Mark Tidd, Editor

by Clarence Budington Kelland

  CHAPTER IX

  During the next few days we were pretty busy getting ready for the nextissue of the _Trumpet_, so we didn't get to see Rock, and Mark didn'thave a minute to study out that puzzle about the cat and what color is abrick and all that. Things didn't go along as smooth this time as theydid before. Mark said it was because the novelty had worn off. We gotsome advertising, but there weren't any full pages, and we didn't get inhalf a dozen subscriptions, so that when the paper was printed we werejust about out of money again.

  Our paper, printed with patent insides, as they call them, had to bepaid for at the express office before we could get it, and TecumsehAndrocles Spat had had to buy a new pair of pants on account of sometrouble with a dog while he was out walking one evening, and ink costmoney. You haven't any idea what a lot it takes to print a paper.

  Well, we got it out all right, and then started to sell it. But thistime Spragg was right on hand with his Eagle Center _Clarion_, and hadkids selling it just like we sold the _Trumpet_, only he sold his paperfor three cents, while we had to get five or bust.

  And this time he had more Wicksville news, though we still beat himthere. But folks will buy cheap even if what they're getting isn't sogood as what costs a little more. The result of the whole thing was thatwe got left with a hundred papers on our hands, and that was pretty bad.It was Spragg that did it.

  When we knew just how we'd come out we had a meeting in the office tosee what to do about it.

  "If we could only git rid of Spragg," says Tallow.

  "Yes," says I, "he's messin' up the whole show."

  "S-sounds easy," says Mark. "How'd you goat it?"

  We looked at one another but nobody had any ideas.

  "Might sick a dog on him," says I.

  "We might get out an Eagle Center edition of the _Trumpet_," says Plunk.

  Well, there was an idea and we talked it over, but it wasn't long beforewe saw that wouldn't do. We had our hands full now without monkeyingwith Eagle Center.

  "If," says I, "we could only fix it so's folks here didn't want anythingto do with Eagle Center--"

  "Binney," says Mark, "_there_ is an idee. Start a t-town row. Get folkshere to hatin' Eagle Center. Make a sort of war, eh? Fine. Now," says hewith a grin, "all we got to do is f-figger out how to do it."

  "If that Eagle Center paper would only talk mean about Wicksville," saysI.

  "It won't," says Mark; "they're after Wicksville b-business."

  He sat back and pulled at his ear like he does when he's thinking hard,and whistled a little, and reached for his jack-knife and whittled some.

  Pretty soon he whacked his leg and says he's got it.

  "Well?" says I.

  "We'll go to Eagle Center," says he, "and interview a b-b-bunch offolks, and sort of get 'em to talk about Wicksville. Bet we can f-fix itso's they make fun of this town. Then," says he, "there's that oldb-business of the trolley line from the city, which might go throughhere and m-might go through Eagle Center. What made me think of that wasthat a s-surveyor got off'n the train to-day, and I asked him what hewas up to, and he says he was goin' over the right of way that was laidout a couple of years ago."

  "Um!" says I. "Sounds promisin'."

  "We'll t-try it," says Mark. "Binney, you and I will go over in them-mornin'."

  So next morning over we went.

  I never saw anything so easy. Mark says that folks would rather make funof somebody or something, whether they've got any reason for doing it ornot, than to work and make money, and I guess he's right.

  As soon as we began talking about Wicksville they up and sailed into itlike they had been waiting for the chance for years. Of course we helpedthings along by bragging a little and by making a few comparisons thatdidn't favor Eagle Center any. But it didn't take much urging. Why, wecould have got enough interviews to fill the paper twice, and any one ofthem, when they stood out in print, was enough to make the wholepopulation of Wicksville take off its coats and roll up itsshirt-sleeves and start right over to give Eagle Center a walloping.

  When we had all we wanted we started back for home, and planned out howwe'd use it, and the way we planned was the one that would do the mostgood, you bet.

  "Now," says Mark, "if we just had some sure news about that t-trolleyline."

  "We hain't," says I.

  "No," says he, "but if Plunk and Tallow'll git out and tag around afterthat s-surveyor we'll git some. Just hang around him and ask questions,but don't l-let on you're newspaper men. Just be kids."

