CHAPTER IV
THE WAY INTO PRINT
Sam Cotting's General Store at Millville divided importance with BobWest's hardware store but was a more popular loafing place for thesparse population of the tiny town. The post office was located in onecorner and the telephone booth in another, and this latter institutionwas regarded with much awe by the simple natives. Once in awhile someone would telephone over to the Junction on some trivial business, butthe long-distance call was never employed except by the "nabobs"--thelocal name for John Merrick and his nieces--or by the manager of the newmill at Royal, who had extended the line to his own office in the heartof the pine forest.
So, when Uncle John and the girls entered Cotting's store and the littlegentleman shut himself up in the telephone booth, a ripple ofexcitement spread throughout the neighborhood. Skim Clark, the youthfulhope of the Widow Clark, who "run the Emporium," happened to be in thestore and he rushed out to spread the news that "the nabob's talkin' toNew Yoruk!"
This information demanded immediate attention. Marshall McMahon McNutt,familiarly known as "Peggy" McNutt--because he had once lost a foot in amowing machine--and who was alleged to be a real estate agent, horsedoctor, fancy poultry breeder and palmist, and who also dabbled in thesale of subscription books, life insurance, liniment and watermelons,quickly slid off his front porch across the way and sauntered intoCotting's to participate in the excitement. Seth Davis, the blacksmith,dropped his tools and hurried to the store, and the druggist three doorsaway--a dapper gentleman known as Nib Corkins--hurriedly locked his doorand attended the meeting. Presently the curious group was enlarged bythe addition of Nick Thome the liveryman, Lon Taft, a carpenter andgeneral man-of-all-work, and Silas Caldwell the miller, the latter aserious individual who had "jest happened to come acrost from the millin the nick o' time."
Sam Cotting, being himself of great local importance, had never regardedwith favor the rivalry of the nabob, but he placed stools near thetelephone booth for the three girls, who accepted the courtesy with agraciousness that ought to have disarmed the surly storekeeper. Theycould not fail to be amused at the interest they excited, and as theypersonally knew every one of the town people they pleasantly nodded toeach arrival and inquired after their health and the welfare of theirfamilies. The replies were monosyllables. Millville folks were diffidentin the presence of these city visitors and while they favored the girlswith rather embarrassing stares, their chief interest was centered onthe little man in the telephone booth, who could plainly be seen throughthe glass door but might not be heard, however loudly he shouted.
"Talkin' to New Yoruk" was yet a marvelous thing to them, and muchspeculation was exchanged in low tones as to the probable cost of sucha conversation as Mr. Merrick was now indulging in.
"Costs a dollar to connect, ye know," remarked Peggy McNutt to Ned Long."Bet a cookie he's runnin' the blame bill up to two dollars, with allthis chinnin'. Why can't th' ol' nabob write a letter, like commonfolks, an' give his extry cash to the poor?"
"Meanin' you, Peggy?" asked Nib Corkins, with a chuckle.
"He might do wuss ner that," retorted Peggy. "Lor' knows I'm poorenough. You don't ketch _me_ a-talkin' to New York at a dollar a throw,Nib, do ye?"
Meantime Mr. Merrick had succeeded in getting Mr. Marvin, of the bankinghouse of Isham, Marvin & Co., on the wire.
"Do me a favor, Marvin," he said. "Hunt up the best supply house andhave them send me a complete outfit to print a daily newspaper.Everything must be modern, you know, and don't let them leave outanything that might come handy. Then go to Corrigan, the superintendentof the railroad, and have him send the freight up here to ChazyJunction by a special engine, for I don't want a moment's delay and theregular freight takes a week or so. Charge everything to my account andimpress upon the dealer the need of haste. Understand all that, Marvin?"
"I think I do, sir," was the reply; "but that's a pretty big order, Mr.Merrick. The outfit for a modern daily will cost a small fortune."
"Never mind; send it along."
"Very well. But you'd better give me some details. How big a newspaperdo you want to print?"
"Hold the wire and I'll find out," said Uncle John. Then he opened thedoor of the booth and said: "Patsy, how big a thing do you want toprint?"
"How big? Oh, let me see. Four pages will do, won't it, Louise?"
"Plenty, I should say, for this place," answered Louise.
"And how many columns to a page?" asked Uncle John.
"Oh, six or seven. That's regular, I guess."
"Make it six," proposed Beth. "That will keep us busy enough."
"All right," said Uncle John, and closed the door again.
