The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Underpup, by I. A. R. Wylie
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: The Underpup
Author: I. A. R. Wylie
Release Date: July 20, 2010 [EBook #33212]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNDERPUP ***
Produced by Jan MacGillivray
THE UNDERPUP
By
I. A. R. Wylie
The Penguins were always breaking out with something. Miss Thornton,
who had run Camp Happy Warriors for years and still believed there was
good in everyone, said it was merely their age. The Penguins were
older than the Peewits, who still trailed attenuated clouds of glory;
and were younger than the Pelicans, who were beginning to talk
mysteriously about Life, Beaux, and Parties--things so far removed
from the Peewits that they weren't even interested, but near enough to
the Penguins to exasperate them into having marvelous ideas of their
own.
So the Penguins were wonderfully set up when they first realized that
they had a Social Conscience. They felt that even Priscilla ("Prissy")
Adams, their counselor, who generally thought their ideas dreadful,
would have to admit that a Social Conscience was a good idea.
Clara VanSittart had brought it to camp with her, just as the previous
summer she had brought the first pair of white mice. Clara was a fat,
earnest child with spectacles, who would one day be chairman of a
Women's Club. Her mother, who was several chairmen already, had
discovered the Poor that winter--rather to their consternation--so
that Clara knew that at the very moment when the Penguins were sitting
round their campfire, surrounded by trees and stars and lakes, and
faintly nauseated with toasted marshmallows, there were poor,
half-starved children literally gasping for air in New York City's
crowded, stifling streets. There was even a place called Hell's
Kitchen, it was so hot and awful. Clara knew all the best words like
"underprivileged," and by the time the last marshmallow had been drawn
from its prong the Penguins were in tears.
"But it's no use just crying," little Janet Cooper said. She was
usually so afraid of everyone, including herself, that they all stared
at her. "We ought to _do_ something," she said. And dived back into
the shadow like an alarmed young tadpole.
No one had ever accused the Penguins of inertia. They proceeded at
once to do something. And the counselors wished afterward that it had
been white mice again.
* * * * *
Thus it came about that one April morning the following year Pip-Emma
Binns sat at her desk by the classroom window and wrote an English
composition called "Trees." Or rather she was not writing. She was
chewing bits out of a wooden pen-holder and balefully regarding the
back of Vittoria Emanuella Perozzi, the class' champion essayist.
Vittoria used words which Miss Perkins called metaphors and similes
and which Pip-Emma called baloney. If a person looked white, why not
just say so? Why bring in sheets? However, Miss Perkins thought a lot
of that sort of thing, and so, no doubt, would the dames who were
giving a prize of two months' vacation in some swell kids' camp for
the best description of trees.
What did a tree look like? In Pip-Emma's opinion it looked like a
tree. But she knew that wouldn't get her anywhere--certainly not to
Camp Happy Warriors, where Pop and Ma were hell-bent on her going. She
pulled her dark brows together. She wiped an inky hand over her black
hair drawn back into a short defiant pigtail. Then inspiration struck
her, too. Very carefully she wrote two sentences. "I can't describe
trees. I haven't seen any." And signed it Emma Binns.
It was like a metaphor. It wasn't true. It was baloney. But to Mrs.
VanSittart and her committee it was just too heart-rending. No trees.
Poor little Emma Binns! As for Vittoria Emanuella Perozzi, she had
evidently seen so many trees so often and so beautifully that, in the
committee's opinion, there was no urgent need for her to see any more
of them.
* * * * *
The Happy Warriors were gathered with their counselors and under their
respective banners in Grand Central Terminal, and Clara VanSittart
inspected the Penguins like a colonel inspecting a regiment before
battle. She gave last orders. After all, the Social Conscience had
been her idea, and it had to go over with a bang so that even the
Pelicans would be impressed.
"Every Penguin," she said, "must remember to be kind. The poor kid
won't be able to do the things we do, and I guess she'll do a lot we
don't. But you're not to look s'perior or call her down so as to hurt
her feelings. We've got to remember we'd be like her if we didn't
belong to the Privileged Classes." It was a prepared speech and had
more than a suggestion of Mrs. VanSittart's firm handling of
committees. "And don't laugh at her mother," Clara concluded. "She's
sure to be pretty awful."
As it happened, Mrs. Binns, who went out as daily help, had no time to
go running round after a lot of queer-sounding birds. She'd given
Pip-Emma's new middy costume a final admonitory twitch. "And mind you
behave like a lady," she'd said, swallowing her tears, "or I'll sock
you."
Mr. Binns, who might have been heavyweight champion of the world if he
hadn't busted his hand early in life on the skull of a certain Black
Bruiser, drove Emma to the station in the cab of his truck. "Keep yer
chin covered, Pip," he said, grinning, "and don't pull your punches."
