Part 29 (1/2)

”Where she looks she walks,” says Plunk. ”Let's walk.”

”Nix,” says Mark. ”Jethro might be l-l-lookin'. We want to foiler out this thing on the quiet-and we'll do it, you bet. We know where to start from, and that's the hardest part of it.” He turned to Rock, ”I guess we're goin' to haul you out of this sc.r.a.pe,” says he, ”sooner or later.... Now we got to git for h-home. I got work to do.”

CHAPTER XIV

”Listen,” says Mark Tidd that night.

”We've got to w-w-wake up and do some-thin' with this newspaper.”

”Huh!” says I. ”I thought we _had_ been doin' somethin'. Dunne's I ever worked harder in my life.”

”Yes,” says he, ”but what's it g-gettin' us? We're p-payin' our bills and not r-runnin' in debt, but that's about all. No use havin' a b-business if you don't make money out of it.”

”Go ahead,” says I. ”I'm willin' to make all there is.”

”I'm goin' ahead,” says he. ”I'm goin' to start a scheme to get s-subscribers. I want a t-thousand of 'em right off. Not jest f-folks that buys the _Trumpet_ on the street, but that p-pays their money and has it all the year. Like to git fifteen hunderd if I could.”

”Hain't that many families in Wicksville,” says I, ”and no family wants more 'n one copy of a paper, even if you do edit it,” says I.

”There's other towns,” says he. ”We got the whole county to p-play with.

The Eagle Center _Clarion_ come over here and tried to t-t-take our town away from us. Well, turn about's fair play. Besides, there's all the farmers and settlements and what not.”

”If you say so,” says I, ”it must be so.” I was a little mite sarcastic, and he came right back at me quick.

”If I say so it's so,” says he, ”because I don't jest let my t-t-tongue waggle like you. I don't gen'ally say somethin' till I got somethin' to say, after I've f-figgered it out in my head. The t-trouble with you, Binney, is you do most of your t-thinkin' with your stummick.”

I didn't think of anything to say back to him.

”And,” says he, ”you don't do enough thinkin' with t-t-that to give you a stummick-ache.”

”If you could think with your stummick,” says I, ”you'd have some mighty big thoughts,” which was so, him having one of the biggest stummicks in town. He just grinned and said that was pretty good for me, and he had hopes I might really say something smart some day if I practised hard.

”Let's see,” says he; ”there's folks around solicitin' subscriptions for magazines. They must get p-p-paid somehow.”

”They do,” says I; ”my aunt takes subscriptions, and she gits so much for every one she takes. They call it a commission, or somethin' like that.”

”Wonder why we couldn't work it ourselves,” says he. ”Not reg'lar agents,” says he, ”but some scheme to git a l-l-lot of folks int'rested in gittin' subscribers for us. If we could git a woman's missionary s-s-society to goin' on it, it would s-stir things up a lot. Them wimmin, when they git set on anythin', go after it all-fired hot.”

”How about the Ladies' Lit'ry Circle,” says I, ”and the Home Culture Club?”

”Binney,” says he, ”that's an idee. L-lemme think. Um! ... Have to git 'em to w-w-workin' ag'in' each other somehow. Git 'em into a s-squabble of some kind. That'd do it, sure. How m-many wimmin b'long to those things?”

”There's eighteen in the Circle,” says I, ”because ma b'longs, and they're meetin' at our house to-morrow. I know there's eighteen, because ma was figgerin' how much she'd have to have to feed 'em. She says two sandriches apiece would do for most clubs, but thirty-six never'd fill up the wimmin in hern. She says she wished she could find somethin'

stylish to put into those sandriches that didn't taste good. Then, she says, she could brag about havin' somethin' special nice, and at the same time n.o.body'd be able to make hogs of theirselves eatin' it.”

”Have her t-t-try p-p-perfumed soap,” says Mark. ”That's swell, but n.o.body'd g-gobble it much.”

”But,” says I, ”I dunno how many's in the Home Culture. I kin find out, though.”