Mark Tidd, Editor, Page 5

  CHAPTER V

  Next day what Mark Tidd called the _mended_ Wicksville _Trumpet_ gaveits first toot. It didn't break our backs carrying to the post-officethe copies we mailed to regular subscribers. The four of us boys could'most have written out enough papers longhand to fix _them_ up, but wedid print five hundred copies altogether. The rest we were going to selljust like papers are sold in cities.

  We sold them for three cents apiece, and every fellow had subscriptionblanks in his pocket so if anybody got so reckless as to want tosubscribe we could catch him before he cooled off. You wouldn't believeit, but before night we had raked in forty-six regularhonest-to-goodness subscribers.

  Folks was that interested! At first they bought our papers to see thejoke, I guess, but pretty soon they were buying them because they wantedto read what was in them, and especial to read about Henry Wigglesworthand the two page advertisements from Pawl and Giddings.

  The Eagle Center _Clarion_ was on deck, too, giving away sample copiesof the new Wicksville edition. But we had Spragg swamped. For everylocal he had we printed three, and three of the kind Wicksville folkslike to read. He had only a dozen lines about Henry Wigglesworth, whilewe had two columns full of interesting things, and mystery, and Rock,and such like. It was the first time folks really got any clear idea ofwhat had happened out there. At that, I guess they thought they had aclearer idea than they had. I know we editors would have givenconsiderable to be better posted.

  Ten minutes after he got his paper Mr. Pawl started out to lick Mr.Giddings. About that same minute Mr. Giddings started out to do thingsto Mr. Pawl, and they met in the square close to the town pump. Each ofthem had a _Trumpet_ clutched in his fingers, and was waving it aroundlike a battle flag. When they saw each other they both let out a bellowand rushed.

  But neither of them was so war-like, when it came to doing regularfighting, as they were when nothing but yelling was necessary. When theygot about eight feet apart they both stepped like somebody was standingup and hauling on the lines. They stopped so sudden it must have jarredthem, and there they stood, shaking their fists at each other and wavingtheir _Trumpets_.

  Uncle Ike Bond, the 'bus driver, drew up his horses and craned his neckto listen.

  "What's trouble?" he called down.

  "They're squabblin' about them advertisements," said Jim Walker.

  "Um! ... If I was them fellers I'd keep shet up about them ads. As Iview it there was consid'able truth about both of 'em. Giddings he letson Pawl is a skinflint and weighs his hand with every pound of butter;Pawl he gives it out that Giddings hain't got but one honest hair in hishead, and that one's so loose at the root it's clost to fallin' out.I've dealt consid'able with both," Uncle Ike went on, waggling his head,"and as I view it nobody hain't been wronged." He stopped a minute andsquinted down at them.

  "Be you honest figgerin' on a fight?" he asked, "'cause if you be I'llstop to watch, but if it hain't nothin' but a fist-shakin' match I'llmove along. Hey?"

  Both men looked sort of sheepish, and like they wished they was wherethey weren't.

  "Go on, Pawl," said Uncle Ike, "step up and lam him one."

  Pawl backed off like the place he was standing was too hot for his feet.

  "Um!" says Uncle Ike. "Well, _you_ start it, Giddings. Somebody put achip on Pawl's shoulder. Giddings'll knock it off."

  "I won't have no chip on my shoulder," says Pawl.

  "I see somebody goin' into my store," says Giddings. "I got to hurryover there."

  "Both of you better hurry back," says Uncle Ike. "I'm what you mightcall a man with experience and wisdom. For more years 'n I like to thinkabout I've been a-drivin' this 'bus, and the seat of a 'bus is the placeto git experience. Nothin' like it. Greatest teacher in the world. Icalc'late there's few things I hain't capable of discussin' if I wasasked. I'm capable of offerin' both of you belligerents advice righthere and now, and this is it: You go on back to your stores and tend tobusiness, which don't mean puttin' sand in the sugar, or sellin'cold-storage eggs with a yarn that the hen is still cacklin' that laid'em. Jest try bein' square with your customers, and with each other, ifyou kin go so far, and you won't git made sich an idiotic spectacle ofas you be now. Nobody's profited by this here rumpus but Mark Tidd.Advertisin'! Huh! Now run along, you fellers, and advertise all overagain, but advertise yourselves, and advertise honest. Try it once, andsee if you don't git a substantial profit out of it. Jest tell the plaintruth in Mark's paper, and stick to what you advertise. Bein' as you'rewho you are, 'tain't reasonable to expect wonders of you, but you cangive a sort of flickerin' imitation of business men.... G'dap, bosses.Mooch along there." And Uncle Ike rattled off up the street, contentedwith himself and almost tickled to death that he'd got a chance to jawsomebody.

