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“Who said you could? No need of getting mad.”

“Mamma and Aunt Flora and grandmamma won’t let me have these old curls cut off,” said Arnold. “You needn’t think I want to have curls like a girl, Johnny Trumbull.”

“Who said you did? And I know you don’t like to wear those short stockings, either.”

“Like to!” Arnold gave a spiteful kick, first of one half-bared, dimpled leg, then of the other.

“First thing you know I’ll steal mamma’s or Aunt Flora’s stockings and throw these in the furnace — I will. Do you s’pose a feller wants to wear these baby things? I guess not. Women are awful queer, Johnny Trumbull. My mamma and my aunt Flora are awful nice, but they are queer about some things.”

“Most women are queer,” agreed Johnny, “but my aunt Janet isn’t as queer as some. Rather guess if she saw me with curls like a little girl she’d cut ’em off herself.”

“Wish she was my aunt,” said Arnold Carruth with a sigh. “A feller needs a woman like that till he’s grown up. Do you s’pose she’d cut off my curls if I was to go to your house, Johnny?”

“I’m afraid she wouldn’t think it was right unless your mother said she might. She has to be real careful about doing right, because my uncle Jonathan used to preach, you know.”

Arnold Carruth grinned savagely, as if he endured pain. “Well, I s’pose I’ll have to stand the curls and little baby stockings awhile longer,” said he. “What was it you were going to tell me, Johnny?”

“I am going to tell you because I know you aren’t too good, if you do wear curls and little stockings.”

“No, I ain’t too good,” declared Arnold Carruth, proudly; “I ain’t — HONEST, Johnny.”

“That’s why I’m going to tell you. But if you tell any of the other boys — or girls –“

“Tell girls!” sniffed Arnold.

“If you tell anybody, I’ll lick you.”

“Guess I ain’t afraid.”

“Guess you’d be afraid to go home after you’d been licked.”

“Guess my mamma would give it to you.”

“Run home and tell mamma you’d been whopped, would you, then?”

Little Arnold, beautiful baby boy, straightened himself with a quick remembrance that he was born a man. “You know I wouldn’t tell, Johnny Trumbull.”

“Guess you wouldn’t. Well, here it is –” Johnny spoke in emphatic whispers, Arnold’s curly head close to his mouth: “There are a good many things in this town have got to be set right,” said Johnny.

Little Arnold stared at him. Then fire shone in his lovely blue eyes under the golden shadow of his curls, a fire which had shone in the eyes of some ancestors of his, for there was good fighting blood in the Carruth family, as well as in the Trumbull, although this small descendant did go about curled and kissed and barelegged.

“How’ll we begin?” said Arnold, in a strenuous whisper.

“We’ve got to begin right away with Jim Simmons’s cats and kittens.”

“With Jim Simmons’s cats and kittens?” repeated Arnold.

“That was what I said, exactly. We’ve got to begin right there. It is an awful little beginning, but I can’t think of anything else. If you can, I’m willing to listen.”

“I guess I can’t,” admitted Arnold, helplessly.

“Of course we can’t go around taking away money from rich people and giving it to poor folks. One reason is, most of the poor folks in this town are lazy, and don’t get money because they don’t want to work for it. And when they are not lazy, they drink. If we gave rich people’s money to poor folks like that, we shouldn’t do a mite of good. The rich folks would be poor, and the poor folks wouldn’t stay rich; they would be lazier, and get more drink. I don’t see any sense in doing things like that in this town. There are a few poor folks I have been thinking we might take some money for and do good, but not many.”