This conversation was of the most startling nature to the assembledvillagers, who were all trying to look unconcerned and as if "they'djest dropped in," but were unable to dissemble their curiositysuccessfully. Of course much of this interchange of words between theman in the booth and the girls outside was Greek to them all, but "toprint" and "columns" and "pages" could apply only to one idea, which,while not fully grasped, was tremendously startling in its suggestion.The Merrick party was noted for doing astonishing things in the past andevidently, in the words of Peggy McNutt, they were "up to some blamefoolishness that'll either kill this neighborhood or make it talkedabout."
"It's too dead a'ready to kill," responded Nick Thorne gloomily. "Eventhe paper mill, four mile away, ain't managed to make Millville wiggleits big toe. Don't you worry over what the nabob'll do, Peggy; hecouldn't hurt nuthin' if he tried."
The door opened again and Mr. Merrick protruded a puzzled countenance.
"He wants to know about a stereotype plant, Patsy. What'll I tell him?"
Patsy stared. Louise and Beth shook their heads.
"If it belongs to the--the thing we want, Uncle, have 'em send italong," said Patsy in desperation.
"All right."
A few minutes later the little man again appealed to them.
"How'll we run the thing, girls; steam or electricity?"
Patsy's face was a blank. Beth giggled and Louise frowned.
"Of course it'll have to be run," suggested Mr. Merrick; "but how?That's the question."
"I--I hadn't given that matter thought," admitted Patsy. "What do youthink, Uncle?"
He considered, holding open the door while he thoughtfully regarded thesilent but interested group of villagers that eagerly hung upon everyword that passed.
"Cotting," called Mr. Merrick, "how do they run the paper mill atRoyal?"
"'Lectricity! 'Lectricity, sir!" answered half a dozen at once.
"They develops the power from the Royal Waterfall of the Little Bill,"explained Cotting, with slow and pompous deliberation. "Mr. Skeelty hetol' me they had enough 'lectric'ty to light up the whole dum countryfer ten mile in all directions, 'sides a-runnin' of the mill."
"Who's Skeelty?"
"Manager o' the mill, sir, an' part owner, he says."
"Has he a telephone?"
"Yes, Mr. Merrick."
"Thank you."
Mr. Merrick shut the door and called up Skeelty. Five minutes ofbargaining settled the question and he then connected with Mr. Marvinagain and directed him to have the presses and machinery equipped to runby electricity. Thinking he had now given the banker all the commissionshe could attend to with celerity, Uncle John next called up Major Doyleand instructed his brother-in-law to send four miles of electric cable,with fittings and transformers, and a crew of men to do the work, andnot to waste a moment's time in getting them to Millville.
"What in blazes are ye up to now, John?" inquired the major, onreceiving this order.
"None of your business, Gregory. Obey orders."
"Going to light the farm and turn night into day?" persisted the major.
"This is Patsy's secret, and I'm not going to give it away," said Mr.Merrick. "Attend to this matter promptly, Major, and you'll see theresult when you come to us in July for your vacation."
Having atten
ded to all the requirements of the projected _MillvilleTribune_, as he thought, Mr. Merrick called the operator for the amountof his bill and paid it to Sam Cotting--three dollars and eighty cents.The sum fairly made the onlookers gasp, and as the Merrick party passedout, Silas, the miller, said solemnly:
"Don't anybody tell me talk is cheap, arter this. John Merrick may be amillionaire, but ef he keeps this thing up long he'll be a pauper.Thet's _my_ prophe-sigh."
"Yer off yer base, Si," said McNutt "Joe Wegg tol' me once thet thenabob's earnin's on his money were more'n he could spend ef he laysawake nights a-doin' it. Joe says it keeps pilin' up on him, tillsometimes it drives him nigh desp'rit. I hed an idee I'd ask him toshuck off some of it onter me. _I_ could stan' the strain all right, an'get plenty o' sleep too."
"Ye won't hev no call to stan' it, Peggy," pre-dcted Lon Tait."Milyunhairs may spend money foolish, but they don't never give noneaway. I've done sev'ral odd jobs fer Mr. Merrick, but he's never give memore'n jest wages."
"Well," said McNutt with a sigh, "while he's in easy reach there orterbe _some_ sort o' pickings fer us, an' it's our duty to git all we canout'n him--short o' actoo-al robbery. What do ye s'pose this new dealmeans, boys? Sounds like printin' somethin', don't it?"
"P'raps it's some letterheads fer the Wegg Farm," suggested NibCorkins. "These Merricks do everything on a big scale."
"Four pages, an' six columns to a page?" asked Cotting scornfully."Sounds to me more like a newspaper, folks!"
There was a moment's silence, during which they all stared at thespeaker fearfully. Then said Skim Clark, in his drawling, halting way:
"Ef thet's the case, an' there's goin' ter be a newspaper here inMillville, we may as well give up the struggle, fer the town'll beruined!"