“Let’s pump Pump about how old he is!” said Emil Wengert.
“No, let’s paddle him with a dancing-pump!” said Ben Berkey.
But it was Babbitt who had the applause, with “Don’t talk about pumps to that guy! The only pump he knows is a bottle! Honest, they tell me he’s starting a class in home-brewing at the ole college!”
At each place was the Boosters’ Club booklet, listing the members. Though the object of the club was good-fellowship, yet they never lost sight of the importance of doing a little more business. After each name was the member’s occupation. There were scores of advertisements in the booklet, and on one page the admonition: “There’s no rule that you have to trade with your Fellow Boosters, but get wise, boy—what’s the use of letting all this good money get outside of our happy fambly?” And at each place, to-day, there was a present; a card printed in artistic red and black:
SERVICE AND BOOSTERISM
Service finds its finest opportunity and development only in its broadest and deepest application and the consideration of its perpetual action upon reaction. I believe the highest type of Service, like the most progressive tenets of ethics, senses unceasingly and is motived by active adherence and loyalty to that which is the essential principle of Boosterism—Good Citizenship in all its factors and aspects.
Compliments of Dadbury Petersen Advertising Corp.
“Ads, not Fads, at Dad’s”
The Boosters all read Mr. Peterson’s aphorism and said they understood it perfectly.
The meeting opened with the regular weekly “stunts.” Retiring President Vergil Gunch was in the chair, his stiff hair like a hedge, his voice like a brazen gong of festival. Members who had brought guests introduced them publicly. “This tall red-headed piece of misinformation is the sporting editor of the Press,” said Willis Ijams; and H. H. Hazen, the druggist, chanted, “Boys, when you’re on a long motor tour and finally get to a romantic spot or scene and draw up and remark to the wife, ‘This is certainly a romantic place,’ it sends a glow right up and down your vertebrae. Well, my guest to-day is from such a place, Harper’s Ferry, Virginia, in the beautiful Southland, with memories of good old General Robert E. Lee and of that brave soul, John Brown who, like every good Booster, goes marching on—”
There were two especially distinguished guests: the leading man of the “Bird of Paradise” company, playing this week at the Dodsworth Theater, and the mayor of Zenith, the Hon. Lucas Prout.
Vergil Gunch thundered, “When we manage to grab this celebrated Thespian off his lovely aggregation of beautiful actresses—and I got to admit I butted right into his dressing-room and told him how the Boosters appreciated the high-class artistic performance he’s giving us—and don’t forget that the treasurer of the Dodsworth is a Booster and will appreciate our patronage—and when on top of that we yank Hizzonor out of his multifarious duties at City Hall, then I feel we’ve done ourselves proud, and Mr. Prout will now say a few words about the problems and duties—”