Mark Tidd, Editor

  CHAPTER III

  "The t-trouble with this business," says Mark, when we were back in theoffice, "is that we haven't m-much workin' capital."

  "What's workin' capital?" Plunk wanted to know.

  "It's money you have to keep your b-business runnin'. Right now we haveto buy ink and p-paper and things. We aren't t-takin' in enough money todo it, and to pay rent, and such like. All we've got is f-fifty dollars,and that's got to do. Ma says so. She says dad can t-throw away so muchmoney, but not another cent; and if we can't make this p-paper pay onwhat we've got, why we can just up and b-bust."

  "Um!" says I. "I guess we better get a wiggle on us, then."

  "C-can't get many subscribers before the f-first paper comes out, butwe'll print f-f-five hunderd of 'em, anyhow. Cost money, but we got todo it."

  "How'll you get rid of 'em?" Tallow wanted to know.

  "Sell 'em," says Mark, sharp-like. "We'll each take a bundle and sell'em on the s-s-street like in the cities. Get more money out of 'em,too. Subscribers get f-f-fifty-two copies for a dollar and a quarter.We'll sell 'em for three cents--and folks'll buy 'em, too. Won't comedown with a year's subscription right off, but they'll dig up t-t-threecents just so's they can make fun of what we're doin'."

  "Got to have some news for the paper," I says.

  "Yes," says Mark. "We've got a start. There's the story about HenryWigglesworth being dead, and about that boy. Probably the will will ber-r-read this week, too. But we've got to go after l-little things forp-p-personal items."

  "How d'ye know when a thing's news?" says Plunk.

  "Well," says Mark, "everything's news in Wicksville. But some things isbetter news than others, and we can write m-m-more about 'em. Now,s'pose Sam Wilkins hammers his finger with a h-hammer. Bein's it'snobody but Sam, we'd just write a little piece somethin' like this: 'SamWilkins up and banged his thumb with a hammer, Thursday afternoon. Thedoctor says Sam'll recover.'

  "But if Sam's brother was one of the selectmen, we'd say: 'SamuelWilkins, brother of our well-known and highly esteemed selectman, HiramP. Wilkins, painfully injured himself Thursday while working on hisbrother's hen-coop. The selectman examined the injured thumb and gave itas his opinion that Samuel would be able to go to work again before thesummer was over. Much regret has been expressed over the h-happening,because it delays the completion of the selectman's splendid newhen-house, which is one any village may be proud of.' See. T-that's theidee. If Sam's brother was President of the United States we'd write awhole column about it, and try to p-p-print a picture of the hurtt-thumb."

  "I see," says I.

  "Me, too," says the other fellows.

  Just then Mr. Greening, of the Big Corner Store, came in.

  "Howdy, boys!" says he.

  "Howdy!" says we.

  "In shape to print some hand-bills?"

  "You b-bet," says Mark. "Reg'lar size?"

  "Yes."

  "How many?"

  "Five hundred. How much?"

  Right off, without so much as waiting to wink, Mark told him.

  "All right. Can I have 'em to-morrow sure?"

  "Yes, _sir_. G-gettin' out jobs on time is our s-s-specialty. Promptnessand quality," says Mark, "is the watchword of this office."

  "Fine. Do a good job on these and I'll have more for you every week."

  "M-much obleeged," says Mark.

  When Mr. Greening was gone I says to Mark: "How in the world did youknow how much to charge him? Bet you got it wrong."

  "You d-d-do, eh?" says Mark, with a twinkle in his little eyes. "Well,if I did, Binney, it hain't wrong on the losin' side for us. No, siree.I've b-been goin' over the books the last owner of this p-p-paper lefthere, to find out how much he charged for j-j-jobs, and what j-jobs waslikely to come in. Mr. Greening's was one of 'em. So when he come I justcharged him what the other feller would have charged--and added t-t-tenper cent, to make sure we wouldn't l-lose anything."

