urch
occasionally since he came home from college. She was living in town and
working in some store or other he knew, but that was all.

"What did you find out?" he asked Joe.

"I found out enough so that Alma has a better job, and things are going
easier at home. But that was just a starter. My brave John Wesley, do
you remember your college sociology and economics and civics and all the
rest? Never mind confessing; you don't; I didn't either. But I began to
review 'em in actual business practice. First I told the right merchant
what sort of a bookkeeper I had found slaving away for ten dollars a
week on the dark, smelly balcony of the Racket--and he's given Alma a
job at twenty in a sun-lighted office. Then I told Mr. Peters of the
Racket what I had done, and why. He didn't like it, but it will do him
good. That made me feel able to settle anything, and I'm looking around
for my next joy as journeyman rescuer and expert business adjuster.
Honest, J.W., I've not seen near all there is to see, but I'm swamped
already. You've got to come along, you and some others, and see for
yourself what's the matter with Main Street."

Not all at once, but before very long, J.W. shared Joe's aroused
interest. Pastor Drury was with them, of course; and the three called
into consultation a few other capable and trustworthy men and women.
Marcia Dayne had come home for a few weeks' holiday, and at once
enlisted. Alma Wetherell was able to give some highly significant
suggestions.

There was no noise of trumpets, and no publicity of any sort. Mr. Drury
insisted that what they needed first and most was not newspaper
attention, and not even organization, but exact information. So for many
days a group of puzzled and increasingly astonished people set about the
study of their own town's principal street, as though they had never
seen it before. And, in truth, they never had.

It was no different from all other small town business districts. The
Gem Theater vied with the Star and the Orpheum in lavish display of
gaudy posters advertising pictures that were "coming to-morrow," and in
two weeks of observation the investigators learned what sort of moving
pictures Delafield demanded, or, at least what sort it got. They took
note of the Amethyst Coterie's Saturday night dances--"Wardrobe, 50
cents, Ladies Free"--and of the boys and girls who patronized the place.
The various cigar and pocket-billiards combinations were quietly
observed, so