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 everworked harder in my life."
"Yes," says he, "but what's it g-gettin' us? We're p-payin' our billsand not r-runnin' in debt, but that's about all. No use havin' ab-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 gets-subscribers. I want a t-thousand of 'em right off. Not jest f-folksthat buys the _Trumpet_ on the street, but that p-pays their money andhas it all the year. Like to git fifteen hunderd if I could."
"Hain't that many families in Wicksville," says I, "and no family wantsmore '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 townaway from us. Well, turn about's fair play. Besides, there's all thefarmers 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-tonguewaggle like you. I don't gen'ally say somethin' till I got somethin' tosay, 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 youa stummick-ache."
"If you could think with your stummick," says I, "you'd have some mightybig thoughts," which was so, him having one of the biggest stummicks intown. He just grinned and said that was pretty good for me, and he hadhopes I might really say something smart some day if I practised hard.
"Let's see," says he; "there's folks around solicitin' subscriptions formagazines. They must get p-p-paid somehow."
"They do," says I; "my aunt takes subscriptions, and she gits so muchfor every one she takes. They call it a commission, or somethin' likethat."
"Wonder why we couldn't work it ourselves," says he. "Not reg'laragents," says he, "but some scheme to git a l-l-lot of folks int'restedin gittin' subscribers for us. If we could git a woman's missionarys-s-society to goin' on it, it would s-stir things up a lot. Themwimmin, when they git set on anythin', go after it all-fired hot."
"How about the Ladies' Lit'ry Circle," says I, "and the Home CultureClub?"
"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-squabbleof some kind. That'd do it, sure. How m-many wimmin b'long to thosethings?"
"There's eighteen in the Circle," says I, "because ma b'longs, andthey're meetin' at our house to-morrow. I know there's eighteen, becausema was figgerin' how much she'd have to have to feed 'em. She says twosandriches apiece would do for most clubs, but thirty-six never'd fillup the wimmin in hern. She says she wished she could find somethin'stylish to put into those sandriches that didn't taste good. Then, shesays, she could brag about havin' somethin' special nice, and at thesame time nobody'd be able to make hogs of theirselves eatin' it."
"Have her t-t-try p-p-perfumed soap," says Mark. "That's swell, butnobody'd g-gobble it much."
"But," says I, "I dunno how many's in the Home Culture. I kin find out,though."
I did. There was an even twenty in it.
Well, Mark he sat down and pinched his cheek awhile, and then he took towhittling, which showed plain he was going after it hard. He whittled upnigh half a cord of wood before he got it all figgered out to suit him,and then he says, "Binney, who's boss of each of those clubs?"
"Mis' Strubber's president of the Circle," says I, "and Mis' Bobbin'spresident of the Home Culturers."
"We'll go s-s-see 'em," says he. "We'll give 'em all the lit'ry and allthe culture they kin use in a month of Sundays."
So he dragged me off to Mrs. Strubber's house. Mrs. Strubber is one ofthem big women; not fat, you know, but _big_. I calc'late she's more 'nsix feet high, and she could lift a barrel of sugar without turning ahair. But she's smart. Everybody says so, and she don't deny it herself.Most of the fellows are sort of scairt of her, but Mark didn't seem tobe much afraid, for he marched right up to her door and rang the bell.
She came to the door, with her sleeves rolled up, wiping her hands onher apron, and when I see how strong those arms looked I sort of edgedback so as to have the steps convenient if she didn't act pleased to seeus.
"Well, boys?" says she in a voice perty near as big as she was.
"Mis' S-s-strubber," says Mark, "we've come to ask some advice from you.Everybody says you're the smartest woman in this t-t-town, so wewouldn't go to anybody else with an important t-thing like this."
Well, you should have seen her grin. My! but she was tickled. "Comeright in," says she. "I was jest in the middle of a batch offried-cakes, but I calc'late Milly kin finish 'em up. Like freshfried-cakes?" says she.
"Not g-gen'ally," says Mark, "but I've heard a lot about yourn. Folkssays they melt in your mouth."
"A-hum!" says Mrs. Strubber, perducing some of them fried-cakes. "You'rea onusual p'lite young man, Mark Tidd. I wisht other boys would patternafter you."
"Yas'm," says Mark, his mouth full of fried-cake.
"What kin I do for you?" says she. "Don't hurry. Eat them cakes anddon't try to talk till you're done. You might strangle," says she.
"Mis' Strubber," says Mark, "I've heard some argimint in Wicksville overthese t-t-two wimmin's clubs--the Circle," he says, "and the HomeCulturers."
"A-hum!" says Mrs. Strubber, drawing herself up like a rooster lookingfor trouble--not a banty rooster. No, sir, one of them great big BarredRocks.
"Yes," he says, "there's some t-talk, and I figger it ought to bes-settled once for all. 'Course most folks agrees that _you're_ thesmartest woman the' is, but a few hain't got sense enough to own up toit. But quite a few f-folks is divided over which of the two clubs isthe brainiest, and which does the m-most good here, and all that. Now,for me, there hain't any doubt at all. But it ought to be s-s-settled,and I f-figger the Wicksville _Trumpet_ ought to t-take a hand, it bein'literature, kind of."
"A-hum!" says she, scowling as black as a pail of axle grease.
