a hanging lamp and reflector to light the reading-table.

Walky Dexter did what carting was needed. Janice and her aunt made the
curtains themselves, and they put them up so as to keep out the prying
eyes of all Poketown, for the community now began to wonder what was
going on in the empty room next the drug store. As Walky had been
bound to secrecy, too, the curious had no means of learning what was
going on. It was just as though the printing office of a thriving town
newspaper had burned down and there was no means of disseminating the
news. This was the effect of the muzzle on Walky Dexter!

It was at this point that Janice took Marty, and through him, the other
boys, into the scheme.

"What would you boys each pay in dues to keep up a nice reading-room
such as we talked about, Marty?" she asked her cousin.

"Aw, say!" grunted Marty. "Let's talk about the treasure chest we've
found in our back yard. _That_ sounds more sensible."

"Wouldn't you be glad of such a place?" laughed Janice.

"Say! would a duck swim?" growled the boy, thinking that she was
teasing him. "Bring on your old reading-room, and we'll show ye."

That very afternoon she and Miss 'Rill had given the last touches to
the room. It was as neat as a pin; the lamps were all filled and the
chimneys polished. It was only a bare room, it was true; but there
were possibilities in it, Janice was sure, that would appeal to Marty.
She put on her hat and held her coat out for him to help her into.

"I'm going down town with you to-night; Marty," she said, smiling.
"I've got something to show you."

"Huh! What's it all about?"

"You come along and see," she told him. "It's just the finest thing
that ever happened--and you'll say so, too, I know."

But she refused to explain further until they turned up High Street and
stopped at the dark and long-empty shop beside the drug store.

"Oh, gee! In Massey's store?" gasped Marty, when his cousin fitted a
key to the lock.

"Come in and shut the door. Now stand right where you are while I
light the lamp," commanded Janice.

She lit the hanging lamp over the table. The soft glow of it was soon
flung down upon the dull brown cloth. Marty stared around with mouth
agape.

His father had built a sort of counter at one end, with a desk and
shelves behind it. Of course, there was not a book, or paper, in the
place as yet--nor a game. But Marty needed no explanation.

"Janice Day! did you do a