Pip-Emma, staggering through the unfamiliar immensities of Grand
Central under the weight of her suitcase, felt sickish. She hated
leaving Pop and Ma. She loathed being a Penguin. She'd seen a penguin
once at the zoo, and she'd seen no sense in it. She despised her
costume. It would take weeks to live down the jeers and cheers which
had greeted and pursued it to the end of 45th Street on Eighth. She
hated leaving the Gang. It was her Gang. She ruled it with despotic
efficiency. In fact, when she and Clara VanSittart, introduced by a
worried Prissy Adams, shook hands, two born chairmen unconsciously
locked horns.
Clara said, "How d'you do?"
And Pip-Emma said, "I'm fine."
It was one of those social blunders that Clara had foreseen and that
had better be dealt with at once. Clara said kindly: "I'm so glad
you're fine. But I didn't really want to know, you know."
"Why not?" Pip-Emma asked.
In the perceptible silence a Peewit was heard to titter, and the
outrageous sound startled Clara out of her poise. She said, "Just
because I don't," quite rudely.
And Pip-Emma, remembering Pop and Ma, retorted that it was dumb to ask
questions if you didn't want to know the answers.
It was a short but sharp encounter--Mr. Binns would have described it
as a feint with the left followed by a nice right to the jaw. Clara
VanSittart had a blinking, winded look, and all the Penguins said,
"How d'you do?" as though they couldn't help themselves.
Only little Janet added very timidly, "I hope you'll have a swell
time."
And Pip-Emma said, "Sure," much too much as though she were sure.
But she stayed right by Janet. If you find yourself among a bunch of
strange kids, you gotta get yourself a Gang. You gotta pick out some
poor mutts that don't know how to hold their end up and sock anyone
who jumps on 'em. Then they're your Gang. Pip-Emma knew on sight that
Janet couldn't hold her end up to save her neck, and that sooner or
later she, Pip-Emma, would have to sock the fat girl in the eye.
Clara VanSittart did not know this. She sat next to Emma Binns in the
Pullman, determined, without heat or anger, to explain Social Usages
and Camp Customs. But Pip-Emma did not seem to want to listen. From
her middy pocket she had produced three small sea shells and a tiny
flexible rubber ball, and she was doing things with them on the back
of her suitcase. It was Mr. Binns' favorite method of getting himself
a free drink, and Pip-Emma was no slouch herself. Also if you're
getting a Gang, you don't run after it. You let it come to you. If
kids saw you up to something they didn't understand, they flocked
round like a bunch of hungry sparrows. Gradually the Penguins' excited
chatter died down. They were watching her. They were beginning to
flock. Pip-Emma knew without looking at them. There was a lot Pip-Emma
knew, though she didn't always know she knew it.
"I don't see what you're doing," Clara said fretfully. "What is it? A
game?"
"Sure. I put the ball under one of the shells--like that--and you bet
where it is."
"All right. I bet. It's there."
"But you haven't betted anything."
Clara blushed hotly. As a well-bred Penguin, she found it impossible
to explain that all the Penguins had sacrificed their first week's
pocket money to the maintenance of Emma and their Social Conscience.
"I can't. I--I haven't anything."
"You gotta bead necklace."
"All right. I bet it."
It was incredible. Her eyes had deceived her. Pip-Emma took the
necklace. Other Penguins, shocked at their leader's failure and
convinced of their own right-sightedness, backed their guesses with
small gold rings and other detachable possessions. Janet Cooper, who
hadn't anything else, bet her Penguin Badge, which was like pledging
the family Bible. But, as it happened, Janet won. She was the only
winner. Pip-Emma nodded approval of her.
"You're not such a dumb cluck," she said.
Some Peewits, perched respectfully on the outskirts, burst into
disrespectful squeaks, and the Penguins refused to meet one another's
eyes. At that moment Prissy bore down on them. She was kind but firm.
"What a clever trick, Emma! But it is a trick, isn't it? It wouldn't
be quite fair to bet about it, would it? Besides, Happy Warriors don't
bet."
Pip-Emma handed back her winnings. She was thoughtful and deliberate.
She made no protest. But the Pullman, usually the scene of such happy
tumult, sank into an oppressive silence.
* * * * *
But on the bus ride from the station to the Camp the Penguins began to
preen their damp feathers. They loved the Camp. They were proud of the
big dining room built like a woodman's cabin and the open sleeping
tents circled with military precision round the campfires. They were
proud of themselves. They got up to the bugle on the coldest mornings
and made their beds and fetched water and built fires. They were
strong and brave, as Happy Warriors should be. When Emma Binns saw how
wonderful it all was and what a fine bunch they were, she'd feel
pretty small. And they'd have to be awfully nice to her and not rub
things in.
