Aunt Jane's Nieces on Vacation

by L. Frank Baum

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE PENALTIES OF JOURNALISM

  Two strange men appeared in Millville--keen, intelligent lookingfellows--and applied to Joe Wegg for jobs. Having received a hint fromMr. Merrick, Joe promptly employed the strangers to prepare the old millfor the reception of the machinery for the lighting plant, and both ofthem engaged board at the hold.

  "Thursday," said Hetty, as she watched the pressman that night, "there'sa New York detective here--two of them, I think."

  "How do you know?"

  "I recognized one of them, who used to prowl around the city looking forsuspicious characters. They say they've come to work on the new electricplant, but I don't believe it."

  Thursday worked a while in silence.

  "Mr. Merrick must have sent for them," he suggested.

  "Yes. I think he suspects about the bomb."

  "He ought to discharge me," said Thursday.

  "No; he's man enough to stand by his guns. I like Mr. Merrick. He didn'tbecome a millionaire without having cleverness to back him and I imaginehe is clever enough to thwart Skeelty and all his gang."

  "Perhaps I ought to go of my own accord," said Thursday.

  "Don't do that. When you've found a friend like Mr. Merrick, stick tohim. I imagine those detectives are here to protect you, as well as theprinting plant. It won't be so easy to set a bomb the next time."

  Smith looked at her with a smile. There was a glint of admiration in hiseyes.

  "You're not a bad sleuth yourself, Hetty," he remarked. "No detectivecould have acted more wisely and promptly than you did that night."

  "It was an accidental discovery, Thursday. Sometimes I sleep."

  That was a good deal of conversation for these two to indulge in. Hettywas talkative enough, at times, and so was Thursday Smith, when thehumor seized him; but when they were together they said very little. Theartist would stroll into the pressroom after the compositors hadfinished their tasks and watch the man make up the forms, lock them,place them on the press and run off the edition. Then he would glanceover the paper while Thursday washed up and put on his coat, after whichhe accompanied her to the door of her hotel and with a simple "goodnight" proceeded up the street to his own lodging.

  There are surprises in the newspaper business, as our girl journalistswere fast discovering. It was a real calamity when Miss Briggs, who hadbeen primarily responsible for getting the _Millville Daily Tribune_into proper working order, suddenly resigned her position. They haddepended a great deal on Miss Briggs, so when the telegraph editorinformed them she was going back to New York, they were positivelybewildered by her loss. Questions elicited the fact that the woman wasnervous over the recent explosion and looked for further trouble fromthe mill hands. She also suspected the two recent arrivals to bedetectives, and the town was so small and so absolutely without policeprotection that she would not risk her personal safety by remaininglonger in it.

  "Perhaps I'm homesick," she added. "It's dreadfully lonely here when I'mnot at work, and for that reason I've tried to keep busy most of thetime. Really, I'm astonished to think I've stood this isolation so long;but now that my mind is made up, I'm going, and it is useless to ask meto remain."

  They offered her higher wages, and Mr. Merrick himself had a long talkwith her, but all arguments were unavailing.

  "What shall we do, Thursday?" asked Patsy in despair. "None of usunderstands telegraphy."

  "Hetty Hewitt does," he suggested.

  "Hetty! I'm afraid if I asked her to assume this work she also wouldleave us."

  "No; she'll stay," he said positively.

  "But she can't edit the telegraph news. Suppose she took the messages,who would get the night news in shape for the compositors? My unclewould not like to have me remain here until midnight, but even if hewould permit it I have not yet mastered the art of condensing thedispatches and selecting just such items as are suitable for the_Tribune_."

  "I'll do that, Miss Doyle," promised Smith.

  "I've been paying especial attention to the work of Miss Briggs, for Ihad an idea she was getting uneasy. And I can take all the day messages,too. If Hetty will look after the wires evenings I can do the rest ofthe telegraph editor's work, and my own, too."

  "Good gracious, Thursday!" exclaimed Patsy; "you'll be running the wholepaper, presently."

  "No; I can't do the typesetting. But if the Dwyer girls stick to theirjob--and they seem quite contented here--I'll answer for the rest of theoutfit."

  "I'm glad the Dwyer girls seem contented," she answered; "but I'mafraid to depend upon anyone now--except you."

  He liked that compliment, but said nothing further. After consultingwith Louise and Beth, Patsy broached the subject to Hetty, and theartist jumped at the opportunity to do something to occupy her leisuretime. The work brought her in contact with Thursday Smith more thanever, and when Miss Briggs departed bag and baggage for New York, thepaper suffered little through her defection.

  "Newspaper folk," remarked Major Doyle, who was now at the farm enjoyinghis vacation and worshipping at the shrine of the managing editor in theperson of his versatile daughter, "are the most unreliable of any classin the world. So I've often been told, and I believe it. They come andgo, by fits and starts, and it's a wonder the erratic rascals never puta paper out of business. But they don't. You never heard of a newspaperthat failed to appear just because the mechanical force deserted andleft it in the lurch. By hook or crook the paper must be printed--andit always is. So don't worry, mavourneen; when your sallow-faced artistand your hobo jack-of-all-trades desert you, there'll still be a way tokeep the _Millville Tribune_ going, and therefore the world willcontinue to whirl on its axis."

  "I don't believe Thursday will ever desert, and Hetty likes us too wellto leave us in the lurch; but suppose those typesetters take a notion toflit?"

  "Then," said matter-of-fact Beth, "we'll fill the paper with ready-madeplate stuff and telegraph for more compositors."

  "That's it," agreed the major, "Those people are always to be had. Butdon't worry till the time comes. As me grandfather, the commodore, oncesaid: 'Never cross a bridge till ye come to it.'"

  "It wasn't your grandfather who originated that remark," said UncleJohn.

  "It was, sir! I defy you to prove otherwise."

  "I'm not certain you ever had a grandfather; and he wasn't a commodore,anyhow."

  "Sir!" cried the major, glaring at his brother-in-law, "I have hiscommission, somewhere--laid away."

  "Never mind," said Patsy, cheerfully, for these fierce arguments betweenher father and uncle--who were devotedly attached to one another--neverdisturbed her in the least, "the _Tribune's_ running smoothly just now,and the work is keeping us delightfully busy. I think that never in mylife have I enjoyed myself more than since I became a journalist."

  "Is the thing paying dividends?" inquired the major.

  Arthur laughed.

  "I've just been figuring up the last month's expenditures and receipts,"said he. "The first month didn't count, for we were getting started."

  "And what's the result?" asked the Major.

  "Every paper we send out--for one cent--costs us eighty-eight cents tomanufacture."

  There was a painful silence for a time, broken by the major's suggestivecough.

  "I hope," said the old soldier, solemnly, "that the paper's circulationis very small."

  "The smallest of any daily paper in all the civilized word, sir,"declared the bookkeeper.

  "Of course," remarked Louise, with dignity; "that is what distinguishesit. We did not undertake this publication to make money, and it does notcost us more than we are willing to pay for the exceptional experienceswe are gaining."

  The major raised his eyebrows; Arthur whistled softly; Uncle Johnsmiled; but with one accord they dropped the disagreeable subject.