“Want your skates sharpened?” he asked cheerfully.

The committee looked hopefully at Bobby.  He had promised to “ask first.”

“We’re going to have a fair,” gulped Bobby, his cheeks red, but his blue eyes looking at Mr. Gobert squarely.  “It’s for Paul Jordan and his mother.  And we thought maybe you’d give us something we could sell.”

“For that lame Jordan and his mother?” repeated Mr. Gobert.  “Do you mean to tell me they need help?  Is Mrs. Jordan sick?”

“She has rheumatism in her hands,” said Bobby earnestly.  “And she’s so old and slow lots of folks don’t have her wash any more.  She’s chopped down all the fence to build a fire with.  And she doesn’t want to put Paul in a home.”

“Well, well,” Mr. Gobert stared at Bobby thoughtfully.  “So you’re going to help her out by giving a fair, are you?  Where’s it going to be?  Can I come?”

“At our house.  Three weeks from Saturday,” answered Bobby, wishing his committee would back him up with a few words and not stand by with their mouths and eyes so wide open.  “We’re going to have a play, too.”

“I’m busy Saturday afternoons,” said Mr. Gobert regretfully, “but I’ll send Mrs. Gobert up to buy something.  Now I wonder what I have you would like?  How about a couple of nice penknives?”

Bobby thought knives would be very good indeed, and Mr. Gobert led them over to the case where all the penknives were displayed and let the boys choose any two they wanted.  On his advice they chose a pearl-handled knife for a woman and a stag-handle which would please a boy or a man.

“Stop in at Hampton’s,” said Mr. Gobert when they thanked him warmly, the knives neatly wrapped and safe in Bobby’s reefer pocket.  “He ought to have something nice for you.”

Mr. Hampton kept the stationery store, and when he heard about the fair he promptly gave the committee two boxes of writing paper, a pad of bright new blotters, and a bottle each of red, white, and blue ink.  “To be patriotic,” he said.

“They all want to know what it’s for, then they’re all right,” said Bobby, as the boys hurried along to another shop.  “Talking takes a lot of time, though.”

The boys were really surprised to find how interested people were, and how generous.  The grocer gave them six glasses of bright red jelly which, he said, would make their table look pretty as well as sell readily.  The baker promised them a plate of tarts the morning of the fair.  Steve Broadwell, the druggist, and a special friend of Bobby’s, not only gave them three fascinating little weather-houses, with an old man and woman to pop in and out as it rained or the sun shone, and two jars of library paste, but told Bobby that he would save some bottles of cologne for Meg’s table.  The jeweler gave them four small compasses.  Even kind Doctor Maynard, whom they met driving his car out toward the country, when he learned what they were doing, promised them a dollar as his admission to the fair “whether I get a chance to come or not.”