  As for us fellows, we went to selling papers as hard as we could, andwould you believe it, before noon we were cleaned out. Yes, sir, we'dsold every single solitary one.

  "Don't get s-s-set up," says Mark. "Tain't goin' to be as easy all thet-t-time. Folks is buyin' to-day out of curiosity. Next week we'll haveharder sleddin'."

  "Bet we don't," says Plunk. "Bet it'll be easier to run this old paperthan it is to slide down-hill. I don't see anythin' hard about it."

  "Huh!" says Mark, and not another word.

  Mark and I walked past the hotel, and there stood Spragg. He scowled atus over the top of one of our papers that he had paid three real centsfor.

  We went to selling papers as hard as we could, and beforenoon we were cleaned out]

  "Well," says I, "what do you think of it?"

  "Kid paper," says he.

  "Those page ads. are k-k-kid ads., ain't they?" says Mark.

  "Luck," says Spragg. "I'll have 'em next week."

  "Wigglesworth story was a kid story?" says Mark.

  "Nothin' to it," says Spragg. "I've asked folks. I'm a newspaper man,and if there was a story I'd get it. It wouldn't be you young ones."

  "You g-go on thinkin' so," says Mark. "We couldn't ask anythin'b-better."

  We went on, and when we were out of earshot Mark says: "That reminds me,I want to go up to Lawyer Jones. I w-w-want to know about Mr.Wigglesworth's w-w-will. Folks'll want to know in the next _Trumpet_,t-too."

  "All right," says I. "I don't mind sayin' I'm a mite curious, myself."

  So up we went.

  "Ah," says Lawyer Jones, "what can I do for you, my young friends? Areyou--ah--representing the press to-day?"

  "Y-yes," says Mark. "We came to find out if there was anything new tothe Wigglesworth b-business. Or if you'd tell us about the w-w-will."

  "Nothing new," says Lawyer Jones. "I can't find out a thing about thatboy, and he can't tell me anything that will throw the least light onwhy he was in Henry Wigglesworth's house. Seems he's been kept alonemost of his life--without folks, anyhow. Pretty well looked after, Iguess, though. Been to one boarding-school after another ever since hecan remember--cheap ones. Didn't know who paid his bills. Lonely littlecustomer. Not a coul in the world ever stood to him in the position offather or guardian."

  "Interestin'," says Mark. "Who's stayin' there with the boy?"

  "Mr. Wigglesworth's man-of-all-work. Jethro's his name."

  "_What_?" says Mark in a tone that made me jump.

  "Jethro," repeated Mr. Jones, sort of surprised. "Why?"

  "Oh, nothin'," says Mark. "Kind of a f-f-funny name."

  "About the will," says Mr. Jones, "I guess there's nothing to prevent mefrom reading it to you. It's sort of queer, like everything else thathas happened since Mr. Wigglesworth died. I don't know just what to do."

  "Will it d-d-do any harm if we p-print it?" says Mark.

  Mr. Jones hesitated a moment, like lawyers always do, just for effect, Iguess, then he said, "Wa-al, I dunno's it would do any harm."

  "And it'll do a h-h-heap of good," says Mark, with a grin. "There's alot of curiosity itchin' f-f-folks that readin' what that will says willc-cure."

  "And that sells newspapers," says Lawyer Jones
. "Well, I'm glad to helpyou all I can." So he went to his safe and came back with the will. Wecould understand it, all right, though for the life of me I can't seewhy it wasn't written out plain without so many "whereases" and"theretofores" and "devises," and such like.

  Anyhow, the gist of it was that Henry Wigglesworth claimed his mind wasas good as new and that this was his regular will, and no other one wasworth a cent. Then he said his debts had to be paid, which they wouldhave had to be, whether he said it or not, I guess. Then he "gave,devised, and bequeathed," whatever that means, all the "rest, residue,and remainder" of his property to "any heir or heirs in direct line ofdescent from myself, if such exist or can be found."

