"Want your skates sharpened?" he asked cheerfully.

The committee looked hopefully at Bobby. He had promised to "ask
first."

"We're going to have a fair," gulped Bobby, his cheeks red, but his
blue eyes looking at Mr. Gobert squarely. "It's for Paul Jordan and
his mother. And we thought maybe you'd give us something we could
sell."

"For that lame Jordan and his mother?" repeated Mr. Gobert. "Do you
mean to tell me they need help? Is Mrs. Jordan sick?"

"She has rheumatism in her hands," said Bobby earnestly. "And she's so
old and slow lots of folks don't have her wash any more. She's chopped
down all the fence to build a fire with. And she doesn't want to put
Paul in a home."

"Well, well," Mr. Gobert stared at Bobby thoughtfully. "So you're
going to help her out by giving a fair, are you? Where's it going to
be? Can I come?"

"At our house. Three weeks from Saturday," answered Bobby, wishing his
committee would back him up with a few words and not stand by with
their mouths and eyes so wide open. "We're going to have a play, too."

"I'm busy Saturday afternoons," said Mr. Gobert regretfully, "but I'll
send Mrs. Gobert up to buy something. Now I wonder what I have you
would like? How about a couple of nice penknives?"