Now, Tom and Charley are quick in arithmetic, and I asked Tom
to go over to Harry's after school and help with the arithmetic, and
Charley to go over the next day, and Jim the third day. Now, anybody
can see that white rag fluttering at the top of the stake across the
field two days ahead. So, my work was done, and I went on with my
daily duties. Tom reported the next day, and his report made our
mouths water as he told of the good things that Harry's mother had
set out for them to eat. The report of Charley the next day was
equally alluring. Then Jim reported, and on his day that good mother
had evidently reached the climax in culinary affairs. Jim's eyes and
face shone as if he had been communing with the supernals.
That was the last I ever heard of Jim's trouble with arithmetic. His
father was eager to know how the change had been brought about, and I
explained on the score of the angel-food cake and ice-cream he had
had over at Harry's, with no slight mention of my glorious white rag.
The books, I believe, call this social co-operation, or something
like that, but I care little what they call it so long as Jim's all
right.
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