CHAPTER VII
THE SKETCH ARTIST
During the next three days so many things happened at Millville that thenatives were in a panic of excitement. Not only was electricity broughtfrom the paper mill, but a telegraph wire was run from Chazy Junction toBob West's former storage shed and a telephone gang came along andplaced a private wire, with long-distance connections, in the newnewspaper office. The office itself became transformed--"as full o'winders as a hothouse!" exclaimed Peggy McNutt, with bulging eyes--andneat partitions were placed for the offices. There was no longer anysecret as to the plans of the "nabobs"; it was generally understood thatthose terribly aggressive girls were going to inflict a daily paper onthe community. Some were glad, and some rebelled, but all were excited.A perpetual meeting was held at Cotting's store to discuss developments,for something startling occurred every few minutes.
"It's a outrage, this thing," commented young Skim Clark despondently."They're tryin' to run mother out o' business--an' she a widder with meto look after! Most o' the business at the Emporium is done innewspapers an' magazines an' sich; so these gals thought they'd cutunder an' take the business away from her."
"Can't the Widder Clark sell the new paper, then?" asked the blacksmith.
"I dunno. Hadn't thought o' that," said Skim. "But the price is to bejus' one cent, an' we've ben gittin' five cents fer all the outsidepapers. Where's the profit comin' from, on one cent, I'd like to know?Why, we make two or three cents on all the five cent papers."
"As fer that," remarked the druggist, "we'll get a cheap paper--if it'sany good--an' that's somethin' to be thankful for."
"'Twon't be any good," asserted Skim. "Ma says so."
But no one except McNutt was prepared to agree with this prediction.The extensive plans in preparation seemed to indicate that the new paperwould be fully equal to the requirements of the populace.
On Monday, when the news spread that two big freight cars had arrived atthe Junction, and Nick Thorne began working three teams to haul theoutfit to Millville, the rest of the town abandoned all business otherthan watching the arrival of the drays. Workmen and machinists arrivedfrom the city and began unpacking and setting up the presses, type casesand all other paraphernalia, every motion being watched by eager facesthat lined the windows. These workmen were lodged at the hotel, whichhad never entertained so many guests at one time in all its pasthistory. The three girls, even more excited and full of awe than thetownspeople, were at the office early and late, taking note ofeverything installed and getting by degrees a fair idea of the extent oftheir new plaything.
"It almost takes my breath away, Uncle," said Patsy. "You've given the_Tribune_ such a splendid start that we must hustle to make good andprove we are worthy your generosity."
"I sat up last night and wrote a poem for the first page of the firstnumber," announced Louise earnestly.
"Poems don't go on the first page," observed Patsy; "but they're neededto fill in with. What's it about, dear?"
"It's called 'Ode to a Mignonette,'" answered Louise. "It begins thisway:
"Wee brown blossom, humble and sweet, Content on my bosom lying, Who would guess from your quiet dress The beauty there is lying Under the rust?"
"Hm," said Patsy, "I don't see as there's any beauty under the rust, atall. There's no beauty about a mignonette, anyhow, suspected orunsuspected."
"She means 'fragrance,'" suggested Beth. "Change it to: 'The fragrancethere is lying under the rust.' That'll fix it all right, Louise."
"It doesn't seem right, even then," remarked Uncle John. "If thefragrance lies under the rust, it can't be smelt, can it?"
"I did not anticipate all this criticism," said Louise, with an air ofinjured dignity. "None of the big publishing houses that returned mypoems ever said anything mean about them; they merely said they were'not available.' However, as this poem has not made a hit with themanaging editor, I'll tear it up and write another."
"Don't do that," begged Patsy. "Save it for emergencies. We've got tofill twenty-four columns every day, remember!"
By Wednesday night the equipment was fully installed and the workmendeparted, leaving only Jim McGaffey, an experienced pressman, andLawrence Doane--familiarly called Larry--who was to attend to theelectrotyping and "make-up." The press was of the best modernconstruction, and folded, cut and counted the papers automatically, witha capacity for printing three thousand copies an hour.
"And at that rate," observed Patsy, "It will run off our regular editionin eight minutes."
Aside from the newspaper press there were two "job" presses and anassortment of type for printing anything that might be required, from acalling card to a circus poster. A third man, who came from the cityThursday morning, was to take charge of the job printing and assist inthe newspaper work. Three girls also arrived, pale-faced, sad-eyedcreatures, who were expert typesetters. Uncle John arranged with Mrs.Kebble, the landlady at the hotel, to board all the "help" at moderatecharge.
It had been decided, after much consultation, to make the _Tribune_ amorning paper. At first it was feared this would result in keeping thegirls up nights, but it was finally arranged that all the copy theyfurnished would be turned in by nine o'clock, and Miss Briggs, thetelegraph editor, would attend to anything further that came in over thewires. The advantages of a morning edition were obvious.
"You'll have all day to distribute a morning paper," Arthur pointed out,"whereas an evening paper couldn't get to your scattered subscribersuntil the next morning."