  He looked proud and pleased with himself, like he always does when hedoes something that's pretty good. It _was_ pretty good, too. You've gotto take off your hat to Mark when it comes to making money. He's aregular schemer, but for all that, he's fair. Nobody--at least no otherkid in Wicksville--would have thought of getting at prices the way Markdid.

  "The other owner of the p-p-paper didn't make money," says Mark. "That'swhy I added ten per cent. If we f-f-find that isn't enough, we'll addmore--and we'll get it, too, 'cause we're goin' to turn out first-classwork--and turn it out just when we p-p-promise to. Folks don't mind afew cents extry if they get quality and promptness."

  Tecumseh Androcles Spat came in from the composing-room just then,shaking his head from side to side and looking as doleful as a gander ona rainy day.

  "Mr. Editor," said he, "my talents are lying idle. It should not be so.At this moment I should be dazzling the inhabitants of this village withtypographical displays such as their eyes have never feasted on. Yet nocopy hangs on the hook."

  "In just one s-s-second there'll be some hangin' there," said Mark, andhe reached out and stuck the paper Mr. Greening had given him on thehook where stuff is put that the man in the composing-room is to set intype.

  Tecumseh Androcles stared at it, cocked his head on one side, wrinkledhis nose, and then began making funny motions in the air with one handlike he was drawing lines and making dots and flourishes.

  "Good," says he in a minute. "The thing is done. Tecumseh Androcles Spatsees the completed hand-bill in his mind's eye--and it is beautiful."

  "M-make it beautiful," says Mark, "but also make it quick!"

  "Young sir," says Tecumseh, "no compositor between the Broad Atlanticand the boundless Pacific can vie with me in speed. I shall show you."

  And he dodged out into the composing-room so quickly his head seemed tosnap like the snapper on the end of a horse-whip.

  "I'm afraid," says Mark, "that Tecumseh's bothered with what some folkscall artistic t-t-temperament. I don't know what it is, exactly, butit's hard to m-manage."

  "You'll manage it, all right," says Tallow. "I'll bet you could drivetwo artistic temperaments in a team."

  "I'd hate to try," says Mark, but you could see he was tickled. Healways likes to be appreciated--and so do the rest of us, I guess.

  "Now," says he, "Plunk and Tallow, scatter and hunt up news. Don't missanythin'. F-f-fetch in everything you get to hear, and we'll use all wecan that's really n-news. Now git--and don't loaf."

  "Huh!" says Plunk. "Guess we hain't any more apt to loaf than _you_are."

  "Reporters always try to loaf," says Mark. "I read it in a book."

  Then Mark says to me that he shouldn't be surprised if it would be agood idea for me to go to the hotel and find out who was registeredthere, and what they came to town for, and how long they were going tostay.

  "And," says he, "if there's any of t-t-them that sounds like he might beint'restin', get a talk with him and write up what he says."

  So off I went to the hotel.

  "Gimme a look at the register," says I to Billy Green, the clerk.

  "What d'you want to look at the register for?" says Bill, winking at atraveling man that was standing close by.

  "To see who's registered," says I. "Did you think I wanted to read apoem out of it?"

  Bill laughed and pulled the book away.

  "No kids allowed," says he. "I'll bet your hands are dirty and you'dmuss it all up."

  "Bill," says I, "you better quit makin' fun of me, or I'll put a piecein the paper about how you got on the dining-car last week, and didn'tknow what finger-bowls was, and drank the water out of your'n, thinkin'it was lemonade 'cause it had lemon peelin' in it."

  Bill he got pretty red and looked sideways at the traveling man andtried to laugh it off. But it was so, and I knew it. He didn't know howI knew it, and I wasn't going to tell him.

  "Do I get to see the register?" says I.

  "What you got to do with the newspaper?" he wanted to know.

  "Mark Tidd and Plunk and Tallow a
nd me is runnin' it," says I, "and I'mafter news."

