| The Pool Table Page 3 |
| Just then, a lady sporting full G.G.H.H. attire entered the room. With twinkling blue eyes, rosy dimpled cheeks, and a cloud of silvery hair topped by a little lemon-coloured tam, and the helping hands emblem emblazoned across her motherly bosom, she smacked of homemade cookies, fresh bread, and—generosity. "Well, boys, what you all up to tonight?" she asked. "Planning a fundraiser for a new pool table, Lucy," answered Jake. "Goodness sakes! Now, that’s quite an undertaking for you boys," Lucy said, beaming at one and all. "Wha’d you come up with?" "Ahhh . . . nothing yet. Haven’t had time to get our thinking caps on. Just getting warmed up." Jake cleared his throat and roused Gavin, who was nodding off over his glass. "Now then, boys, where were we?" he asked importantly. Lucy, sensing her dismissal, waved a cherry good-bye and said, "If you need any help, Jake, let me know. I know the G.G.H.H. is only the female half of the club and we’re still new, but we’re pretty good at fundraising." "Thanks, Lucy," came the booming chorus from the BS table. "And," added Jake, graciously, "if we do need any help, Lucy, I promise, we’ll call on you." Then Jake decided it was time for another round—to think on. All hands agreed. And Gord said it was the best idea he’d heard all night. The meeting continued for another couple of hours with many suggestions, a few minor spats, and sufficient refreshment to aid the thinking. By the time Carmel called last call, there’d been much progress. And except for Gavin, who’d succumbed to the effects of his asthma medication, and was snoring loudly, a great time was had by all. Seeing as how the meeting has gone so well, they agreed to meet again next week—to settle the final plans. Shaking hands all around and thumping each other on the back, the pool table committee departed the club in high spirits. For the next three weeks, the meetings continued. They were extremely well-attended, with new faces and new ideas weekly. Bessie Borden, ever attuned to the latest happenings at the Grumblin’ Gut Club, attended every one, offering much helpful advice. And every Wednesday evening—like clockwork—Lucy, being president of the G.G.H.H., popped down from upstairs. She always offered her help, if it was needed. But it never was. The BS table boys had things well under control. At the end of the fourth meeting, the committee reached a decision. They’d hold a giant garage sale, with every man agreeing to bring something from all the junk that had been collecting in basements and garages for years. "What are you gonna bring, Gavin?" asked Bessie, who’d enjoyed every minute of every meeting. Gavin lifted his head and squinted across the room at Bessie, sifting optimistically through a pile of discarded Nevada tickets. She looked a bit on the blurry side to him, and he wasn’t exactly sure what she meant. "What am I gonna bring? Well, now lemme see. I’m gonna bring . . . bring . . . whatever Carmel tells me to bring!" Looking embarrassed but relieved, Carmel said, "Don’t worry, boys; Gavin won’t let you down. He’s got dozens of fishing rods just sitting out there collecting dust . . ." "Fishin’ rods?" said Gavin, his bewildered face suddenly losing some of its high colour. "What about my fishin’ rods?" "Meeting adjourned!" Jake announced, bringing his steel measuring tape down with a final resounding crash. The chairs were pushed back reluctantly, and the pool table committee—ecstatic at having come to a final decision—prepared to leave. Then, in strolled Lucy with her usual goodwill smile, followed by Mavis and the rest of the G.G.H.H. members. Tonight however, the twinkle in Lucy’s eye seemed just a little brighter, the roses in her cheeks a little rosier, and the lilt in her voice just a little cheerier. Fastening kindly eyes on Jake, she smiled indulgently. "Jake," she said, "I know you and the boys worked awful hard coming up with ideas. But the ladies and I raised a fair bit for our Helping Hands projects. And since we’ve got a bit left over, and we all agree you got a dandy club here, I’d like to present to you—on behalf of the G.G.H.H.—a cheque for two thousand dollars for a new pool table." Ignoring Jake’s astonished protests, and unaware of the boys’ abject disappointment at seeing their plans dissolve like fog being chased by August sunshine, Lucy presented the cheque to Jake with a proud little flourish. Then she added, "And all the money you raise from your own efforts—a tidy little sum I’m sure—can go toward an equally good cause." In the sudden quiet, you could have heard a tear fall. Then Bessie’s voice broke the silence. "Heee, heee, heee, Lucy, I always said there wuz no flies on you." |
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