  So off they went.

  They found out that surveyors were going over both routes--the onethrough Wicksville and the one through Eagle Center. It seems like thecompany was keeping pretty quiet about the whole thing, but from whatPlunk and Tallow could gather, it was pretty sure the trolley line wasgoing through some place.

  Well, there was big news, and if Spragg didn't get hold of it it wouldbe bigger than ever.

  We set right to work getting things in shape for the next paper, andcalled in Tecumseh Androcles Spat to tell him all about it and get himto fix up the paper so it would look exciting. He got the idea rightaway.

  "Will Tecumseh A. Spat dress up this paper? You may take it, younggentlemen, from an authority, that he will. It is an opportunity. Thistown shall see what a paper with a real story in it should look like. Wewill hammer them in the eyes with type. We will make our pages leap outto meet them. Ah, this is an occasion such as delights the heart of acompositor and make-up man. I revel in it. Trust me, gentlemen, and youshall not be disappointed."

  And we weren't. All we had to do was write the stuff and give it toTecumseh. Why, he hardly took time to eat or sleep! He was that tickledwith himself he almost busted out of his clothes, and we had to keepgoing hard or he'd have run right away from us.

  It was two days before we got the stories all written--the trolley lineand what Eagle Center thought of Wicksville. Then we did a littleadvertising of our own. Mark wrote the signs.

  The first one, printed in big type and tacked up in front of our office,went like this:

  WICKSVILLE INSULTED

  Never were such things said about a town without blood being shed.

  Has Wicksville any pride? You bet it has pride.

  READ ABOUT IT IN THE NEXT WICKSVILLE "TRUMPET"

  Every word printed was actually uttered. What will you do about it?

  Then we printed about twenty little signs that said:

  Where is Wicksville's civic pride? Will it stand by to be insulted? Read the insults in the Wicksville _Trumpet_.

  That night we put these all up, and the next morning the town wastalking. I'll bet twenty folks stopped in the office to ask what it wasabout, but mum was the word with us. We wouldn't peep.

  "It's so," says Mark Tidd. "Every w-w-word of it. This town's beeninsulted like no town was ever insulted before. It's a shame andsomethin' ought to be done about it. The Board of Trade ought to dosomethin'."

  "But who insulted us?"

  "The whole thing's in the n-n-next p-paper," says Mark, getting sort ofexcited and stuttering like everything. "Wait till the paper comes out."

  "We want to know now," says the man.

  "Well," says Mark, "I'm sorry, but it hain't possible to accommodateyou. This is a newspaper. It's p-printed to give news. That's what wehave to sell, and we can't give it away any more than the grocer wouldgive you a p-p-pound of cheese."

  "I'll pay you for it," says the man. "Your paper costs a nickel. Well,there's your nickel. Now give me the news."

  "No," says Mark, "that wouldn't be f-f-fair. Other folks have to waittill their paper comes, and so will you." And that was the end of it,though the man kept on asking, and so did other folks.

  By the time Thursday got around the town was pretty much worked up. Youhaven't any idea ho
w much folks think of their town till somethinghappens, and then up in the air they go. Well, Wicksville was up in theair, you can bet, and it looked like it was up there to stay. Some folkswas for having a public meeting about it, but others pointed out it wasfoolish to have a public meeting till you knew what you were going tohave it about.

  Other folks said, though, that as long as you knew your town had beeninsulted, what was the difference _how_ it was insulted or who did it?Something ought to be done. Of course we didn't do a thing to stoppeople from feeling that way, either.

  At last the _Trumpet_ went to press, and she was a dandy. Across thefront page was a big head-line:

  WICKSVILLE INSULTED BY EAGLE CENTER

  Then, side by side, we printed interviews, heading each oneappropriately. Mr. Wiggamore, the justice of the peace at Eagle Center,said every time a loafer came into his court the first question he askedhim was, did he come from Wicksville. That was pretty good for asend-off, letting on that Wicksville folks were loafers, but he wentfarther than that. He said when he had to drive through the country hewould go out of his way five miles before he would drive through ourtown, because our streets were so rotten they weren't fit to drivecattle over, let alone a horse and buggy. We knew that would rile thefolks, because we do take pride in our streets.

