Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  “Anything more, yer honor?” he asked sarcastically.

  “Yes; you might bring me the morning paper,” was the reply.

  Everyone except Todd laughed frankly at this retort. Uncle John put two silver dollars in Mrs. Todd’s chubby hand and told Thomas to drive on.

  “I dunno,” remarked old Hucks, when they were out of earshot, “whether that feller’s jest a common tramp or a workman goin’ over to the paper mill at Royal. Jedgin’ from the fact as he had money I guess he’s a workman.”

  “Wrong, Thomas, quite wrong,” said Beth, seated just behind him. “Did you notice his hands?”

  “No, Miss Beth.”

  “They were not rough and the fingers were slender and delicate.”

  “That’s the mark of a cracksman,” said Arthur Weldon, with a laugh. “If there are any safes out here that are worth cracking, I’d say look out for the gentleman.”

  “His face isn’t bad at all,” remarked Patsy, reflectively. “Isn’t there any grade between a workman and a thief?”

  “Of course,” asserted Mr. Merrick, in his brisk way. “This fellow, shabby as he looked, might be anything — from a strolling artist to a gentleman down on his luck. But what’s the news, Thomas? How are Ethel and Joe?”

  “Mr. an’ Mrs. Wegg is quite comf’t’ble, sir, thank you,” replied old Hucks, with a show of eagerness. “Miss Ethel’s gran’ther, ol’ Will Thompson, he’s dead, you know, an’ the young folks hev fixed up the Thompson house like a palace. Guess ye’d better speak to ‘em about spendin’ so much money, Mr. Merrick; I’m ‘fraid they may need it some day.”

  “Don’t worry. They’ve a fine income for life, Thomas, and there will be plenty to leave to their children — if they have any. But tell me about the mill at Royal. Where is Royal, anyhow?”

  “Four mile up the Little Bill Creek, sir, where the Royal Waterfall is. A feller come an’ looked the place over las’ year an’ said the pine forest would grind up inter paper an’ the waterfall would do the grindin’. So he bought a mile o’ forest an’ built a mill, an’ they do say things is hummin’ up to the new settlement. There’s more’n two hundred hands a-workin’ there, a’ready.”

  “Goodness me!” cried Patsy; “this thing must have livened up sleepy old

  Millville considerably.”

  “Not yet,” said Hucks, shaking his head. “The comp’ny what owns the mill

  keeps a store there for the workmen, an’ none of ‘em come much to

  Millville. Our storekeepers is madder’n blazes about it; but fer my part

  I’m glad the two places is separated.”

  “Why?” asked Louise.

  “They’re a kinder tough lot, I guess. Turnin’ pine trees inter paper mus’ be a job thet takes more muscle than brains. I don’t see how it’s done, at all.”

  “It’s simple enough,” said Mr. Merrick. “First the wood is ground into pulp, and then the pulp is run through hot rollers, coming out paper. It’s a mighty interesting process, so some day we will all go to Royal and see the paper made.”

  “But not just yet, Uncle,” remarked Patsy. “Let’s have time to settle down on the farm and enjoy it. Oh, how glad I am to be back in this restful, sleepy, jumping-off-place of the world again! Isn’t it delightful, Arthur Weldon? Did you ever breathe such ozony, delicious mountain air? And do you get the fragrance of the pine forests, and the — the — ”

  “The bumps?” asked Arthur, as the wagon gave a jolt a bit more emphatic than usual; “yes, Patsy dear, I get them all; but I won’t pass judgment on Millville and Uncle John’s farm just yet. Are we ‘most there?”

  “We’re to have four whole months of it,” sighed Beth. “That ought to enable us to renew our youth, after the strenuous winter.”

  “Rubbish!” said Uncle John. “You haven’t known a strenuous moment, my dears, and you’re all too young to need renewals, anyhow. But if you can find happiness here, my girls, our old farm will become a paradise.”

