Part 12 (2/2)
”Mein picture in your baber, eh? Ho! What for does Ol' Hans want mit a picture in the baber?”
”It isn't what you w-w-want,” says Mark, ”it's what the f-f-folks in town want. Why, Mr. Richter, this thing won't be worth a cent if you ain't in it! What kind of a p-page of prominent citizens of Wicksville would it b-be if you wasn't there? No good. Folks 'u'd say, 'Where's Hans Richter? Where's the man that's been f-fetchin' our milk for twenty year?' That's what they'd say. And folks comin' from out of t-t-town would want to know what b-business we had printin' other men's pictures and leavin' yours out. Why, Mr. Richter, we _d-da.s.sen't_ leave you out!”
”You t'ink dot?”
”You bet I do. We just _got_ to have you. You don't think we want to have to print Jim Withers's picture, do you? He hain't been p-peddlin'
milk here more 'n two years.”
”Jim Withers, iss it? Ho! You print his picture in your baber if mine I do not give? Eh?”
”We'd have to, but we don't _want_ to.”
”By yimminy, you don't haff to. Nein. Shall der people be cheated? Nein.
Dey shall haff Hans Richter's picture, and not any other. Jim Withers!
Whoos.h.!.+ He iss a no-goot milkman. How much you said dot va.s.s?”
”Two d-dollars 'n' a half,” says Mark.
Old Hans dug down into his back pocket and pulled out a leather bag, and I'm going to turn as black as a crow if he didn't give Mark the money.
”Now,” says he, ”I giff you dot picture, eh? Vun I got w'ich was took in mein vedding coat a year ago. Dot coat iss yet as goot as new, and fourt-one year old it iss. Ya. Fourt-one year.”
”Fine,” says Mark, and in a minute Old Hans gave him the picture and Mark turned around to where we were.
”How you comin'?” says he.
”Poor,” says I.
”How about you?” says Plunk.
”P-perty good,” says Mark. ”I got four.”
”_Four_,” says I. ”So quick! How'd you do it, and who be they?”
”Well, there's Richter, and old man Meigs, our leadin' veteran of the Civil War, and Grandad Jones, that crossed the plains in a p-prairie schooner, and Uncle Ike Bond.”
”I surrender,” says I. ”If you kin git them old coots you kin git anybody. I'm through. n.o.body'll listen to me or Plunk. You sail in and git 'em.”
He grinned the way he does when he's tickled with himself and when he knows folks are appreciating what a brainy kid he is.
”It's easy,” says he. ”Just m-make 'em feel how important they are. You f-fellows go and see what news you can p-pick up. I'll git in these pictures.”
And I'll be kicked hard if he didn't. In an hour he came to the office with ten photographs and twenty-two dollars and a half. He handed over to the collector man what was due him, for Tallow had got in most of the collections, and had enough left to pay for the cuts of the photographs.
The man signed a receipt for the money and went away, looking like he was disappointed.
”Well,” says Mark, ”we s-s-scrambled out of _that_ hole, didn't we? But we got to do some harder s-scramblin' now. I'm goin' after more photographs.”
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