So they felt better and began to sing. And the twins, Pauline and
Claudine Bennett, bounced joyfully in their seats.
It was Pip-Emma's longest journey. She was getting tired and homesick.
She'd never been homesick before. It was like toothache in the wrong
place. Right now Pop and Ma would be sitting down to Ma's special
steak and onions. Afterward, it being Saturday, they'd go to an early
show at the movies and finish up with a Pineapple Temptation or maybe
a Banana Royal at Hader's drugstore. They'd be feeling pretty mean,
too. They hadn't really wanted her to go. They'd wanted her to have a
swell time and live like the rich kids did, with butlers waiting on
you behind your chair and maybe breakfast brought you on a tray, like
in the movies. Because one day Pip-Emma, who was smart as a whip, was
going places, so she'd better know how things were done before she got
there.
The Gang would be out now in force. Pip-Emma's heart contracted. Maybe
they were missing her. Maybe, though, if she sent them post cards
showing the swell way she was living, they'd be kinda sunk. She'd tell
'em she had a Gang of her own already and that they were swell kids.
They weren't, of course. She looked them over gloomily. Sissies. Just
to look at their nails was enough. As to her Gang, it consisted for
the moment of one pale small kid who jumped if you spoke to her.
The station bus swung round a curve.
"There!" the Penguins shrieked together. And they all looked at Emma.
"There!" they said.
Pip-Emma looked.
"It's our Camp," Janet explained in her thin high voice. "There's the
lake. And that's our dining hall. And there, among the trees, is the
Penguin Circle, where we sleep."
Emma said nothing. It was as though, at the wave of a wicked wand,
Roxy's and all its ushers had been bewitched into ruins and rags. And
it was more than Emma, at that moment, could bear. Her sharp, sallow
little face puckered. To the Penguins' consternation, she burst into a
storm of tears.
Before supper Clara VanSittart summoned the Penguins to a hasty
powwow. They drew Prissy into it, the situation being beyond them.
"P'raps it was the trees upset her," Janet hazarded. "You know, she's
never seen any."
The twins shook their heads. "It wasn't the trees. When we showed her
our tent, she said her uncle slept in a place like that."
"What's her uncle?" the Penguins demanded indignantly.
"He's a W.P.A. worker," the twins said in unison, "and he's helping
build a post office somewhere. She said there weren't any houses, so
they had to live in tents."
Clara VanSittart drew a shocked breath. The truth was obvious. To Emma
Binns their Camp was just a camp. When she heard that she'd have to
make her bed, light fires, and wash dishes, she'd write home. She'd
tell her people--probably dreadful people--that that was how the
VanSittarts lived.
Clara took a firm lead. She proposed at once that Emma Binns should
not make beds. When the time came, she was to be led away to some
remote spot while the Penguins made hers and did her share of the
chores. Clara explained that bed making was the sort of thing that
poor Emma probably had to do at home. It wasn't a treat. And maybe she
was underfed. She didn't look very strong. It was their duty,
belonging as they did to the Privileged Classes, to make Sacrifices.
It was a simple supper, nourishing but Spartan. When Pip-Emma, seated
at the Penguin table, thought of the Pineapple Temptation Ma might be
eating at that very moment, her gloom deepened. But she wasn't going
to cry again. Not if she had to bite her tongue out. She'd never cried
like that before in her life.
The Penguins suddenly burst into song:
"We are the happy Penguins--
We play without a care;
We don't worry who wins the game,
So long as we play fair!"
At that moment every Penguin was stricken by the same thought. The
memory of their unpaid gambling debts rose in their midst like a
reproachful specter. Their song wavered and sank to silence.
From her point of vantage at the Pelican table Miss Thornton viewed
them anxiously. "The Penguins seem depressed," she said. "Is anything
the matter?"
"I guess it's their Social Conscience," Prissy Adams said grimly,
"getting the better of them."
After taps Clara VanSittart laid a packet on Emma's cot. She had no
business to be talking at all. And it was almost another speech.
"We feel," she concluded, "that Prissy didn't understand."
In tense silence Emma undid the parcel. It contained her legitimate
winnings. She didn't want their darned old beads, but she wrapped the
things up again and slipped them under her pillow. "O.K.," she said.
The Penguins crept into their beds. They had made a noble gesture.
They had cleared their consciences. But for some reason or other they
slept badly.