  All that meant, Lawyer Jones explained, was that he wanted his propertyto go to his sons or daughters, or his grandsons or granddaughters orgreat-grandsons or great-granddaughters, if he had any.

  Then the will said if nobody could find any of these direct heirs theproperty was to go to George Gardener Grover, only son of Mr.Wigglesworth's only sister. And there you are.

  "Um!" says Mark when Lawyer Jones was through. "'Tis f-f-funny, hain'tit? These heirs, now. Why didn't he up and name 'em by n-name?"

  "I can't tell you," said Lawyer Jones.

  "He acts," says I, "like he wasn't sure whether he had any or not."

  Mark looked at me with a squint, his little eyes twinkling likeeverything. "Binney," says he, "that's a g-good shot. I'll bet that'sit. Anyhow, we'll m-make b'lieve it is till we find out different. Gotto have s-somethin' to start on."

  "To start what on?" says I.

  "Why," says he, "the job of f-f-findin' these heirs, or of findin outthere hain't any." Then he turned to Mr. Jones. "Mr. Wigglesworth must'a' had a son or daughter or s-somethin'," says he, "or he wouldn't bes-suspectin' he had grandchildern or great-grandchildern."

  "That sounds reasonable," said Mr. Jones.

  "Ever hear of any?" says Mark.

  "In the years Mr. Wigglesworth has been here," said Mr. Jones, "he hasnever mentioned a relative to me. No, I never heard that he had a childor a wife. Somehow I had always supposed he was an old bachelor."

  "Gets queerer every minute," says Mark.

  "Well," says I, "we can't sit here figgerin' about it. We got work todo."

  "Sometimes," says Mark, "sittin' and figgerin' is the most valuable workthere is."

  "Maybe sometimes," says I, "but this hain't one of 'em. We've got inkand paper to buy and Tecumseh Androcles Spat to feed, and rent, and aheap of things. And you said yourself we didn't have any workin'capital. Since we ran that bazaar I've had a heap of respect for workin'capital."

  "Me too," says Mark. "And there's no chance of g-g-gettin' more moneyfrom dad. Ma set her foot down hard. She says we can waste what was putinto this paper, but she won't see another cent go after it, and when masays it like that there hain't any use arguin'. We got to sink or swimall by ourselves."

  "Well," says I, "I guess we made a profit on this week's _Trumpet_,anyhow."

  "Yes," says Mark, "but there's other weeks a-comin'."

  We thanked Lawyer Jones and started to go.

  "Come again," says he. "If you get any libel suits on your hands I'lltake care of them for you at cost, so to speak. Glad to see you anytime."

  When we were outside I says to Mark, "Now don't go gettin' all het upabout this mystery. We got enough on our hands now. We can't run a paperon nothin' and find missin' heirs and investigate mysterious lineradvertisements put in the paper by men with black gloves, and a dozenother things. We got to settle down to this paper job."

  "Sure," says Mark. "That's what I'm doin'. Hain't gettin' news about thebiggest thing a newspaper has to do?"

  "No," says I, "gettin' money is."

  He grinned like he does sometimes when he's ready to admit he's gettingthe worst of an argument.

  "Maybe you're r-r-right, Binney," says he, "and then again, maybe thisheir-huntin' and mystery-piercin' will help to get that money. Never cantell."

  "I wouldn't depend on it," says I.

  "I sha'n't," says he. "Come on to the office."

  Plunk and Tallow were there, and so was Tecumseh Androcles. He wasstanding up, making a speech to the fellows.

  "Ah," says he, when we came in, "here is the editor and another of thestaff. I, Tecumseh Androcles Spat, wish to congratulate you on the firstissue of the rejuvenated _Trumpet_. It was an achievement. On your part,you have filled the paper with pertinent reading-matter and withlucrative advertising. On my part, I have put it in type in such amanner as to cause favorable comment, even from the metropolitan press.I am proud to be associated with you. I hope the relation will longcontinue and that the progress of this deserving paper will be markedand rapid."

  "Good for you," says Mark, "but one swallow don't make a summer. Waittill we see what happens next week. See how many new subscribers we cangaffle on to, and how m-m-many advertisements we can get. Likewise,let's not forget the job-printin' end of it. Now, let's buckle down f'rthe n-n-next issue."

  Which we did.