  These three nieces of Mr. Merrick were well worth looking at. Louise, the eldest, was now twenty — entirely too young to be a bride; but having decided to marry Arthur Weldon, the girl would brook no interference and, having a will of her own, overcame all opposition. Her tall, slender form was exceedingly graceful and willowy, her personality dainty and refined, her temperament under ordinary conditions essentially sweet and agreeable. In crises Louise developed considerable character, in strong contrast with her usual assumption of well-bred composure. That the girl was insincere in little things and cultivated a polished manner to conceal her real feelings, is undeniable; but in spite of this she might be relied upon to prove loyal and true in emergencies.

  Patricia Doyle was more than two years the junior of her cousin Louise and very unlike her. Patsy’s old father, Major Gregory Doyle, said “she wore her heart on her sleeve,” and the girl was frank and outspoken to a fault. Patsy had no “figure” to speak of, being somewhat dumpy in build, nor were her piquant features at all beautiful. Her nose tipped at the end, her mouth was broad and full-lipped and her complexion badly freckled. But Patsy’s hair was of that indescribable shade that hovers between burnished gold and sunset carmine. “Fiery red” she was wont to describe it, and most people considered it, very justly, one of her two claims to distinction. Her other admirable feature was a pair of magnificent deep blue eyes — merry, mischievous and scintillating as diamonds. Few could resist those eyes, and certain it is that Patsy Doyle was a universal favorite and won friends without a particle of effort.

  The younger of the three nieces, Elizabeth De Graf, was as beautiful a girl as you will often discover, one of those rarely perfect creations that excite our wonder and compel admiration — as a beautiful picture or a bit of statuary will. Dreamy and reserved in disposition, she lacked the graciousness of Louise and Patsy’s compelling good humor; yet you must not think her stupid or disagreeable. Her reserve was really diffidence; her dreamy, expressionless gaze the result of a serious nature and a thoughtful temperament. Beth was quite practical and matter-of-fact, the reverse of Patsy’s imaginative instincts or Louise’s affected indifference. Those who knew Beth De Graf best loved her dearly, but strangers found her hard to approach and were often repulsed by her unresponsive manner. Underneath all, the girl was a real girl, with many splendid qualities, and Uncle John relied upon Beth’s stability more than on that of his other two nieces. Her early life had been a stormy and unhappy one, so she was but now developing her real nature beneath the warmth of her uncle’s protecting love.

  Topping the brow of a little hill the wagon came to a smooth downward grade where the road met the quaint old bridge that spanned Little Bill Creek, beside which stood the antiquated flour and feed mill that had given Millville its name. The horses were able to maintain their brisk trot across the bridge and through the main street of the town, which was merely a cluster of unimposing frame buildings, that lined either side of the highway for the space of an ordinary city block. Then they were in the wilds again and rattling over another cobblestone trail.

  “This ‘ere country’s nuth’n’ but pine woods ‘n’ cobblestones,” sighed old Hucks, as the horses subsided to a walk. “Lor’ knows what would ‘a’ happened to us without the trees! They saves our grace, so’s to speak.”

  “I think the scenery is beautiful,” observed Patsy. “It’s so different from other country places.”

  “Not much farming around here, I imagine,” said Arthur Weldon.

  “More than you’d think, sir,” replied Thomas. “There’s certain crops as thrives in stony land, an’ a few miles north o’ here, towards Huntingdon, the soil’s mighty rich ‘n’ productive. Things ain’t never as bad as they seem in this world, sir,” he added, turning his persistently smiling face toward the young man.

  Mr. Merrick sat beside the driver on the front seat. The middle seat was occupied by Patsy and Beth, between whom squeezed little Mary, the maid. Louise and Arthur had the back seat.

  A
quarter of a mile beyond the town they came to a sort of lane running at right angles with the turnpike, and down this lane old Hucks turned his team. It seemed like a forbidding prospect, for ahead of them loomed only a group of tall pines marking the edge of the forest, yet as they came nearer and made a little bend in the road the Wegg farm suddenly appeared in view. The house seemed so cozy and homelike, set upon its green lawn with the tall pines for a background, that the girls, who knew the place well, exclaimed with delight, and Arthur, who now saw it for the first time, nodded his head approvingly.

  Uncle John was all excitement over the arrival at his country home. An old fashioned stile was set in a rail fence which separated the grounds from the lane, and Hucks drew up the wagon so his passengers could all alight upon the step of the stile. Patsy was out at a bound. Louise followed more deliberately, assisted by her boy husband, and Beth came more sedately yet. But Uncle John rode around to the barn with Thomas, being eager to see the cows and pigs and poultry with which the establishment was liberally stocked.

