Aggie and Tugs elbowed their way to the coveted outside edge of the start line, where they would be less likely to be bumped off course. Ned and Ralph nudged their way in next to Aggie and Tugs. The high-school track team was in charge of organizing the races for the younger children. The middle Floyd girl walked down the line with a box of fabric strips for tying legs together, while Lester Ward made sure that no one put so much as a toe on the field before the whistle was blown.

“On your mark!” called Lester, but there was a hubbub at the line when three teams on the other end fell onto the field. The track team hurried to stand them upright and move them behind the start line, but then toward the middle of the line, another team went sprawling onto the field.

Tugs craned her neck to see what was going on. It was the Rowdies, slipping behind the runners, knocking random pairs to the ground. G.O. was with them. Teams were stepping out of formation, turning to see if they were going to be next.

“Get set!” Lester called.

G.O. spotted Tugs just then and started toward her.

“Just keep your head down and count,” Aggie urged. “Inside leg first.”

“Go!” Lester hollered as the whistle blared.

“One!” called Aggie and Tugs together. They launched their inside feet across the start line just as the Rowdies melted back into the crowd, leaving G.O. standing in the field of runners. The rest of the teams, startled into starting before they were ready, stumbled, fell, got up, tried again, bumped into one another, jostled, and generally clumped along. G.O. got knocked down in the fray. Tugs and Aggie kept their heads down and simply walked steadily, chanting one, two, one, two, crossing the line still standing.

“We won!” Aggie cried, grabbing Tugs in a hug.

“We did?” said Tugs. She looked around. Sure enough, they were standing at the bandstand. The Floyd girl thrust blue ribbons into their hands before hurrying off to help the other teams as they straggled in.

Tugs rubbed the smooth surface of her ribbon between her fingers, marveling at the royalness of the blue, as Aggie untied their legs.

Tugs’s reverie was interrupted by G.O. shouting, “Let me go! I didn’t do nothing.” Lester Ward had collared him and was dragging him away.

“Look,” said Aggie. “He got G.O.”

Feeling brave and magnanimous with a ribbon in her hand, Tugs shouted, “Let him go, Lester Ward! It was the Rowdies, not G.O.!”

Lester looked back sharply to see who was hollering at him, and G.O. slipped out of his grip and ran away.

“Let’s get out of here!” Aggie hissed, grabbing Tugs’s arm. They darted away, laughing at their own bravery and stupidity.

Then they heard Mr. Floyd’s trumpet. People were drifting toward the bandstand.

“Come on,” said Aggie.

The sight of Harvey Moore standing next to the mayor on the podium dampened Tugs’s spirit. Harvey Moore was everywhere. There was a red-white-and-blue ribbon tied around his hat, and aside from the mayor and Mr. Millhouse, he was the only man wearing a suit to the Independence Day picnic.

“Let’s watch from back here,” said Tugs. Could she confess her suspicions about Harvey Moore to Aggie? Would Aggie believe her? She glanced over at Aggie.

“Aggie, I got to tell you something important,” she started, but she was interrupted by Harvey Moore himself, who pulled mayor Corbett’s megaphone from his hand and bellowed, “Good afternoon!”

The crowd did not simmer down.

Harvey tried again, drawing out his words like a caller at the track. “Gooood afternoon, Goooodhue! How about this day?”

A few people clapped.

“That’s the man from Chicago,” Tugs heard a woman behind her say.

“I wonder if there’s a Mrs. Chicago,” said another. “Or if he’d like one.”

“I heard he’s the nephew of the governor,” the first woman said.

“Really? I heard he is a railroad baron, come to invest in Goodhue.”

“Lovely people of Goodhue!” Harvey continued, undaunted by the hubbub. “Your fine mayor here has asked me to say a few words before the announcement of the patriotic essay awards.” The crowd began to settle.

“Look at this crowd. This is patriotism, people. An entire town gathered to celebrate the birth of our nation. And what a nation it is. Goodhue represents the best of what makes this country great. Why, a virtual stranger can enter this place and find unmatched hospitality — thank you to the Dostals for taking me in, by the by — hello out there, Dostals!” Harvey waved in the general direction of the Dostals’ blanket. There was a smattering of applause.

“Yes, a fellow can come to this town with an idea for progress. An idea that will give your dear children a chance at living in a town of substance. A wild idea? Maybe. A bold idea? Probably. An idea that citizens of other towns have not been brave enough to believe in? Absolutely.