  Next came Mr. Smart, the grocer. He said he wouldn't do business inWicksville except on a cash basis. That he'd never seen a man fromWicksville he'd trust with a red-hot stove. And he said the town lookedlike somebody passing in the night had dropped it by accident andforgotten it. Also he said that the man that dropped it was probablymighty glad of it.

  Then came Mr. Pilkins, town clerk, and he gave his opinion thatWicksville was the worst-looking, most run-down, dilapidated,out-at-heel village in Michigan. He said it was a shame; that the restof the towns in the country ought to take up a collection to helpWicksville folks paint their houses. He said it was his experience thatWicksville folks were ashamed of where they lived, and didn't let onunless they were cornered, and he said that when they thought they'd bebelieved they always let on they came from Eagle Center.

  Mr. Stoddy said that Wicksville didn't have enterprise enough to keepthe hogs out of Main Street. Now that was a lie if there ever was one,and it made me kind of mad myself. He said the best men in our town werethe women, and that so fax's he could see there wasn't any reason forkeeping up such a town at all unless it was that no other town wantedsuch a lot of folks to live in it.

  Well, those are just samples. The men that said them were more thannine-tenths joking, all right, but when you saw what they said right incold type it looked pretty bad. Whee! but it looked bad.

  Then, right on top of those insults, and a lot more, we printed anotherbig head-line:

  SHALL EAGLE CENTER STEAL OUR TROLLEY LINE?

  Then we printed the story about the trolley line, and what was going on.And we more than hinted that if Eagle Center got a chance it would dosomething underhanded to influence the line to go that way. And wepointed out the benefits of the line to Wicksville, and what money itwould bring to town, and all that. My! it was a screamer.

  Then, inside, we printed an editorial by Mark Tidd, which asked ourfolks if they wanted anything to do with a town that thought about usthe way Eagle Center did. He asked if we wanted to trade with them, orvisit with them. He wanted to know why the Board of Trade didn't meetand fix up to boycott Eagle Center, and he ended up by demanding whysomething wasn't done at once to see to it Wicksville got that trolleyline for itself.

  You wouldn't believe it, but we ran out of papers before they'd had timeto dry, and had to turn to and print some more. Yes, sir, we printed awhole hundred extra, and sold every one of them. Wherever you looked wasa man reading the paper, maybe out loud to a crowd. It was funny. Menstood shaking their fists and scowling and making speeches and tearingaround like they was crazy. There was some talk of organizing a party togo over to Eagle Center to dare them to fight, but this was overruled.

  Anyhow, everybody was mad, and when Spragg, of the Eagle Center_Clarion_, came out of the hotel and sent his boys to sell papers, thecrowd took after him and chased him up to his room, and he didn't darecome down until the town marshal went home and put on his star and thenescorted him to the train. Spragg never waited to see what became of hispapers, but just went away from there as fast as he could.

  I don't believe he was exactly clear why the folks was so turned againsthim, but he soon found out, all right.

  Well, there was a mass meeting, and our folks adopted resolutions payingtheir respects to Eagle Center and to everybody that lived in it, andthey vowed they wouldn't have any dealings with the town or anybody init. They appointed committees and everything.

  Mark and the rest of us were at the meeting, and we got busy gettingsubscriptions. Civic pride was the tune we played.

  "Here," says Mark, "is a paper all our own. It's a b-b-better paper thanEagle Center's. Yet you f-folks let an Eagle Center man come in here andsell that paper of his, and you r-refuse to buy ours. Now's the time toshow them. If you mean what you say, why, cut out that Eagle Centerpaper and dig down for a dollar 'n' a quarter to subscribe for yourown."

  That was the way he talked, and the rest of us took a leaf out of hisbook. And it got results, too. That night we took more than fiftysubscriptions. Which was pretty good. We thought it had disposed foreverof the Eagle Center _Clarion_, but it hadn't. Anyhow, it hadn't disposedof Mr. Spragg, who seemed to have got a grudge against us. He wasn'tmuch of a newspaper man, but as an enemy he did pretty well, so we foundout before we were through with him.