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The Project Gutenberg eBook, The S. W. F. Club, by Caroline E. Jacobs This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: The S. W. F. Club Author: Caroline E. Jacobs Release Date: April 6, 2005 [eBook #15562] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE S. W. F. CLUB*** E-text prepared by Al Haines THE S. W. F. CLUB by CAROLINE E. JACOBS Author of _Joan of Jupiter Inn_, _Joan's Jolly Vacation_, _Patricia_, etc. The Goldsmith Publishing Co. Cleveland, Ohio George W. Jacobs & Company 1912 CONTENTS CHAPTER I PAULINE'S FLAG II THE MAPLES III UNCLE PAUL'S ANSWER IV BEGINNINGS V BEDELIA VI PERSONALLY CONDUCTED VII HILARY'S TURN VIII SNAP-SHOTS IX AT THE MANOR X THE END OF SUMMER CHAPTER I PAULINE'S FLAG Pauline dropped the napkin she was hemming and, leaning back in her chair, stared soberly down into the rain-swept garden. Overhead, Patience was having a "clarin' up scrape" in her particular corner of the big garret, to the tune of "There's a Good Time Coming." Pauline drew a quick breath; probably, there was a good time coming--any number of them--only they were not coming her way; they would go right by on the main road, they always did. "'There's a good time coming,'" Patience insisted shrilly, "'Help it on! Help it on!'" Pauline drew another quick breath. She would help them on! If they would none of them stop on their own account, they must be flagged. And--yes, she would do it--right now. Getting up, she brought her writing-portfolio from the closet, clearing a place for it on the little table before the window. Then her eyes went back to the dreary, rain-soaked garden. How did one begin a letter to an uncle one had never seen; and of whom one meant to ask a great favor? But at last, after more than one false start, the letter got itself written, after a fashion. Pauline read it over to herself, a little dissatisfied pucker between her brows:-- _Mr. Paul Almy Shaw, New York City, New York_. MY DEAR UNCLE PAUL: First, I should like you to understand that neither father nor mother know that I
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