* * * * *
The Penguins followed each other on the springboard in rapid
succession. They performed every dive they knew and some they didn't,
with an almost desperate fervor. And after each feat they turned
anxious faces to the small figure in the cheap black bathing suit
perched on the landing stage, its face between its fists, like a
Gothic imp peering down malevolently on the world from a cathedral
buttress. But in fact Pip-Emma wasn't even looking at them. She was
worrying about Pop and Ma and the Gang.
Prissy Adams climbed out of the water and stood beside her. "Don't you
want to go in, too, Emma?" she said. "Don't you want to learn to
swim?"
"Nope," Pip-Emma said. "It's cold, and I'm scared."
"Of course you're not," Prissy said. "Happy Warriors are never
scared," she said with a brightness that she hoped wouldn't become a
habit.
"I ain't a Happy Warrior," Emma said. "And I'm scared."
"But supposing someone were drowning, wouldn't you want to be able to
save them?"
"We don't drown down our way," Pip-Emma retorted bleakly. "We ain't
got no water."
It was almost as pathetic as the absence of trees. And, as a
statement, much more accurate. Except on hot summer nights when
good-natured street cleaners turned their hoses on the ecstatically
squealing Gang, there was no water. Pip-Emma, remembering those
glorious occasions, hunched herself dismally, and the defeated Prissy
strode on her way. At the same moment Janet bobbed up from among the
woodpiles.
"Gee, that was swell of you, Emma!"
Pip-Emma peered down. "What was?"
"Saying you were scared. I'm always scared. But I'd be too scared to
tell anyone."
Pip-Emma stretched out a skinny arm and pulled Janet up beside her.
"What you scared of?"
"'Most everything."
"Why?"
Janet sighed. "It's something wrong with me. The doctors say
it's--it's a complex. An in--inferiority complex."
"What's that?"
"It's a thing you get, like measles."
Pip-Emma looked at Janet dubiously. "I don't see no spots."
"You don't have spots. You just feel mean. You want dreadfully to do
things. But you know you can't. So you don't."
"What things?"
"Well, like the swimming race next Saturday. Mummy and Dad are coming
up for it. Prissy says I could win the Penguin Trophy if I didn't have
my complex. But Clara knows she's going to win. So she will. She
hasn't got any complex. She just overeats."
They sat side by side in melancholy silence. But Pip-Emma's misplaced
toothache was easing off. Janet might not be the Gang. But she
belonged to Emma. Ever since Emma had said she wasn't a dumb cluck
she'd followed Emma round like a little lost dog that had been found.
If anyone belonged to you like that, you had to look out for them.
"I wish my Pop and Ma were coming up," Pip-Emma said suddenly.
"Why? Are you homesick, too, Emma?"
"I dunno. I want Pop and Ma."
"It's no good wanting, is it?"
"Well, you've got yours, haven't you?"
"Not really. Not together. I mean--they don't live together."
"Why not?"
"They don't have to. Dad's got a place in Florida and Long Island and
Maine and New York. So when they quarrel, they just go off. Different
places. And I can't be with either of them because the other won't let
me," Janet choked. "I guess they'll quarrel Saturday," she said.
"Gee, that's tough." Pip-Emma gave a small hoarse chuckle. "Pop and Ma
get mad sometimes. But Ma says, 'You old son-of-a-gun, I guess I
gotter live with you and like it.' And Pop says, 'I like it fine, you
old so-and-so.' And he takes us out and gives us a sundae at the
drugstore. Ma says you can't stay mad in two rooms."
"I wish we lived in two rooms," Janet said.
Pip-Emma knitted her black brows. "Maybe," she said, "you might tell
'em so."
"I'd be too scared."
But Pip-Emma was after her thought like a terrier after an elusive
rabbit. "If my Pop and Ma were here, I'd jump into their darned old
water. I wouldn't care how cold it was. I wouldn't be scared. Maybe if
your Pop and Ma are along, you'll win the race, and then you'll never
be scared again."
"But I shan't win it. I'll lose my breath like I always do. And
Clara's so fat. She just has to float."
"Maybe if she was sick--if she eats something--"
"She can't. Prissy's got her on a diet. She's Prissy's pet."
Pip-Emma put her arm over Janet's shoulder. It was an accolade, and
Janet knew it.
"Gee--you poor kid!" Pip-Emma said, and relapsed into deep thought
again.
The two wandered off the landing stage together. Outside the gameroom
Claudine was writing up a notice on the blackboard. The twins went to
a progressive school where you learned spelling only if you felt the
urge. The twins had never felt it.
"You don't spell Saturday with an 'a' in the middle," Pip-Emma said.
A hot and flustered twin rubbed out the word with a lofty air of
apprehended carelessness, and Pip-Emma wrote it in for her.
"If I spelled like you do," she said, "old Perks would give me hell."