  The house was of two stories, the lower being built of cobblestones and the upper of pine slabs; but it had been artistically done and the effect was delightful. It was a big, rambling dwelling, and Mr. Merrick had furnished the old place in a lavish manner, so that his nieces would lack no modern comfort when they came there to spend a summer.

  On the porch stood an old woman clothed in a neat gingham dress and wearing a white apron and cap. Her pleasant face was wreathed in smiles as she turned it toward the laughing, chattering group that came up the path. Patsy spied her and rushed up to give old Nora a hug and kiss, and the other two girls saluted the blind woman with equal cordiality, for long ago she had won the love and devotion of all three. Arthur, who had heard of Nora, pressed her hand and told her she must accept him as another of her children, and then she asked for Mr. Merrick and ran in to get the breakfast served. For, although blind, old Nora was far from being helpless, and the breakfast she had prepared in anticipation of their arrival was as deliciously cooked as if she had been able to use her eyes as others did.

  CHAPTER III

  THE DAWN OF A GREAT ENTERPRISE

  The great enterprise was sprung on Mr. Merrick the very morning following his arrival at the farm. Breakfast was over and a group had formed upon the shady front lawn, where chairs, benches and hammocks were scattered in profusion.

  “Well, Uncle, how do you like it?” asked Louise. “Are you perfectly comfortable and happy, now we’ve escaped so far from the city that its humming life is a mere memory?”

  “Happy as a clam,” responded Uncle John, leaning back in his chair with his feet on a foot rest. “If I only had the morning paper there would be nothing else to wish for.”

  “The paper? That’s what that queer tramp at the Junction House asked for,” remarked Beth. “The first thought of even a hobo was for a morning paper. I wonder why men are such slaves to those gossipy things.”

  “Phoo!” cried Patsy; “we’re all slaves to them. Show me a person who doesn’t read the daily journals and keep abreast of the times and I’ll show you a dummy.”

  “Patsy’s right,” remarked Arthur Weldon. “The general intelligence and cosmopolitan knowledge of the people are best cultivated by the newspapers. The superiority of our newspapers has been a factor in making us the greatest nation on earth, for we are the best informed.”

  “My, what big words!” exclaimed Louise.

  “It is quite true,” said Uncle John soberly, “that I shall miss our daily paper during our four months’ retirement in these fascinating wilds. It’s the one luxury we can’t enjoy in our country retreat.”

  “Why not?” asked Patsy, with startling abruptness, while a queer expression — as of an inspiration — stole over her bright face.

  “Chump!” said Beth, drily; “you know very well why not, Patsy Doyle.

  Mooley cows and the fourth estate don’t intermingle, so to speak.”

  “They can be made to, though,” declared Patsy. “Why hasn’t some one thought of it before? Uncle John — girls! — I propose we start a daily paper.”

  Louise laughed softly, Beth’s lip curled and Arthur Weldon cast an amused glance at the girl; but Uncle John stared seriously into Patsy’s questioning blue eyes.

  “How?” he asked in a puzzled tone. If anything could interest this eccentric little millionaire more than the usual trend of events it was an original proposition of this sort. He loved to do things that other people had not attempted, nor even thought of. He hated conversational platitudes and established conventions, and his nieces had endeared themselves to him more by their native originality and frank disregard of ordinary feminine limitations than in any other way. It was generally conceded that Patsy was his favorite because she could advance more odd suggestions than the other girls, and this niece had a practical aptitude for carrying out her whimsical ideas that had long since won her uncle’s respect. Not that she could outdo Mr. Merrick in eccentricity: that was admitted to be his special province, in which he had no rival; but the girl was so clever a confederate that she gave her erratic uncle much happiness of the sort he most appreciated.

  Therefore, this seemingly preposterous proposition to establish a daily paper on a retired country farm did not strike the old gentleman as utterly impossible, and anything within the bounds of possibility was sure to meet his earnest consideration, especially when it was proposed by one of his favorite nieces.