Miss Briggs, upon whom they were to rely so greatly, proved to be awoman of tremendous energy and undoubted ability. She was thirty-fiveyears of age and had been engaged in newspaper work ever since she waseighteen. Bright and cheerful, of even temper and shrewd comprehension,Miss Briggs listened to the eager explanations of the three girls whohad undertaken this queer venture, and assured them she would assist inmaking a newspaper that would be a credit to them all. She understoodclearly the conditions; that inexperience was backed by ample capitaland unpractical ideas by unlimited enthusiasm.
"This job may not last long," she told herself, "but while it does itwill be mighty amusing. I shall enjoy these weeks in a quiet countrytown after the bustle of the big city."
So here were seven regular employees of the _Millville Daily Tribune_already secured and the eighth was shortly to appear. Preparations werewell under way for a first edition on the Fourth of July and the officewas beginning to hum with work, when one afternoon a girl strolled inand asked in a tired voice for the managing editor.
She was admitted to Patsy's private room, where Beth and Louise werealso sitting, and they looked upon their visitor in undisguisedastonishment.
She was young: perhaps not over twenty years of age. Her face bore marksof considerable dissipation and there was a broad scar underneath herright eye. Her hair was thin, straggling and tow-colored; her eyeslarge, deep-set and of a faded blue. The girl's dress was as queer anduntidy as her personal appearance, for she wore a brown tailored coat, ashort skirt and long, buttoned leggings. A round cap of the samematerial as her dress was set jauntily on the back of her head, and overher shoulder was slung a fiat satchel of worn leather. There was littlethat was feminine and less that was attractive about the young woman,and Patsy eyed her with distinct disfavor.
"Tommy sent me here," said the newcomer, sinking wearily into a chair."I'm hired for a month, on good behavior, with a chance to stay on if Iconduct myself in a ladylike manner. I've been working on the _Herald_,you know; but there was no end of a row last week, and they fired mebodily. Any booze for sale in this town?"
"It is a temperance community," answered Patsy, stiffly.
"Hooray for me. There's a chance I'll keep sober. In that case you'veacquired the best sketch artist in America."
"Oh! Are you the artist, then?" asked Patsy, with doubtful intonation.
"I don't like the word. I'm not a real artist--just a cartoonist andnewspaper hack. Say, it's funny to
see me in this jungle, isn't it? Whatjoy I'll have in astonishing the natives! I s'pose a picture's apicture, to them, and Art an impenetrable mystery. What sort of stuff doyou want me to turn out?"
"I--I'm not sure you'll do," said Miss Doyle, desperately. "I--we--thatis--we are three quite respectable young women who have under-taken toedit the _Millville Daily Tribune_, and the people we have secured toassist us are all--all quite desirable, in their way. So--; ahem!--so--"
"That's all right," remarked the artist composedly. "I don't know thatI blame you. I can see very well the atmosphere is not my atmosphere.When is the next train back to New York?"
"At four o'clock, I believe."
"I'll engage a nice upholstered seat in the smoking car. But I'veseveral hours to loaf, and loafing is my best stunt. Isn't this a queerstart for girls like you?" looking around the "den" critically. "Iwonder how you got the bug, and what'll come of it. It's so funny to seea newspaper office where everything is brand new, and--eminentlyrespectable. Do you mind my lighting a cigarette? This sort of a deal isquite interesting to an old-timer like me; but perhaps I owe you anapology for intruding. I had a letter from Tommy and one from a bigbanker--Marvin, I guess his name is."
She drew two letters from her satchel and tossed them on the desk beforePatsy.
"They're no good to me now," she added. "Where's your waste basket?"
The managing editor, feeling embarrassed by the presence of the artist,opened the letters. The first was from Mr. Marvin, Uncle John's banker,saying:
"After much negotiation I have secured for you the best newspaperillustrator in New York, and a girl, too, which is an addedsatisfaction. For months I have admired the cartoons signed 'Het' in theNew York papers, for they were essentially clever and droll. Miss Hewittis highly recommended but like most successful artists is not always tobe relied upon. I'm told if you can manage to win her confidence shewill be very loyal to you."
The other letter was from the editor of a great New York journal. "Ingiving you Hetty," he said, "I am parting with one of our strongestattractions, but in this big city the poor girl is rapidly drifting toperdition and I want to save her, if possible, before it is too late.She has a sweet, lovable nature, a generous heart and a keen intellect,but these have been so degraded by drink and dissipation that you maynot readily discover them. My idea is that in a country town, away fromall disreputable companionship, the child may find herself, and come toher own again. Be patient with her and help her all you can. Herwonderful talent will well repay you, even if you are not interested insaving one of God's creatures."
Silently Patsy passed the letters to Beth and Louise. After reading themthere was a new expression on the faces they turned toward Hetty Hewitt.
"Forgive me," said Patsy, abruptly. "I--I think I misjudged you. I waswrong in saying what I did."
"No; you were quite right." She sat with downcast eyes a moment, musingdeeply. Then she looked up with a smile that quite glorified her wanface. "I'd like to stay, you know," she said humbly. "I'm facing acrisis, just now, and on the whole I'd rather straighten up. If you feellike giving me a chance I--I'd like to see if I've any reserve force orwhether the decency in me has all evaporated."
