The Safety First Club and the Flood — Key Ideas to Explore

ent he regarded Step thoughtfully--“Step,” it may be explained, was a contraction of “Stepladder,” a nickname bestowed by his mates upon Clarence Jones because of a degree of resemblance in his physical make-up to that useful article of household equipment. Then Sam’s glance went to the plump boy, Arthur Green in official records, but “Poke” to those honored with his intimate acquaintance. One could poke a finger almost anywhere into the well-rounded Arthur; hence the sobriquet.

“Poke” Green appeared to be meditating. His lips were pursed, and there was a line in his forehead. He loved his bit of philosophy, did Poke; but it took time for him to put his meditations into words.

Sam’s gaze traveled to a group about a table, on which were scattered magazines and a number of well-thumbed books. Two of the boys nodded. They were Herman Boyd and Harry Walker, more often called the “Trojan”; and they were good fellows and tried and true members of the Safety First Club. So, for that matter, was a bespectacled youngster, who from his place at the Trojan’s elbow was regarding Sam with a peculiar air of solemnity. Sam, meeting his eye, gave him greeting.

“Hullo, Shark! What are you trying to figure out now?”

“Nothing,” said the other curtly.

“Then you’re wasting time, you old wizard!” quoth Sam.

The Shark made no reply. Doubtless, it seemed to him that none was needed. So he merely continued to peer through his spectacles at the newcomer, with a characteristic intentness which was all his own.

Willy Reynolds, indeed, was often referred to as an “odd stick.” He had a mind of marked mathematical bent, and had proved himself so proficient in algebra, geometry and trigonometry as to puzzle and amaze his comrades, toiling along paths of learning which appeared to offer him only entertainment. So they dubbed him the “Shark,” because he always seemed hungry for mathematics.

The door opened, and in came a thick-set, sturdily built chap.

“Hi there, Orkney! Glad to see you!” Sam sang out. It might have been noted, too, that the others gave the latest arrival a welcome, each in his own way, even the Shark thawing temporarily. One acquainted with boys and their ways would have understood that there was some reason why they wished Orkney to feel himself among friends.

The thick-set lad answered each in turn, his face lighting as he spoke. It was clear that he appreciated his reception, as well he might. Time had been--and not very long before--when Tom Orkney and the Safety First Club had been at swords’ points, and when each had woefully misjudged the other. A chapter of accidents had served first to increase the bitterness on both sides, and then to remove it by revealing how thoroughly it was due to mistakes and misunderstandings. And in the end, helped on by sharing common adventures and dangers, had come reconciliation and respect. In proof of its new and genuine regard the club had admitted Tom to its jealously guarded circle of membership.

They were, it may be said, a good lot of boys; healthy youngsters in their teens--the Shark was the youngest and physically the weakest; well intentioned but not wise beyond their years; fond of fun and activity and no prophets of possible consequences of their escapades. But, as the title of their club indicated, they were learning their lesson in the school of experience. The wisdom of a policy of “Safety First” was impressed upon them, though as yet they were not too skilled in the application of the rule.

While Tom Orkney was settling himself by the table, Step Jones again raised his voice in lamentation.

“I tell you, fellows, this is the meanest, logiest, slowest, stupidest time of all the year. There’s nothing to do. The snow spoils the skating, and more than half the time the snow-shoeing and skiing are no good. Sleighing’s a bore, and coasting’s no use except for kids. And where does that leave you? Ugh!”

Nobody answered Step’s question. There was a long silence, broken by that youth himself.

“Worst winter I ever saw--yah!”

Sam Parker shook his head doubtfully. “Oh, I don’t know about that, Step. Seems to me this is a good deal like all the rest of ’em.”

“And if you want something to keep you busy, there’s always school,” put in the Trojan with a chuckle.

“School? Oh, thunder!” snapped Step with scorn.

Poke Green waved a hand, an oratorical hand; thereby signifying that he had reached a readiness to address the meeting.