  "Guess I'll have to let you see it, then," says he, and he pushed itover.

  There was five men registered fresh that morning. Three of them I knew,for they were traveling men that came to town every week. One of theothers was just a man from Freesoil that didn't amount to much, though Iwrote a line mentioning that he was in town. The other fellow I'd neverheard of.

  "Who's this Silas Spragg?" says I.

  "Dunno," says Billy. "He hain't stated his business."

  "Guess I'll interview him, then," says I. "Maybe there's some news inhim. Where's he hidin' away?"

  "That's him on the sidewalk, there," says Bill, and he pointed to a manabout thirty years old who was leaning against a hitching-post in frontand looking at the town like he didn't think much of it.

  "Much obliged," says I, and went out to see Mr. Spragg.

  "Good mornin'," says I. "Is this Mr. Silas Spragg?"

  "Yes," says he, sharp-like. "What of it?"

  I figured maybe his breakfast hadn't agreed with him, or that his shoeswas too tight, or something.

  "I just saw your name on the register," says I, "and, bein' as Irepresent the newspaper, I figgered I'd better get acquainted with you.Ever been here before?"

  "No," says he. "If I had 'a' been I wouldn't have come back this time."

  "Goin' to stay long?" I asked.

  He sort of grinned. "Reg'lar newspaper man, hain't you?" says he. "Runone of them amateur newspapers?"

  "No," says I, "professional. Reg'lar paper printed on a printin'-press,with advertisin' in it, issued every Thursday, a dollar and a quarter ayear."

  "Huh!" says he. "What paper's that?"

  "The Wicksville _Trumpet_," says I.

  He laughed. "That's busted," says he. "Sheriff took it for debts. Youcan't fool me, sonny."

  "Yes," says I, "it was sold by the sheriff and Mark Tidd's dad bought itfor us four fellers to run. It hain't busted any more, and, mister, ithain't goin' to be busted, either. Guess you don't know Mark Tidd, doyou?"

  "No," says he, "but I hope he didn't spend much money for his paper."

  "Why?" says I.

  "'Cause he's goin' to lose it," says he.

  "Maybe," says I, "he'll have somethin' to say about that."

  "So'll I," says he, "and here's some news for you. You'll like to printit, I'll bet. I'm a newspaper man myself. Part owner of the Eagle Center_Clarion_. When we heard the _Trumpet_ was busted we decided to grab onto this town and get out a special edition of the _Clarion_ for it. See?One plant to print two papers. I'm here to be editor of the Wicksvilleedition.... Now what d'you think about bustin', eh? Figger there's roomfor two papers here?"

  "No," says I; "so you'd better take the noon train back to EagleCenter."

  He laughed, disagreeable-like. "Not me," says he. "The _Clarion_'ll_own_ this town in two months. We'll give 'em a real paper that folks'llbuy and depend on. You might as well shut up shop right off and saveexpense. Maybe we'd go so far as to give you a few dollars for the junkup at your office."

  "Huh!" says I. "If you're lookin' for a row, I guess we can pervide itfor you. And we'll start right off. Sorry I hain't got time to talk toyou any more, but I've got somethin' to do. Yes, Mister Spragg, I'mmovin' on now, and in ten minutes the Eagle Center _Clarion_'ll bestartin' in to wish it hadn't ever tried to hog the whole State.Good-by, mister. Better leave while you've got change enough left to payyour fare."

  He said something to me that sounded like he was real mad, and I movedoff considerable rapid, because I didn't know but what he'd take it intohis head to get rough. Yes, I went away from there prompt, and hurriedto the office. Mark was sitting at his desk, editing.

  "Hey, Mark," says I, "we're up against it again. Seems like we're alwaysrunnin' up against it. Folks won't let us have peace."

  "N-n-now what?" says he.

  "Eagle Center _Clarion's_ goin' to print a special Wicksville edition,"says I. "They've got an editor here, and he says he's goin' to put usout of business."

