Beavers
     U. F. O. B.

The greatest influence for good citizenship in the country.  The jolliest aggregation of red-blooded, open-handed, hustle-em-up good fellows in the world.  Joralemon welcomes you to her hospitable city.

Kennicott read the poster and to Calibree admired, “Strong lodge, the Beavers.  Never joined.  Don’t know but what I will.”

Calibree adumbrated, “They’re a good bunch.  Good strong lodge.  See that fellow there that’s playing the snare drum?  He’s the smartest wholesale grocer in Duluth, they say.  Guess it would be worth joining.  Oh say, are you doing much insurance examining?”

They went on to the street fair.

Lining one block of Main Street were the “attractions”—­two hot-dog stands, a lemonade and pop-corn stand, a merry-go-round, and booths in which balls might be thrown at rag dolls, if one wished to throw balls at rag dolls.  The dignified delegates were shy of the booths, but country boys with brickred necks and pale-blue ties and bright-yellow shoes, who had brought sweethearts into town in somewhat dusty and listed Fords, were wolfing sandwiches, drinking strawberry pop out of bottles, and riding the revolving crimson and gold horses.  They shrieked and giggled; peanut-roasters whistled; the merry-go-round pounded out monotonous music; the barkers bawled, “Here’s your chance—­here’s your chance—­come on here, boy—­come on here—­give that girl a good time—­give her a swell time—­here’s your chance to win a genuwine gold watch for five cents, half a dime, the twentieth part of a dollah!” The prairie sun jabbed the unshaded street with shafts that were like poisonous thorns the tinny cornices above the brick stores were glaring; the dull breeze scattered dust on sweaty Beavers who crawled along in tight scorching new shoes, up two blocks and back, up two blocks and back, wondering what to do next, working at having a good time.

Carol’s head ached as she trailed behind the unsmiling Calibrees along the block of booths.  She chirruped at Kennicott, “Let’s be wild!  Let’s ride on the merry-go-round and grab a gold ring!”

Kennicott considered it, and mumbled to Calibree, “Think you folks would like to stop and try a ride on the merry-go-round?”

Calibree considered it, and mumbled to his wife, “Think you’d like to stop and try a ride on the merry-go-round?”

Mrs. Calibree smiled in a washed-out manner, and sighed, “Oh no, I don’t believe I care to much, but you folks go ahead and try it.”

Calibree stated to Kennicott, “No, I don’t believe we care to a whole lot, but you folks go ahead and try it.”

Kennicott summarized the whole case against wildness:  “Let’s try it some other time, Carrie.”

She gave it up.  She looked at the town.  She saw that in adventuring from Main Street, Gopher Prairie, to Main Street, Joralemon, she had not stirred.  There were the same two-story brick groceries with lodge-signs above the awnings; the same one-story wooden millinery shop; the same fire-brick garages; the same prairie at the open end of the wide street; the same people wondering whether the levity of eating a hot-dog sandwich would break their taboos.