“True,” says I, attentive. “Even a woman can take in that much, Silas, if you put it right before her, and lead her up to it, and point it out to her and,” says I, warming up to it, “put blinders on her so’s not to distract her attention from the real fact in hand.” “What you talking?” says Silas. “I never saw a woman yet that could keep on any one subject no more than a balloon. Well, now, what I thought was this: I thought I’d up and go around with a paper, and see how much everybody’d give, and we’d open an Evening Club somewheres, for the employees--folks’s old furniture and magazines and books and some games--and give ’em a nice time. Here,” says Silas, producing a paper from behind the cheese, “I’ve gone into this thing to the tune of Fifty Dollars. Fifty Dollars. And I thought,” says he direct, “that you that’s always so interested in doing things for folks, might put your own name down, and might see some of the other ladies too. And I could report it to our Commercial club meeting next Friday night. _After_ the business session.” I looked at him, meditative. “If it’s all the same to you, Silas,” I says, “I’ll take this paper and go round and see some of these sixty-one women and girls, instead.” Silas kind of raised up his whole face and left his chin hanging, idle. “See them women and girls?” says he, some resembling a shout. “What have they got to do with it, I’d like to know?” “Oh,” says I, “ain’t it some their club too, Silas? I thought the whole thing was on their account.” Silas used his face like he’d run a draw string down it. “Women,” he says, “dum women. Their minds ain’t any more logical than--than floor-sweepings with the door open. Didn’t I just tell you that the thing was going to be done for the benefit of Friendship Village and to keep them folks interested in it?” “Well, but,” I says, “ain’t them folks some Friendship Village too?” “What’s that got to do with it?” shouts Silas. “Of course they are. Of course we want to help ’em. But _they_ ain’t got anything to do with it. All they got to do with it is to be helped!” “Is it!” I says. “Is that all, Silas?” And while he was a-gathering himself up to reply, I picked up the subscription paper. “It can’t do ’em no harm,” I says, “to tell ’em about this. Then if any of ’em is thinking of leaving, it may hold on to ’em till we get a start. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll just run around and see ’em to-day. Mebbe they might help--who knows?” “You’ll bawl the whole thing up,” says Silas. “I wish’t I’d kep’ my mouth shut.” “Well,” I says, “you’d ought to know by this time that I ain’t any great hand to do things _for_ folks, Silas. I like to do ’em _with_ ’em.” Silas was starting in to wave both arms when somebody come in for black molasses. And he says to me: “Well, go on ahead. You’ll roon my whole idea--but go on ahead and see how little hurt you can do. I’ve got to have some lady-help from somewheres,” says he, frank.