Part 21 (1/2)
”We stop,” says I. ”It says it on this paper, but it didn't need to.
We're stopped, anyhow, by what comes next.”
”What does come next?”
”'Ninety degrees in the shade,'” says I.
”Perty hot,” says he.
”Does it mean we got to look for a spot that's as warm as that?”
”Don't b'lieve it,” says he. ”No spot's n-ninety degrees in the shade around here _always_. To be any good for what Mr. Wigglesworth's got in mind, a spot would _always_ have to be ninety in the shade. Or else there'd have to be somethin' to tell just when to look. See? If he's given directions to find somethin', I think those directions are good every d-day and every hour of the day.”
”That's l-likely,” says I. ”If we only knew he _was_ givin' directions,”
says I, ”we could git along better.”
”As for me,” says he, ”I'm s-s-sure of it.”
”That settles it, then,” says I, gettin' a little sarcastic.
While we were arguing about it there was a clanging and banging out in the yard like a dozen kids were knocking tin pans together, and we heard somebody set up a holler.
”Hey! inside there! Hey! Marcus Aurelius Fortunatus Tidd, are you at home?”
”It's Zadok,” says I, and we ran to the door.
Sure enough, there was old Zadok Biggs, the tin peddler, who was such a good friend of ours. Zadok was about half a man high and a man and a half wide, with the soberest, most serious-looking face you ever saw. He traveled all over the State in his red wagon, swapping tinware with wimmen for old rags.
”Come in, Zadok,” Mark called, and in he came.
”Ha!” says he. ”My friend Marcus Aurelius. Remarkable boy, remarkable name. Where's your ma and pa? Extraordinary folks. No ordinary ma and pa would have picked out such a name. Live up to it,” says Zadok Biggs.
”And there's Binney Jenks, too. Howdy, Binney?”
”Fine,” says I, ”and how's yourself?”
”Excellent,” says he, ”or, to put it in plain language, very well indeed. What have you boys been accomplis.h.i.+ng? Accomplis.h.i.+ng is an elegant word. I love to use it. Most folks would say'doing.'”
”We're runnin' a newspaper,” says I. ”At least Mark is, and the rest of us are helping.”
”Newspaper. Ha! Splendid! Molding public opinion. I, Zadok Biggs, might have been a great editor, though nature fitted me to be a judge. What newspaper?”
”The Wicksville _Trumpet_” says Mark.
”Splendid! Extraordinary! Are you making money? Do the folks appreciate a good periodical-paper is the commoner term?”
”Some d-does and some doesn't,” says Mark.
”Ha! Not going as well as would be wished. Talk it over with Zadok. Tell Zadok your troubles. Maybe there will be a resultant benefit. Good words, those. Another man would say that maybe good would come of it, but Zadok Biggs has seen life and studied life, and he knows words.