  "Um!" says Mark, and turned around so his face was toward the window."S-s-special edition, eh?" Then he began tugging at his ear like healways does when there's a problem to figure out or some sort ofdifficult thing to overcome. "Well," says he in a minute, "I don't seehow we can s-s-stop 'em. But we'll let 'em know they've got competition,eh, Binney?"

  "You bet," says I.

  "Got to m-m-make our first paper a hummer," says he, "so folks'll talkabout it and wonder what the dickens we'll p-p-print _next_ week."

  "Fine," says I. "How'll we get about it."

  "Best way," says he, "is to take a chance of gettin' licked."

  "Sounds good," says I.

  "We'll p-p-print some _real_ news," says he, "and we'll have ac-c-couple of typographical errors that h-happen on purpose."

  "Dunno what they be," says I, "but they sound int'restin'."

  "They will be," says he. "I'll m-m-make 'em myself."

  "Kind of discouragin' to have another paper crowdin' in here right atthe start," says I.

  "Shucks!" says he. "Just m-m-makes more work and more f-f-figgerin'.'Tain't any fun to do a thing that's _easy_. Anybody can do an easything. Where the fun comes in is havin' to _f-f-fight_ for it."

  "Maybe," says I, "but that's where the worry comes, too."

  "Keep so b-busy you won't have time to worry," says he, "and firstl-let's go find your Mister Spragg."

  "Come on," says I, and off we went to the hotel.

  Mr. Spragg was still leaning against the same hitching-post. If hewasn't going to do anything but hold up a post, I thought to myself,maybe we won't have such a hard time of it, after all.

  "Mister Spragg," says I, "let me introduce the editor of the Wicksville_Trumpet_."

  "Him?" says Mr. Spragg, staring at Mark.

  "Him," says I.

  Then Mr. Spragg did something he hadn't ought to have done--not if hewas wise. He busted right out laughing in Mark's face.

  "Him the editor!" says Mr. Spragg. "Oh, my goodness! Thought I was upagainst some kind of a man, but nothin' but an over-fed kid that's sofat he can't hardly waddle. Oh! Oh!"

  I kept my eyes on Mark, but he didn't turn a hair. You would havethought he didn't even hear what Spragg said, for he just waited for theman to get through laughing, and then he said, quiet-like:

  "Glad to meet you, Mister S-s-spragg."

  "Go along, fatty," says Spragg, "and don't bother me."

  "I d-d-don't want to bother you unless I _have_ to," says Mark, as calmand quiet as a china nest egg. "I figgered maybe you'd like to t-t-talkthings over a bit."

  "With _you_?" says Spragg, as scornful as anything. "No time to botherwith kids."

  "All right," says Mark, still polite as peas. "I j-just wanted to giveyou the chance, that was all. I don't b'lieve in sailin' into a f-fellertill there's some reason for it, and if there's a chance to be f-friendsand keep out hard feelin', I'm the one to do all I can."

  "Don't be scairt of me, sonny. I hain't goin' to hurt you any--that is,outside of bustin' up that paper you're playin' with."

  "Oh," says Mark, "you're aimin' to do that, eh? I didn't have any rightto complain when you came in here with your p-p-paper. You had a rightto if you wanted to. And you had a r-r-right to take away my subscribersand advertisers if you could get 'em--by fair, b-b-business-like means.But you didn't have a right to come in here d-d-deliberately intendin'to bust up our business. That hain't fair or honest."

  He stopped and looked Mr. Spragg over from head to toes.

  "Come to t-think of it," says he, "I don't b'lieve I like your l-looks.You look like a bluffer to me, and your eyes are too close t-togetherfor folks to be warranted in t-trustin' you far. So I sha'n't.... That'sabout all. I wanted to be d-d-decent about it, but I guess that hain'tyour way of doin'. So I'll issue a little warnin'. Go as far as you kinto get business. Go after my business as hard as you can m-m-manage--butdo it fair and above-board and the way d-decent business men do. Asl
-long as you stick to the rules there won't be any trouble. But thef-first time I catch you t-t-tryin' to do anythin' underhand orshysterin' you'll think you sat down unexpected on to a nest ofyaller-jackets. Jest f-f-fix that in your mind, Mister Spragg....Good-by."