"So," says he, "I got to t-thinkin' it over," he says, "and itl-l-looked like the public demanded that question should get settledonce for all. Now, if _you_ kin see your way clear to come in with me,the _Trumpet_'ll announce a contest between the clubs, and the thing'llbe decided forever. Not only," says he, "as to b-brains, but as toc-cookin'."
"If them Home Culturers," says Mrs. Strubber, "got the _nerve_," shesays, "to come into a contest ag'in' us, I guess we got the self-respectto give 'em the come-down that's due 'em."
"Good," says Mark. "I f-figgered you'd think that way."
"What kind of a contest?" says she.
"Sev'ral kinds," says he, "endin' with a big display of all kinds ofcookin', and two nights with big dinners, one to be served by each club.There'll be the argimint contest, and it's always p-practical resultsthat shows there, hain't it, Mis' Strubber?"
"You bet it is," says she.
"So," says he, "I kind of reasoned out that we'd let results tell. Now,"he says, "the kind of argimints that counts is _sellin'_ argimints. Andyou got to sell somethin' hard to sell, and everybody's got to sell thesame thing."
"Mark Tidd," says she, "that's a splendid idee."
"I was wonderin' what you could t-tackle," says he. "It ought to besomethin' havin' to do with b-brains."
"Sure thing," says she.
"Books, maybe," says he. "Or maybe s-somethin' that would be harder 'nbooks."
"My husband's sister's second daughter," says she, "sells magazinesubscriptions. She says it's the hardest thing there is--exceptnewspaper subscriptions. She tackled
that, but she says it was too muchfor her."
"Um!" says Mark. "I bet it wouldn't be too hard for _you_."
"A-hum!" says Mrs. Strubber. "I calc'late I could do it on a pinch."
"Then," says Mark, "let's settle on that-sellin' n-n-newspapersubscriptions. But what p-paper can you git to let you? It'll be p-pertyhard, won't it?"
She thought quite a spell and guessed it would be. Then all of a suddenshe bust right out and clapped her hands together, "Why," she says,"you're int'rested in this, and you got a paper. Couldn't we git you tolet us use the _Trumpet_?"
Mark he sat back and frowned and sort of shook his head, but after aminute he says, deliberate-like, "Well," says he, "I guess I'd bewillin' to do that for a cause of this kind. But," says he, "it'sconcedin' consid'able."
"Oh," says she, "thank you, Mark! It's awful good of you to let us dothat. But what's the rest of your scheme?"
"Why," says he, "every year's subscription you sell will mean ten votes,and the side sellin' the most will be showed to be the smartest arguers,and the smartest arguers, everybody admits, is the smartest f-folks allaround. Then, at the end, there'll be a dinner served by the Circle, andone served by the Home Culturers, that nobody can go to but subscribersto the _Trumpet_. That'll help sell the s-s-subscriptions. The nightafter the second dinner'll be the cookin' show, admission included whenyou sell a s-subscription, and every subscriber'll have one vote as towhich club's wimmin is the b-best cooks. That'll about shut up everyargimint as to which is the s-smartest and usefulest. 'Cause," says he,"the ones that win both them things will p-prove it so nobody kin say aword."
"Mark Tidd," says she, "you're a smart boy."
"Like the idee?" says he, looking tickled to death.
"You bet," says she. "How'll we start it?"
"Why," says he, "you have a m-meetin' of your club and git up achallenge to them Home Culturers, darin' 'em to contest that way ag'in'you. I'll p-publish it in the _Trumpet_, and it bein' public that way,they won't dast to refuse, and you'll have 'em. See? And," says he, "asa example of p-public spirit," he says, "the _Trumpet_ will give ap-prize to the winners equal to t-t-ten per cent.," he says, "of all thesubscriptions taken. It'll be," says he, "a set of books, real brainybooks, for the winnin' club always to have in its l-l-library."
"Mark," says she, "you're that generous!"
"Generous!" I thought to myself, for I knew mighty well Mark would betickled to pay near twice that much to git subscriptions.
"I'll call that meetin' for to-morrow," says she, "and have thechallenge ready so's you can publish it in the next paper."
"Got a picture of you?" says he. "I'd like to p-print it the day thechallenge comes out."
Well, the way she jerked one out of the plush album and gave it to himwould have made you scairt. She jest _tore_ it out of the page withoutwaiting to draw it out of the slits.
"Mark Tidd," says she, "the club'll give you a special vote of thanksfor this," she says.
Mark he said something sugary to her and then we left, and he kept hisface straight till we got around the corner. Then he just leaned upagainst a tree and shook like a plate of jelly. I don't know as I eversaw him laugh harder, and I laughed, too, though it wasn't so funny tome, for I was thinking what a slick way he had about him. My goodness!I'd hate to have Mark Tidd want me to do something I didn't want to,because, before I knew it, he'd have me all through with it.
We went back to the office, where Plunk and Tallow were keeping shop,and who should be there but the Man With the Black Gloves. Yes, sir, hejust went in ahead of us, and he was writing another advertisement to beput in the paper. It went like this:
Jethro: Same time. Same place. Important. G. G. G.
"Well," says Mark, when he had gone out, "I guess we got to m-makeanother t-trip to that bridge."
Mark Tidd, Editor Page 14
