“YES,” said Mrs. Dunn to her neighbour, Mrs. Sullivan, “we are expecting great things of Archie, and yet we sometimes hardly know what to think of the boy. He has the most remarkable ideas of things, and there seems to be absolutely no limit to his ambition. He has long since determined that he will some day be President, and he expects to enter politics the day he is twenty-one.”

“Is that so, indeed,” said Mrs. Sullivan. “Well, we can never tell what is going to come of our boys. As I says to Dannie to-day, says I, ‘Dannie, you must do your best to be somebody and make something of yourself, for you and Jack bees all that I has to depend upon now.’ But Dannie pays no attention to my entreaties, and somehow it seems to me that since Mr. Sullivan died the boys are gettin’ worse and worse. It’s beyond me to control them, anyhow.”

“Oh, take heart, Mrs. Sullivan,” said Mrs. Dunn, “our boys will all turn out well in the end, and all we can do is to bring them up in the best way we know, and trust to them to take care of themselves after they leave home. Now Dannie is certainly an industrious lad. I hear him pounding nails all day long in the back yard, and he made a good job of shingling the woodshed the other day. He seems made to be a carpenter.”

“Yes, I think so myself,” said the Widow Sullivan. “The whole lot of them is out by the railroad now, building a hut. They’ve organised a ‘Hut Club’ to-day, and never a lick of work have I had out of them boys since mornin’. They’ve always got something going on, and when I want a bit of water from the well, or a little wood from the shed, they’re never around.”

“Yes, but boys will be boys, Mrs. Sullivan, and we’d better keep them contented at home as long as we can. They’ll be leaving us soon enough. It seems that no boys are content to stay in town any longer; they’re all anxious to be off to the city.”

“That’s true, that’s true, Mrs. Dunn,” said Mrs. Sullivan. “I must be going now. I’m much obliged for the rain-water, and whenever you want a bit of milk call over the fence, and I’ll bring it to you with pleasure. It’s a good neighbour you are, Mrs. Dunn.”

And Mrs. Sullivan went slowly around the house and out at the front gate, while good Mrs. Dunn returned to her ironing, a few clothes having to be ready for Sunday.

While these mothers were discussing their boys, the youngsters themselves were busy behind the barn, building a hut down near the railway track. There were six of them altogether, the three extra ones, besides Archie Dunn and the Sullivan boys, having come from across the railway to play for the day. Two hours before they had solemnly organised themselves into the “Hut Club,” each boy walking three times around the block blindfolded, and swearing upon his return to be true to all the rules and regulations of the organisation, which had been written with chalk on the side of the barn. The regulations were numerous, but the most important one was that no East Side boys were to be allowed within the club-room when it was built, and that the club’s policy should be one of warfare against the East Siders on every occasion when they met. This fight against the East Side was, indeed, responsible for the organisation of the club. It was felt necessary to have some head to their forces, and some means of holding together. So the club was organised, and now the next thing on the programme was the erection of a hut to serve as a club-house. Archie Dunn, who had been elected president, volunteered to get three boards and a hammer if the other boys would each get two boards and some nails. This proposition was agreed to, and when the boys returned from their foraging expeditions it was found that there were more than enough boards to build the hut, so the work began at once. Holes were dug in the ground, and some posts planted as supports for the structure, and then the boards were hastily nailed together from post to post. In three hours the hut was practically completed, and it remained only to lay a floor until they could hold their first meeting in the new club-house. The floor itself was down by noon, and the club then served a memorable dinner to mark the completion of the structure.

A hole was dug in the ground outside the door, and a furnace made. A skillet was brought from Archie’s house, together with some dishes and a coffee-pot, and Dan Sullivan brought some more dishes, and six eggs from his nests under the barn. The boys were obliged to make several trips to and from the houses, but finally nearly everything was ready, and the eggs were carefully cooked by Archie, who was really a good housekeeper, from long experience in the kitchen with his mother. Some potatoes were fried in the grease remaining in the skillet after the eggs were cooked, and then the feast began. The eggs may have been rather black with grease, and the potatoes were certainly not done, but the boys all pronounced it the finest meal of their lives, notwithstanding the bitter coffee, and the dirty bread, which had been allowed to fall into the gutter beside the railway track. They were eating in their own house, and they had cooked in the open air, “just like tramps,” Harry Rafe said, and it was little wonder that they enjoyed the novel experience.

The only trouble came when the meal was finished. No one wanted to wash the dishes, and, finally, it was decided to return them to their respective kitchens just as they were, and to let them be washed with the rest of the dinner dishes at home. And this decision came near putting an end to Hut Club dinners, for both Mrs. Dunn and the Widow Sullivan were determined not to wash any more dirty dishes from the hut.

When the meal was over, the boys lounged about the hut, and Dan Sullivan brought a lot of things from his sister’s playhouse with which to furnish it more suitably. Archie Dunn brought a lot of hay from the loft in his mother’s barn, and when a piece of old carpet was spread upon it it made an acceptable couch. A piece of old carpet was laid in front of the hut, too, where the boys could sit and watch the trains switching back and forth on the railway, and the tramps who were heating coffee in cans over by the cattle-pen.

Finally, some cattle arrived in the pen to be loaded into cars for the city, and the boys had just decided to go and watch the men loading them, when an engine came up the side-track with the most beautiful car they had ever seen, behind it. The car was painted in all colours of the rainbow, and in giant letters was printed the magic name of “The World’s Greatest Show.”

The boys lost no time in getting down from the cattle-pen fence, and the car had barely stopped when they were aboard. “Hooray,” shouted Charlie Huffman, “we’ll all get jobs of passin’ bills.” And it was with this end in view that they sought the advertising manager in the car, who promised to give them all jobs when the circus came in two weeks. The boys deluged him with questions of every sort. “Will there be any elephants?” “Is there goin’ to be a parade?” and “Will there be any trapeze performances?” The poor man was finally obliged to lock the door to keep them out, and the boys stood about the car until nearly six o’clock, admiring the paintings, and speculating as to whether they would be able to work their way into the circus or not, when it finally came. Their speculations were interrupted by the appearance on the scene of the Widow Sullivan with a good-sized maple switch, which she used to good effect in getting the two Sullivans and Archie Dunn home for supper. For Mrs. Dunn had given Mrs. Sullivan instructions before she started, so that when Archie complained that he had been whipped by “that woman next door,” he received no sympathy whatever.

And when he went to bed at nine o’clock, he could hardly sleep for thinking of the wonderful things which had happened this day. The coming circus and the great Hut Club kept him awake until far after ten, so that he got up too late for Sunday school the next morning, and was punished accordingly.

The next week was a hard one at school, and the boys had but little time to devote to the club. But after four o’clock in the afternoon they sometimes got together and did various things which improved their club-house. Some very fair chairs were constructed from empty soap boxes, and various contrivances were put together to guard against the intrusion of any East Siders or tramps while they were away at school. There was no padlock used, and any one coming up to the hut would imagine it a simple thing to enter—until he tried. But the boys had fixed a secret cord which, when pulled, shifted the bar inside, and every boy was sworn not to betray the existence of the cord.

The day set for the circus came nearer and nearer, and the boys began to be anxious for fear the schools would not close, so that they could attend. But the superintendent finally announced that they would; so early on the eventful day the entire club was on the grounds, waiting to get some work to do. Archie Dunn got the first job, being selected to carry water for the elephant because he was stronger than any of the others. But the rest were given something to do, and when the day was over they had all seen the circus, and went to bed happy, to dream of the great trip to be taken by the Hut Club on the next Saturday.