* * * * *
The harassed Penguins pinned one of their last hopes on horses. It
seemed probable that if Pip-Emma had never seen any trees, she had
never seen horses, either--or only from a distance--and that she would
be impressed. But it turned out that Pip-Emma's uncle had a horse--not
the W.P.A. uncle but the mounted-cop uncle--and that it was a bigger
and better horse than anything in the Camp stables. Pip-Emma had
actually ridden it from Ninth to Tenth Avenue. Moreover her uncle had
chased Squint-Eyed Peters down Forty-fifth Street and shot him and his
armored car so full of holes that it was hardly worth while cleaning
them up. Pip-Emma told the story after taps and in such gory detail
that the Penguins didn't know or care that discipline was going to the
dogs.
They learned at the same time that Mr. Binns, in his unregenerate
youth, had been an Englishman and had fought in the Great War and that
Emma's name was Pip because in English soldier language Pip-Emma meant
anything that happened after midday. And Emma had happened in Hell's
Kitchen at 3:30.
The Penguins sat up in their beds and listened spellbound. The glamour
surrounding Wall Street, Big Business, and the kind but stoutish and
baldish gentlemen who were their fathers was suffering an acute
depression. The prospect of their fathers' appearance on Saturday and
of Pip-Emma's dispassionate appraisal filled the Penguins with
uneasiness.
Things had come to such a pass that when on Friday evening, after the
Camp singsong, Clara felt Emma's arm slip through hers, the VanSittart
pride positively glowed. It was the first time that Pip-Emma had
seemed to notice Clara--which was a humiliation in itself, seeing that
Pip-Emma was really Clara's own idea. And Clara, thanks to Prissy's
training diet, was low in her mind anyway.
"Guess what I've found!" Pip-Emma whispered.
But of course Clara couldn't guess anything.
"I've found where they've got all tomorrow's ice cream. Buckets and
buckets of it."
Clara, as top Penguin, wavered. Some lingering Penguin rectitude still
glowed in her, but only faintly. After all, she was hungry. She was
being starved to death. And no one cared. Only Emma Binns seemed to
know what she was suffering.
"Dare you!" Pip-Emma said.
It was Clara's chance. Now she could show the stuff in her. Being born
on Park Avenue didn't mean necessarily that you were a dumb cluck. She
let Pip-Emma lead her by devious paths through the deserted kitchen.
Then to the huge icebox. And there it was--buckets and buckets!
Clara's first handful didn't even make a dent.
"I bet I can eat more than you can," Pip-Emma said.
At breakfast the next morning Miss Thornton made an unusual
appearance. She was grave and even troubled.
"Children, a serious thing has happened. Last night someone must have
broken all our Camp rules. Someone opened the icebox and ate several
pints of our ice cream. I hope--I'm sure--the culprit will stand up at
once and not spoil our happy day for us."
Pip-Emma stood up at once. "It was me, Miss Thornton."
"But, Emma, dear, why? Didn't you have enough to eat? Were you
hungry?"
Pip-Emma said simply and bravely, "I guess I'm always hungry."
Miss Thornton felt the sudden tears come into her throat. Poor little
Emma Binns! No trees. Never enough to eat. And not without a forlorn
charm. Prissy Adams, who had caught a glimpse of Clara's greenish
countenance, remained grim and unmoved.
"Dear child, you should have told me. Come to my tent afterward. We
can talk it over. Meantime it was fine and brave of you to tell the
truth. It shows that you are a real Penguin--" she gave her warm,
beloved chuckle--"almost, but not quite, perfect."
Everyone laughed and cheered except the Penguins, who for some unknown
reason sank into the profoundest gloom. Clara VanSittart had left the
table hurriedly.
* * * * *
Pip-Emma peeked out of the tent. The Penguin Circle was near the lake,
and she could see the parents, looking better from a distance, lined
up on benches along the water's edge. She could pick out Janet's
parents because they were younger than the others. They didn't seem to
be quarreling. They didn't seem even to be speaking to each other.
"O.K.," Pip-Emma said. She walked beside Janet like a trainer. She
gave last instructions. Everyone knew Janet was her Gang. So Janet,
who had never won anything, had to win. It was Prissy's opinion that
if Janet did win, the Penguins, as a class, were licked. She said
sharply to Clara,
"If you feel as bad as you look, you'd better throw up the sponge."
It was an unfortunate suggestion. Clara gulped. But she was game. The
prestige of the Penguins, the VanSittarts--one might say the whole
Social Register--was in her hands. She mumbled, "I'm a' right," and
slid with a smothered moan into the water.
Mr. and Mrs. Cooper waved dutifully to Janet. In her white cap and
bathing suit she looked like a pet white mouse in charge of a dark and
aggressive field mouse. Both parents had the same thought, with one
small but important variation: "If he (she) had made a decent home for
the poor child, she might have amounted to something."
