Chapter: THE International Organization of Boosters' Clubs has become a
world-force for optimism, manly pleasantry, and good business. Chapters
are to be found now in thirty countries. Nine hundred and twenty of the
thousand chapters, however, are in the United States.

None of these is more ardent than the Zenith Boosters' Club.

The second March lunch of the Zenith Boosters was the most important of
the year, as it was to be followed by the annual election of officers.
There was agitation abroad. The lunch was held in the ballroom of the
O'Hearn House. As each of the four hundred Boosters entered he took from
a wall-board a huge celluloid button announcing his name, his nick name,
and his business. There was a fine of ten cents for calling a Fellow
Booster by anything but his nickname at a lunch, and as Babbitt jovially
checked his hat the air was radiant with shouts of "Hello, Chet!" and
"How're you, Shorty!" and "Top o' the mornin', Mac!"

They sat at friendly tables for eight, choosing places by lot. Babbitt
was with Albert Boos the merchant tailor, Hector Seybolt of the Little
Sweetheart Condensed Milk Company, Emil Wengert the jeweler, Professor
Pumphrey of the Riteway Business College, Dr. Walter Gorbutt, Roy
Teegarten the photographer, and Ben Berkey the photo-engraver. One of
the merits of the Boosters' Club was that only two persons from each
department of business were permitted to join, so that you at
once encountered the Ideals of other occupations, and realized the
metaphysical oneness of all occupations--plumbing and portrait-painting,
medicine and the manufacture of chewing-gum.

Babbitt's table was particularly happy to-day, because Professor
Pumphrey had just had a birthday, and was therefore open to teasing.

"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.

DAD PETERSEN.

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--"

By rising vote the Boosters decided which was the handsomest and which
the ugliest guest, and to each of them was given a bunch of carnations,
donated, President Gunch noted, by Brother Booster H. G. Yeager, the
Jennifer Avenue florist.

Each week, in rotation, four Boosters were privileged to obtain the
pleasures of generosity and of publicity by donating goods or services
to four fellow-members, chosen by lot. There was laughter, this week,
when it was announced that one of the contributors was Barnabas Joy, the
undertaker. Everybody whispered, "I can think of a coupla good guys to
be buried if his donation is a free funeral!"

Through all these diversions the Boosters were lunching on chicken
croquettes, peas, fried potatoes, coffee, apple pie, and American
cheese. Gunch did not lump the speeches. Presently he called on the
visiting secretary of the Zenith Rotary Club, a rival organization.
The secretary had the distinction of possessing State Motor Car License
Number 5.

The Rotary secretary laughingly admitted that wherever he drove in the
state so low a number created a sensation, and "though it was pretty
nice to have the honor, yet traffic cops remembered it only too darn
well, and sometimes he didn't know but what he'd almost as soon have
just plain B56,876 or something like that. Only let any doggone Booster
try to get Number 5 away from a live Rotarian next year, and watch the
fur fly! And if they'd permit him, he'd wind up by calling for a cheer
for the Boosters and Rotarians and the Kiwanis all together!"

Babbitt sighed to Professor Pumphrey, "Be pretty nice to have as low a
number as that! Everybody 'd say, 'He must be an important guy!' Wonder
how he got it? I'll bet he wined and dined the superintendent of the
Motor License Bureau to a fare-you-well!"

Then Chum Frink addressed them:

"Some of you may feel that it's out of place here to talk on a strictly
highbrow and artistic subject, but I want to come out flatfooted and
ask you boys to O.K. the proposition of a Symphony Orchestra for Zenith.
Now, where a lot of you make your mistake is in assuming that if you
don't like classical music and all that junk, you ought to oppose it.
Now, I want to confess that, though I'm a literary guy by profession, I
don't care a rap for all this long-haired music. I'd rather listen to a
good jazz band any time than to some piece by Beethoven that hasn't any
more tune to it than a bunch of fighting cats, and you couldn't whistle
it to save your life! But that isn't the point. Culture has become as
necessary an adornment and advertisement for a city to-day as pavements
or bank-clearances. It's Culture, in theaters and art-galleries and so
on, that brings thousands of visitors to New York every year and, to be
frank, for all our splendid attainments we haven't yet got the Culture
of a New York or Chicago or Boston--or at least we don't get the credit
for it. The thing to do then, as a live bunch of go-getters, is to
CAPITALIZE CULTURE; to go right out and grab it.

"Pictures and books are fine for those that have the time to study 'em,
but they don't shoot out on the road and holler 'This is what little
old Zenith can put up in the way of Culture.' That's precisely what
a Symphony Orchestra does do. Look at the credit Minneapolis and
Cincinnati get. An orchestra with first-class musickers and a swell
conductor--and I believe we ought to do the thing up brown and get
one of the highest-paid conductors on the market, providing he ain't a
Hun--it goes right into Beantown and New York and Washington; it plays
at the best theaters to the most cultured and moneyed people; it gives
such class-advertising as a town can get in no other way; and the guy
who is so short-sighted as to crab this orchestra proposition is passing
up the chance to impress the glorious name of Zenith on some big New
York millionaire that might-that might establish a branch factory here!

"I could also go into the fact that for our daughters who show an
interest in highbrow music and may want to teach it, having an A1 local
organization is of great benefit, but let's keep this on a practical
basis, and I call on you good brothers to whoop it up for Culture and a
World-beating Symphony Orchestra!"

They applauded.

To a rustle of excitement President Gunch proclaimed, "Gentlemen, we
will now proceed to the annual election of officers." For each of the
six offices, three candidates had been chosen by a committee. The second
name among the candidates for vice-president was Babbitt's.

He was surprised. He looked self-conscious. His heart pounded. He was
still more agitated when the ballots were counted and Gunch said, "It's
a pleasure to announce that Georgie Babbitt will be the next assistant
gavel-wielder. I know of no man who stands more stanchly for common
sense and enterprise than good old George. Come on, let's give him our
best long yell!"

As they adjourned, a hundred men crushed in to slap his back. He had
never known a higher moment. He drove away in a blur of wonder. He
lunged into his office, chuckling to Miss McGoun, "Well, I guess you
better congratulate your boss! Been elected vice-president of the
Boosters!"

He was disappointed. She answered only, "Yes--Oh, Mrs. Babbitt's been
trying to get you on the 'phone." But the new salesman, Fritz Weilinger,
said, "By golly, chief, say, that's great, that's perfectly great! I'm
tickled to death! Congratulations!"

Babbitt called the house, and crowed to his wife, "Heard you were trying
to get me, Myra. Say, you got to hand it to little Georgie, this time!
Better talk careful! You are now addressing the vice-president of the
Boosters' Club!"

"Oh, Georgie--"

"Pretty nice, huh? Willis Ijams is the new president, but when
he's away, little ole Georgie takes the gavel and whoops 'em up
and introduces the speakers--no matter if they're the governor
himself--and--"

"George! Listen!"

"--It puts him in solid with big men like Doc Dilling and--"

"George! Paul Riesling--"

"Yes, sure, I'll 'phone Paul and let him know about it right away."

"Georgie! LISTEN! Paul's in jail. He shot his wife, he shot Zilla, this
noon. She may not live."

 Babbitt is an active member of the Zenith Boosters' Club, the local chapter of a businessman's organization with thousands of branches in the United States and several foreign countries. At the second weekly club luncheon in March, the annual election of officers is held. To Babbitt's great surprise and joy, he is elected vice-president. That same day, he receives horrifying news. Paul has shot Zilla; he is in jail and she is in the hospital.