“Did the people of this town, the people of Goodhue, Iowa, snuff that idea out? No! The people of this town are opening their minds and pocketbooks and saying yes to progress.

“The Dostals said yes to progress. The Perkinses said yes to progress. The esteemed William Millhouse the Third said yes to progress. The only question that remains is this.” Harvey paused. The crowd went silent, hanging on his every word.

“The question remains: will you say yes to progress?” Harvey let a long beat go by as the crowd considered his question.

“What is progress, you ask? Bear with me a moment. One of Goodhue’s own sons, Lester Ward, is leaving the nest soon. Not only is Lester going to be an Iowa Hawkeye; he’s going to be an Iowa Hawkeye football player.” The crowd cheered. Harvey raised his hand.

“Now, how will you get news of Lester’s glory? His parents, sure. Some of you will go to the games, no doubt. Others will listen on the radio. But what about the story of the game? The story that lists the name of one of your own in its pages? The one you can snip out and paste in a scrapbook? Will they feed you that story in the Cedar Rapids Tribune? No, sir. I am here, ladies and gentlemen, to bring the newspaper back to Goodhue. The Goodhue Progress. With your help, we can bring progress to Goodhue. Find me after the announcements here, and put your down payment on progress.

“Now, on to the business at hand! mayor, the list of essay winners, please.”

“Progress?” said the woman behind Tugs. “I thought we were going to get a bowling alley.”

“That’s what I heard,” said a man next to her.

“It’s a newspaper,” said Aggie, turning to the people behind them. “Really. We’re going to have a daily newspaper.”

“Oh!” said the man.

“Well, I never,” said the woman.

“. . . and the blue-ribbon essay for age thirteen and older . . .” Harvey Moore called, “goes to Florence Floyd! Where’s Florence? Come up here, Florence, and inspire us with your words!”

“Come on,” said the woman behind Tugs. “Let’s try to intercept Mr. Moore when he comes down the steps.”

As Florence read in her high fluted voice, Aggie turned back to Tugs.

“What was the important thing you wanted to tell me?”

Tugs wavered. Maybe she was just imagining things. Maybe Harvey really was going to start a newspaper.

“Nothing,” she said. She held up her ribbon. “We won the three-legged, Aggie.”

“Did you see the look on Burton Ward’s face when he came in behind us?” said Aggie. “That was worth the price of admission.”

Tugs was suddenly hungry, and she pulled Aggie toward the Button blanket.

But then they heard “. . . Button” over the megaphone and turned around.

“Tugs, Tugs Button. Is Tugs Button here?” bellowed Harvey Moore. “Well, sorry to disappoint you, folks, but it appears our eight-to-twelve division winner is not present. Let’s go on. . . .”

“Tugs!” gasped Aggie. “You won the essay contest! Come on!”

Aggie dashed off, but Tugs’s feet were stuck. There must be some mistake.

Then she heard Aggie’s voice ring out. Aggie Millhouse was standing on the bandstand, holding the megaphone and beckoning her to come up for her ribbon. But it was too much for Tugs. She ducked behind the nearest tree and listened as Aggie accepted her ribbon for her and read her essay aloud. Her hunger vanished and was replaced with a mix of fear and elation. She heard her own words echoing over the crowd and wondered if she’d really written them. Her face burned with the horror of it, all those people hearing her thoughts.

She peeked out. Aggie was skipping down the steps and running back to Tugs, with Tugs’s second blue ribbon held high as she ran.

“Here!” Aggie said. “I’ve never won two blue ribbons, Tugs. Your essay was really good.”

Tugs and Aggie linked arms and walked back to the Buttons’ blanket, where such a commotion had occurred over Granddaddy’s betting on the horseshoe contest that the adults had missed the goings-on at the field and bandstand. Ned was sitting alone behind the Button blanket, leaning against the tracks.

Mother Button stood up when Tugs introduced her to Aggie.

“Oh, heavens, a Millhouse at our blanket and we’re fresh out of”— she looked around at the crumbs and empty dishes —“everything.”

“That’s OK,” said Aggie. “I have to check in with my family. Want to come, Tugs?”

Tugs looked at Ned, then back at Aggie.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” she said. She watched Aggie disappear behind a group of Floyds returning to their blanket, then sat down next to Ned.

“Can I see?” Ned asked, holding out his hand.

“Sure,” said Tugs, and handed him her ribbons.

“They’re shiny,” he said.

“You can hold them,” said Tugs. She felt full-up satisfied.