"How's the little old complex?" Pip-Emma asked.
"I--I don't know, Pip. I think it's all right."
"Don't think about it. You ain't got it, see? So you're going to win.
'Cause you swim better than any of 'em. You just got to know it, and
you'll be fine."
"Honest, Pip-Emma?"
"Honest."
From the water Janet looked up with adoration in her eyes. "I'll try."
"Sure. I got my shirt on you, kid."
Janet paddled to the starting line. It was true that she swam better
than the others. She'd learned all the strokes from the best teachers.
But it hadn't seemed to help. Everyone knew that anyone could beat
Janet Cooper. Now Pip-Emma believed that she was going to win. She'd
put her shirt on her. Janet watched the flag. She kept her heart
steady, saying to herself, "Pip-Emma's shirt--Pip-Emma's shirt--"
Mr. Cooper looked away as the flag dropped. He couldn't have said why,
except that he hated to see the poor little runt left at the post.
Gosh, hadn't they fed her every vitamin on God's green earth? He had a
dim notion that the dark field mouse had flashed past in front of him
yelling like an Indian and that he had a sharp pain in his arm. Mrs.
Cooper had pinched him savagely.
"Look!" she said.
Mr. Cooper looked. It was worth looking at. The white cap was level
with the leader--it was drawing ahead--smoothly, with clean, rhythmic
strokes. The green cap made a game spurt. Probably those last five
yards were the bravest effort of Clara VanSittart's life. But
everything was against her--ice cream, conscience, and Pip-Emma. She
lost her stroke, took a mouthful of lake, and foundered. The watchful
Prissy in the motorboat hauled her in like a drowning puppy. The rest
of the entry, consternated, gave up the struggle. They were up against
the imponderable--sheer inspiration. Pip-Emma's Gang flashed past the
winning flag like a silver fish.
The Penguins cheered. Their pride, their self-esteem, had foundered
with their leader. But honorable Camp tradition demanded that they
should cheer. Pip-Emma collapsed breathless. She saw Janet climb out
of the water and her Pop and Ma go to meet her, trying to look as
though they weren't fit to burst. Janet threw her wet arms about them
both, and then the three of them turned toward the tents, Janet
walking in the middle. She walked differently. She had her head up and
was swinging her cap and talking hard, like someone accustomed to
being listened to.
Pip-Emma stood up. Alone and hidden by the trees, she performed an
exultant war dance. She did not know it. But it was Hell's Kitchen
dancing on Park Avenue.
* * * * *
To celebrate Miss Thornton's birthday the Happy Warriors went on a two
days' hike. The Peewits camped on the other side of the Lake, which
gave them the illusion they had hiked an enormous distance. The
Penguins were to climb the Little Mountain, and the Pelicans the Big
Mountain. Miss Thornton stayed in camp. Having been wakened at the
crack of dawn by eager voices singing "Happy birthday, Miss Thornton,"
she felt justified.
At the last moment one of the Penguin counselors went down with a
cold, and Prissy had to take on the Penguins single-handed. Ordinarily
she wouldn't have cared. The Penguins, as campers, were almost
annoyingly efficient. But they were in bad shape. Their morale was
shot to pieces. They had lost faith. They weren't even sure whether
they liked hiking, or the Camp, or one another, or themselves. They
watched Pip-Emma and wondered anxiously what she thought.
Pip-Emma wouldn't have told them for the world. In fact she didn't
really know. But as she climbed up through the cool shadows of the
forest, with Janet tagging at her heels, something happened. It was as
though she really were seeing trees for the first time. They weren't
the dusty, forlorn exiles she had known in Central Park. They weren't
even the sheltering, friendly Camp trees. They were free and proud. It
was terribly exciting to come out suddenly on an open space and look
down on them brandishing their branches in the wind like the spears of
a great army.
And when at midday the Penguins built a fire and cooked sausages and
bacon over the embers, that was fun. Pip-Emma felt that even Ma would
think it fun to cook under trees. One day when Pip-Emma was rich and
famous, she'd bring Pop and Ma up here and show them how. Pride in
herself as a woodsman who knew where you should build a fire and where
you shouldn't began to kindle in her. When she got back, she'd tell
the Gang. There were a lot of things the Gang didn't know that
Pip-Emma knew now. She'd sit on the stoop of the shabby brownstone
house, with her face between her fists, and tell them: "Then, one day,
we went on a two days' hike. Gee, that was swell!" She wouldn't tell
about her Gang, because it consisted of just one Penguin. And the kids
wouldn't understand.