  “How?” responded Patsy; “why, it’s easy enough, Uncle. We’ll buy a press, hire a printer, and Beth and Louise will help me edit the paper. I’m sure I can exhibit literary talents of a high order, once they are encouraged to sprout. Louise writes lovely poetry and ‘stories of human interest,’ and Beth — ”

  “I can’t write even a good letter,” asserted that young lady; “but I’d dearly love to edit a newspaper.”

  “Of course,” agreed Louise; “we all would. And I think we could turn out a very creditable paper — for Millville. But wouldn’t it cost a lot of money?”

  “That isn’t the present question,” replied Uncle John. “The main thing is, do you girls want to be tied down to such a task? Every day in the week, all during our summer holiday — ”

  “Why, you’ve made our whole lives a holiday, Uncle John,” interrupted Patsy, “and we’ve been so coddled and swamped with luxuries that we are just now in serious danger of being spoiled! You don’t want three spoiled nieces on your hands, do you? And please make allowance for our natural impetuosity and eagerness to be up and doing. We love the farm, but our happiness here would be doubled if we had some occupation to keep us busy, and this philanthropic undertaking would furnish us with no end of fun, even while we were benefiting our fellow man.”

  “All jabber, dear,” exclaimed Beth. “I admit the fun, but where does the philanthropy come in?”

  “Don’t you see?” asked Patsy. “Both Uncle John and that tramp we encountered have met on common ground to bewail the lack of a daily newspaper ‘in our midst’ — to speak in journalistic parlance. At the paper mill at Royal are over two hundred workmen moaning in despair while they lose all track of the world’s progress. At Huntingdon, not five miles distant, are four or five hundred people lacking all the educational advantages of an up-to-date — or is ‘down-to-date’ proper? — press. And Millville — good gracious! What would sleepy Millville folks think of having a bright, newsy, metropolitan newspaper left on their doorsteps every morning, or evening, as the case may be?”

  “H-m,” said Uncle John; “I scent a social revolution in the wilds of

  Chazy County.”

  “Let’s start it right away!” cried Patsy. “The ‘Millville Tribune.’ What do you say, girls?”

  “Why ‘Tribune?’“ asked Louise.

  “Because we three will run it, and we’re a triumvirate — the future tribunal of the people in this district.”

  “Very good!” said Uncle John, nodding approval. “A clever idea, Pats
y.”

  “But it’s all nonsense, sir,” observed Arthur Weldon, in astonishment.

  “Have you any idea of the details of this thing you are proposing?”

  “None whatever,” said the little millionaire. “That’s the beauty of the scheme, Arthur; it may lead us into a reg’lar complicated mix-up, and the joy of getting untangled ought to repay us for all our bother.”

  “Perhaps so — if you ever untangle,” said the young man, smiling at the whimsical speech. Then he turned to his young bride. “Do you want to go into this thing, Louise?” he asked.

  “Of course I do,” she promptly replied. “It’s the biggest thing in the way of a sensation that Patsy’s crazy brain has ever evolved, and I’ll stand by the Millville Tribune to the last. You mustn’t forget, Arthur, that I shall be able to publish all my verses and stories, which the Century and Harpers’ so heartlessly turned down.”

  “And Beth?”

  “Oh, I’m in it too,” declared Beth. “There’s something so delightfully mysterious and bewildering in the idea of our editing and printing a daily paper here in Millville that I can hardly wait to begin the experiment.”

  “It’s no experiment whatever,” asserted Patsy boldly. “The daily newspaper is an established factor in civilization, and ‘whatever man has done, man can do’ — an adage that applies equally to girls.”

  “Have you any notion of the cost of an outfit such as is required to print a modern daily?” asked Arthur.

  “Oh, two or three hundred, perhaps, but — ”

  “You’re crazy, child! That wouldn’t buy the type.”

  “Nevertheless,” began Patsy, argumentatively, but her uncle stopped her.

  “You needn’t figure on that,” he said hastily. “The outfit shall be my contribution to the enterprise. If you girls say you’re anxious and willing to run a newspaper, I’ll agree to give you a proper start.”

  “Oh, thank you, Uncle!”

  “Of course we’re willing!”