"We'll try you; and I'm sure you have lots of reserve force, Hetty,"cried Patsy, jumping up impulsively to take the artist's soiled, thinhand in her own. "Come with me to the hotel and I'll get you a room.Where is your baggage?"
"Didn't bring it. I wasn't sure I'd like the country, or that you'd careto trust me. In New York they know me for what I'm worth, and I get lotsof work and good advice--mixed with curses."
"We'll send for your trunk," said Patsy, leading the girl up the street.
"No; it's in hock. But I won't need it. With no booze to buy I caninvest my earnings in wearing apparel. What a picturesque place this is!Way back in the primitive; no hint of those namby-pamby green meadowsand set rows of shade trees that make most country towns detestable;rocks and boulders--boulders and rocks--and the scraggly pines forbackground. The wee brook has gone crazy. What do you call it?"
"Little Bill Creek."
"I'm going to stab it with my pencil. Where it bumps the rocks it'sobstinate and pig-headed; where it leaps the little shelves of slateit's merry and playful; where it sweeps silently between the curvingbanks it is sulky and resentful. The Little Bill has moods, bless itsheart! Moods betoken character."
Patsy secured for Hetty a pleasant room facing the creek.
"Where will you work, at the office or here?" she asked.
"In the open, I guess. I'll run over the telegraph news to get a subjectfor the day's cartoon, and then take to the woods. Let me know whatother pictures you want and I'll do 'em on the run. I'm a beast towork."
Arthur Weldon, in his capacity as advertising manager, wrote to all thenational advertisers asking their patronage for the _Millville DailyTribune_. The letters were typewritten by the office stenographer onnewly printed letterheads that Fitzgerald, the job printer, hadprepared. Some of the advertisers were interested enough in Arthur'snovel proposition to reply with questions as to the circulation of thenew paper, where it was distributed, and the advertising rates. Thevoting man answered frankly that they had 27 subscribers already andwere going to distribute 400 free copies every day, for a time, assamples, with the hope of increasing the subscription list. "I am notsure you will derive any benefit at all from advertising in our paper,"he added; "but we would like to have you try it, and you can pay uswhatever you consider the results warrant."
To his astonishment the advertisements arrived, a great many from veryprominent firms, who accepted his proposal with amusement at hisoriginality and a desire to help the new venture along.
"Our square statement of facts has given us a good start," he told thegirls. "I'm really amazed at our success, and it's up to you to make apaper that will circulate and make trade for these trustfuladvertisers."
With the local merchants the results were less satisfying. Bob West putin a card advertising his hardware business and Nib Corkins cautiouslyinvested a half dollar to promote his drug store and stock of tarnishedcheap jewelry; but Sam Cotting said everybody knew what he had for saleand advertising wouldn't help him any. Arthur drove to Huntingdon withLouise and while the society editor picked up items her husbandinterviewed the merchants. The Huntingdon people were more interested inthe new paper than the Millville folk, and Arthur quoted such low pricesthat several advertisements were secured. Two bright boys of thisthriving village were also employed to ride over to Millville eachmorning, get a supply of _Tribunes_ and distribute a sample copy toevery house in the neighborhood.
"Fitz" set up the "ads" in impressive type and the columns of the firstedition began to fill up days before the Fourth of July arrived. Louisehad a story and two poems set in type and read over the proofs dozens oftimes with much pride and satisfaction, while Beth prepared an articleon the history of baseball and the probable future of our national game.
They did not see much of their artist during the first days followingher arrival, but one afternoon she brought Patsy a sketch and asked:
"Who is this?"
Patsy glanced at it and laughed gleefully. It was Peggy McNutt, thefish-eyed pooh-bah of Millville, who was represented sitting on hisfront porch engaged in painting his wooden foot. This was one ofMcNutt's recognized amusements. He kept a supply of paints of manycolors, and every few days appeared with his rudely carved wooden footglistening with a new coat of paint and elaborately striped. Sometimesit would be blue with yellow stripes, then green with red stripes, andanon a lovely pink decorated with purple. One drawback to Peggy'sdelight in these transformations was the fact that it took the paint anight and a day to dry thoroughly, and during this period of waiting hewould sit upon his porch with the wooden foot tenderly resting upon therail--a helpless prisoner.
"Some folks," he would say, "likes pretty neckties; an' some wears fancysocks; but fer my part I'd ruther show a han'some foot ner anything. Itdon't cost as much as we
arin' socks an' neckties, an' it's more artisticlike."
Hetty had caught the village character in the act of striping the woodenfoot, and his expression of intense interest in the operation was sooriginal, and the likeness so perfect, from the string suspenders andflannel shirt to the antiquated straw hat and faded and patchedoveralls, that no one would be likely to mistake the subject. The sketchwas entitled "The Village Artist," and Patsy declared they would run iton an inside page, just to make the Millville people aware of the "powerof the press." Larry made an etching of it and mounted the plate for adouble column picture. The original sketch Patsy decided to have framedand to hang it in her office.
Aunt Jane's Nieces on Vacation Page 7