* * * * *
They began to climb again. But there was a change somewhere. The wind
had died down. They were surrounded by a dense silence. And when they
looked at one another, faintly uneasy, they saw that a thin veil hung
over them. Prissy saw it first. She didn't like it. But just when she
made up her mind that one of the mountain mists was creeping up on
them and that they'd better turn back, she put her foot on a hidden
root and went down as though she'd been shot. The pain was so bad that
she cried out. Only once. Then she set her teeth. But she couldn't get
up.
"It's my ankle," she said quietly. "I guess I've broken it."
The Penguins knew all about splints and first aid. Prissy sat very
white with the sweat running down her cold face. She'd seen Pip-Emma
watching her intently, and not for a king's ransom would she have so
much as groaned. In a sort of way she was glad this had happened.
She'd show Pip-Emma something.
"One of you had better go back to the Camp for help," she said.
And even as she said it she knew that no one must go. The mist was
like a besieging enemy whose scouts having found them defenseless now
bore down on them in full force. They could hardly see one another.
They'd have to stay together till the fog lifted. Sometimes, if the
wind didn't come up, a fog lasted for two days. And their provisions
had been sent ahead to their night's camping place.
"Better build a fire," Prissy said calmly.
She was worried and in bad pain. But she mustn't show it. The fire was
hard to start. The wood was damp, and they'd used all their kindling.
They sat as close as they could get to the sullen, smoky warmth.
Pip-Emma put her arm over Janet's shoulders. Clara sat on her other
side. Clara was shivering a little. Almost unconsciously she and
Pip-Emma edged closer to each other.
They took turns finding wood. Night added black shadows to the
muffling fog. It was getting colder. Pip-Emma had saved one of her
sausages, wrapped greasily in a paper napkin. She'd been hungry
before--that time Pop and Ma had both lost their jobs. There'd been
days and days when Pip-Emma had had this gnawing pain. So it didn't
worry her. But fat old Clara must be feeling real bad. She was always
hungry anyway.
"Here," Pip-Emma said softly.
Clara VanSittart gave one look at the sausage. Then she shut her eyes
tight. "Thanks--I guess I won't, though. The others haven't anything."
Pip-Emma looked at the sausage, too. She glanced anxiously at Janet.
Janet shook her head. So Pip-Emma tossed the sausage over her shoulder
into the forest. It was no good to any of them. One of the twins
grinned at her--a friendly, shy sort of grin. And suddenly Pip-Emma
was sorry.
She was sorry she'd made old Clara sick before the race. After all,
Clara couldn't help being fat and always hungry. She was sorry she'd
taken the kids' beads. Prissy was right--the shell trick was just a
trick. So it wasn't fair. Prissy was a good guy. She had guts; she
could take it.
The twins had put their extra coats over Prissy. There'd been quite a
gay argument about it. Now Prissy leaned exhausted with pain against a
tree, trying to smile at them.
"It's a real adventure," she said.
They nodded and tried to laugh back at her. All the same they were
just kids. They were scared, too, and awfully cold and hungry. They
were fighting back tears. Pip-Emma knew. And suddenly Pip-Emma began
to sing.
"We are the happy Penguins--
We play without a care . . ."
At first they just gaped at her. They couldn't believe their ears.
She'd never sung their songs. She'd made them feel how silly they
were. And now suddenly, joyfully, they understood. Pip-Emma was a
Penguin. She was one of them. And with a sensation like the breaking
of a bad pain Pip-Emma knew, too. They were all her Gang.
The fog-smothered forest rang with their young voices.
* * * * *
Prissy had fallen into a doze, and Janet lay close to her for warmth.
But Clara and Pip-Emma talked softly to each other.
"We gotter do something," Pip-Emma said.
"I bet I could find the way," Clara whispered back, "if you'll come
with me."
"Sure. You bet," Pip-Emma said.
They stood up cautiously. The Penguins roused themselves from their
half-frozen torpor to look at them. Clara made an authoritative
gesture, silencing them. After all, she was still top Penguin.
"We're going for help," she whispered.
The two slipped out of the clearing. They held hands. They knew that
if they let go of each other they would be lost. They had only two
ideas--to keep together and to keep going down, hoping that at the
bottom they'd strike some familiar landmark. It wasn't much of a hope.
They were like blind children, picking their way. Things hit them in
the face and clutched at them. And when they stopped, breathless and
shivering, they heard soft dreadful sounds. Their clothes were torn.
Their hands and faces, though they did not know it, were scratched and
bleeding.
"You awfully scared, Clara?" Pip-Emma asked.
"Not awfully--not with you, Pip."
Hell's Kitchen and Park Avenue pushed on together.
