick the Great,” was Bert’s pertinent suggestion.
“Queen Bess and her Jolly Lads would be good,” remarked Teddy. “Q. B. J. L. for short, you know, and none of the other fellows would know what it meant.”
“It strikes me,” Sam interposed, “we’d ought to let Fred have something to say about it.”
“I agree with you, Sam,” rejoined Bess. “Come home with me now, all of you, and we will plan for the name, first subject, and so on, and then on Saturday night we can have our first meeting.”
And so Saturday evening found the house brightly lighted, and Fred in his best suit, with a white carnation in his buttonhole, while Bess arranged Fuzz with his basket, ball, and rag doll in a comfortable corner of the kitchen, to keep Bridget company, and persuaded the Dominie to retire to the dining-room.
Punctually at the moment came the boys, each one with a proud consciousness of being dressed up for the occasion, although Phil’s front lock of hair would stand rampant, and Ted’s shoes bore traces of his having splashed through some wayside puddle. After a few moments of chatter, Bess stepped to the table and rapped on it with mock solemnity.
“The members of the Club of Inquisitive Investigators will please come to order. I will call the roll of officers and members. President, Miss Elizabeth Carter. Well, I’m here. Vice-President, Master Frederic Allen.”
“Present,” remarked Fred from the corner of the sofa, where he was sitting with Rob and Bert.
“Treasurer, Master Edward Preston.”
“Yes’m, I’m here,” responded Ted with a giggle, “but I don’t see what there is to treasure.”
“Secretary, Master Robert Atkinson,” continued Bess, regardless of the interruption.
“Here! What am I to do about it?” inquired Rob meekly.
“Chairman of Entertainment Committee, Master Philip Cameron.”
“Trust me for coming,” answered Phil, while Rob whispered,—
“That means you are chief clown.”
“Beadle-in-chief and Disciplinarian, Master Samuel Boeminghausen.”
“Yes, ma’am!” said Sam, and then fulfilled his official duties by frowning on Ted, who, mindful of his “Pickwick,” murmured,—
“‘Samivel, my son, bevare of vidders.’”
“Grand Referee, Critic, and Curator of Encyclopædia and Dictionary, Master Herbert Walsh,” concluded Bess, and Bert’s response was lost amid the shouts of the boys, to whom these offices were unexpected honors.
“Now,” said Bess, in more natural tones, as she seated herself, “we have just members enough for the offices, and just offices enough for the members, so I don’t see how the I. I.’s can increase. To-night we were to talk about coal, and I will ask Phil to begin by telling us what he knows on the subject.”
“Oh, dear!” groaned Phil, “that won’t be much. Let’s see. There are different kinds of coal, the hard or anthracite, and the soft or bit—bit—”
“Bituminous?” suggested Bert.
“Oh, yes! Bituminous. The bit-uminous has more oil in it, and is smokier. So people that live in cities where it is burned get black all over themselves when they go out on the street.”
“Yes,” interposed Sam. “When my father took me to Chicago with him, there was one day that it was so thick in the air you couldn’t see any distance at all, and when I went back to the hotel to dinner, my nose was all covered with black streaks.”
“I know how that is,” said Bess. “But go on, Phil.”
“We burn the hard coal here. Then they divide it up by the size it is broken into, and call it pea-coal and nut-coal, and so on. I guess that’s all I know, Miss Bess.”
“Very good, Phil. Bert, can you tell us something more?”
“Not very much. Phil’s told a good share of what I had found out. I think I know where some of the best coal-beds are, though.”
Sam and Ted between them added a description of coal mining; Fred gave, as his share, a vivid account of the primeval forests, and the way the coal-beds were formed; while Rob contributed a few words about the fossils met with in the coal. Bess made a running commentary on the whole, and ended with a short account of the more common kindred substances: petroleum, illuminating gas, and the diamond. Then she looked at her watch.
“Half-past eight. Only half an hour for our games, boys.”
“Is it really so late?” asked Ted incredulously. “This has been immense. What are we going to take next?”
“Well, Sam, that is for you to say.” And Bess turned to the boy who was lounging in his chair, with one foot stretched in front of him, the other toe hooked around the leg of his chair.
“George Washington,” he replied promptly, with a modest pride in the wisdom and novelty of his choice.
“You all hear it?” asked President Bess. “Rob, as secretary, I want you to keep a list of the subjects and their dates. Then, six months from now, we will have an evening when each one of you may take some one of these subjects and write all you have learned about it; and we will have these essays read before a small and select audience. That will be about the last of October. And one thing more I have to say before our games. I want my boys to be careful about their positions, to sit up straight like gentlemen, and not curl up like a set of small caterpillars.”
The sudden effect of this last remark was comical to behold. Feet were firmly planted, backs straightened, shoulders squared, and coats pulled into place; while Teddy vainly tried to conceal a yawning chasm in the knee of his stocking, which had mysteriously appeared since his arrival.
Promptly as the clock struck nine, Bess sent her guests away, but not before Ted, from the front steps, led off in a rousing: “Rah! Rah! Rah! for the Inquisitive Investigators.” They then departed, chanting at the top of their lungs, as an appropriate serenade:—
“The owl and the pussy-cat went to sea,
In a beautiful pea-green boat.
They took some honey and plenty of money.
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.”