  For a minute Spragg stood looking at Mark bug-eyed. He was 'moststrangled with astonishment, I guess. We turned and walked off, and we'dgone fifty feet before he came to himself enough to say a word. Then heyelled:

  "Hey, come back here! Hey, you! What you mean talkin' like that?" And hestarted after us. But just then Billy Green, the hotel clerk, came out.

  "What's matter?" says he, and then he saw Mark and me. "Hain't beengoin' up against Mark Tidd, have you?" says he to Spragg.

  "That fat kid was sassin' me," says he.

  "Thank your stars," says Billy, "that's all he done to you. Take myadvice and forgit it."

  Mark didn't miss a word of it, and I could see his ears getting pinkwith pleasure. He wasn't swell-headed, and I guess I've said so before,but he did like to hear nice things said about himself, and more thananything else he liked to know that folks figured he wasn't the sort youcould take advantage of. Mark was different from most fellows. He'drather have the sharpest brain in town than to win the most events inthe Olympic Games. And you could tickle him more by praising somethinghe'd _thought up_ than by praising something he'd just _done_.

  Mark didn't say anything while we walked a couple of blocks, but a manwith one eye, and that one under a patch, could have seen he wasstudying and studying.

  "Well," says I, "what's the word?"

  "Wisht he hadn't showed up so s-s-soon," says Mark, "I was perty busybefore. I wanted t-t-time to think and study on somethin' else for awhile. Now I'll have to think and s-s-study about how to stop Spraggfrom gettin' the best of us, and how to get the b-best of him. Onlywe've got to be _fair_."

  "Sure," says I, "but what else did you want to figger on?"

  "The Wigglesworth business," says he. "I wanted to p-p-puzzle out what'sgoin' on, and I wanted to s-sneak out and see that boy and t-talk tohim. I bet he knows things Lawyer Jones didn't get out of him. Boysdon't always tell men all they know.... Well, I'll just have to f-f-findtime to do both."

  "We'll help all we can," says I. "Maybe we'll be _some_ good."

  "Now don't go gettin' sore," says Mark. "I hain't ever slighted you yet,have I? Eh? When anythin' was g-goin' on you got plenty to do, didn'tyou?"

  "Yes," says I.

  "Well," says he, "more l-likely you'll get more 'n you want to do thistime.... I do wisht I could figger out where that boy comes in. Rock'shis name. What's he got to do with Henry Wigglesworth? Why didn't Mr.Wigglesworth speak to him at all? Remember Lawyer Jones said he didn't.Then what m-m-made Mr. Wigglesworth come s-sneakin' in at night to lookat him? That's the hardest of all. He could see the b-boy all day. Whatfor did he want to be p-p-prowlin' in with a lamp to look at him atnight? It's all mixed up. But you can bet there's s-somethin' behind itall that'll m-make a dandy newspaper story when we get to the b-b-bottomof it."

  "Maybe we won't," says I.

  He turned on me quick. "We will," says he, "or bust."

  "Huh!" says I. "We can't always come out on top."

  "We can always if we t-t-try hard enough. The reason some folks isalways f-f-failin' is because they don't think hard enough and work hardenough. Laziness makes more f-f-failures than bad luck."

  "Maybe," says I, "but this looks like it was too tough a job for justkids."

  "Wait and see," says he.

  "I'll help you," says I.

  Lots of fellows would have told me to mind my own business, or maybelaughed at me and said I wasn't smart enough to help, but not Mark.

  "All right," says he, "two heads is b-better than a sack of meal. What Im-miss you may see, and what you don't catch on to may stick out plainto me. Let's get at it."