And at daybreak the forest ranger opened the door of his cabin to
them. He and his wife had been up two nights with a sick child, and he
was half-asleep and not at all sure that he wasn't seeing things.
"We're Happy Warriors," Pip-Emma said, "and we're all lost."
It wasn't anyone's fault that the forest ranger's child had the
measles and that the Penguins who had never had the chance to catch
anything went down with it like ninepins. The Penguin Circle was
quarantined, and at night Pip-Emma sat alone by the campfire. The
doctor had said: "She'll be all right. She's been exposed probably to
every germ known to man. She's a survival of the fittest." So Pip-Emma
was allowed to help nurse the Penguins and sit on their beds when they
were convalescing and tell them hair-raising stories of Hell's
Kitchen. She made up some of them. And the adventures of the
mounted-cop uncle grew gorier and gorier. The Penguins seemed to like
them gory.
Little Janet was sicker than any of them. But when Pip-Emma held her
small feverish hand, she'd fall contentedly asleep.
Except for Janet's feeling so bad it was kind of fun. At night
Pip-Emma and one of the Pelicans lighted the Penguin campfire so that
the Penguins in their open tents could see the flames dance. And as
they got better, Pip-Emma would start them singing--"We are the happy
Penguins."
Pip-Emma had a song of her own which she'd learned from Pop, who had
sung it on Salisbury Plain:
"I'm 'Enry the Eighth, I am.
I've 'ad seven wives before,
And I don't mind if I 'ave one more--"
It was a ribald, not very intelligible song. But it had a rousing
chorus. Miss Thornton, in her tent writing reassuring letters to
anxious parents, looked up at Prissy, who was helping in her
wheelchair.
"Is that a Camp song?" she asked.
"No," Prissy said. "But it's all right."
* * * * *
And then came the last night of all. And Pip-Emma sat alone by the
campfire for the last time. Everything was packed and ready. Tomorrow
they were all going home. Tomorrow Pip-Emma would be back with Pop and
Ma and the old Gang. She'd have an awful lot to tell them--about their
Great Adventure, and the Camp powwows and singsongs and marshmallow
feasts. She'd learned some things, too, that she'd have to break to
Pop and Ma very gently--the way you wore your napkin, for instance,
and not picking your teeth, or making noises with your soup.
She'd never see Janet again or Clara or Prissy or Miss Thornton or the
trees or the stars or the lake shining under them. She wasn't going to
cry about it, though.
She was trying so hard not to that she didn't know she wasn't alone
any more. There was a little scuffling sound. She looked up. And there
were the Penguins, all around her, wrapped in their blankets and
looking just like Penguins.
Clara VanSittart was making a speech again. "We want to give you this,
Pip-Emma," she said, "and we hope you'll always wear it."
It was the sacred Penguin Badge.
"Gee, you bet," Pip-Emma said huskily.
They were gone, as quickly, as silently as they had come. It was as
though they knew how Pip-Emma felt.
But little Janet crouched beside her. "Don't cry, Pip."
"I ain't--I'm not crying."
"Yes, you are. I'm crying, too. Listen, Pip. Next year you're to come
back. Miss Thornton says so. 'Cause you're a real Penguin."
"Honest?"
"Honest. And Daddy wrote. He says that was a swell idea about not
staying mad in two rooms. He says you must be a swell kid. You're to
spend the Christmas holidays with us--and p'raps I can stay with you.
Daddy says your Pop and Ma might be able to knock some sense into us
all."
Pip-Emma choked. Janet was holding her hand hard.
"Pip--"
"Yes?"
"We're going to be friends always, aren't we?"
"You bet."
Taps sounded. It was a sad, lonely sound in the night. Pip-Emma stood
up bravely.
"We gotter go in now," she said.
Because, after all, she was coming back next year, and some day she
was going to be top Penguin. So she must keep discipline.
[TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: This etext was produced from Good Housekeeping
magazine, October 1938. This submission was copyright-cleared under
Project Gutenberg's clearance Rule 6. Extensive research did not
uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was
renewed.]
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Underpup, by I. A. R. Wylie
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNDERPUP ***
***** This file should be named 33212.txt or 33212.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
https://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/2/1/33212/
Produced by Jan MacGillivray
Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.
Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.
*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
https://gutenberg.org/license).
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an
individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check
the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked
to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or
distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
that
- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is
owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments
must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License. You must require such a user to return or
destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
Project Gutenberg-tm works.
- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
of receipt of the work.
- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the
Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy
is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at
809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
[email protected]. Email contact links and up to date contact
information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
page at https://pglaf.org
For additional contact information:
Dr. Gregory B. Newby
Chief Executive and Director
[email protected]
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To
SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
particular state visit https://pglaf.org
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
https://www.gutenberg.org
This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
