A MAD UNDERTAKING.
The Camera Chap watched the puzzled face of the _Bulletin’s_ editor as
the latter pondered on his rash proposal. “Do I get the job, Fred?” he
inquired eagerly. “May I consider myself a regular staff photographer of
the Oldham _Daily Bulletin_?”
“You may not,” Carroll replied emphatically. “You reckless Indian!” he
added, with a laugh. “Do you think for a minute that I’m going to listen
to such a proposition? This stunt that you propose is the wildest idea
that has ever taken shape in that harum-scarum brain of yours. If I
thought that you were tired of liberty and had a feverish longing to
spend the next six months in jail, I might be willing to consider your
offer. But I have no reason to believe that such is the case.”
Hawley grinned. “I have no desire to go to prison, and no intention of
going there if I can possibly keep out,” he declared. “But really I
don’t see any reason why the venture should have such a disastrous
result.”
“You don’t, eh?” rejoined Carroll with an ironical laugh. “I suppose if
that chair you are sitting on were a keg of dynamite, you’d see no
particular danger in drumming your heels against its sides. Do you
suppose you could go out taking snapshots on the highways of Oldham in
defiance of the new anticamera law, and keep out of the clutches of the
police? You might possibly get away with the first picture, although
even that is doubtful; but you’d surely be nabbed on your second
attempt.”
“Why are you so sure of that?” Hadley inquired.
“Why am I sure of it? Why am I sure that a man who couldn’t swim would
drown if he were to jump overboard from the hurricane deck of a liner in
mid-Atlantic on a dark night? Because, my reckless young friend, my
common sense enables me to foresee clearly what would happen in both
cases. Our friend, Chief Hodgins, would stay awake night and day in
order to take advantage of such a grand opportunity to get even with
you. Every policeman of the Oldham force would have instructions to
bring you in, alive or dead. My esteemed contemporary, the _Chronicle_,
would publish a full description of you, refer to you as ‘the camera
bandit,’ and appeal to all good citizens to aid in your capture. The
whole city of Oldham would be on the watch for you. What chance would
you have?”
A sparkle came to the eyes of the Camera Chap. “By Jove, Fred, that’s an
alluring picture you’ve painted!” he exclaimed, with great enthusiasm.
“Alluring?” repeated the other deprecatingly.
“Yes. I hadn’t figured that it would be quite as exciting as all that.
But I have no doubt the conditions will be just as you’ve pictured
them, and I can see that I’m going to have even more fun than I
expected.”
“Fun! Do you mean to say that you could get any fun out of a situation
of that sort?”
“Why, of course,” Hawley replied simply. “Think of the sport of taking
snapshots in the face of such difficulties! Think of the fun of dodging
those fellows! The greater the danger, you know, Fred, the more
fascination there is to the picture game. There’s nothing in taking
snapshots which require no risk.”
To some men who did not know Frank Hawley, these words might have
sounded suspiciously like bombast; but Carroll knew well that the New
York _Sentinel’s_ star camera man was no braggart, and that what he had
just said simply and truly expressed his viewpoint regarding “the
picture game.”
“But, apart from the good time I shall have, think what a great thing
this snapshot campaign of mine will be for the _Bulletin_,” the Camera
Chap continued earnestly. “I predict a big boom in your paper’s
circulation, Fred, as soon as I get started. The more I’m denounced by
the police and the _Chronicle_, the more eager people will be to see the
pictures taken by ‘the desperate camera bandit.’ _Bulletins_ will sell
like hot cakes, Fred, and your coffers will be full of real money. For
Miss Melba’s sake, as well as your own, you’ve got to accept my
proposition.”
In spite of himself, a wistful expression came to Carroll’s face. He
realized the truth of what Hawley said. He had every reason to believe
that snapshots taken under such conditions and published daily on the
front page of the _Bulletin_ would greatly increase the sale of that
paper.
He had been furnished a striking proof of this a few days earlier when
he had published those snapshots showing Chief of Police Hodgins asleep
at his desk. There had been a big rise in circulation that day. Papers
had sold as fast as the newsboys could hand them out. Everybody in
Oldham had appreciated the joke on the fat chief of police and rushed to
procure copies of those amusing pictures. And the very next day the sale
of the _Bulletin_ had fallen off, showing Carroll conclusively that it
was Hawley’s snapshots alone which had brought about that sudden and all
too transient wave of prosperity.
Therefore the proprietor of the _Bulletin_ was sorely tempted now by the
Camera Chap’s offer; but, putting his own interests aside, he shook his
head in emphatic negation.
“I admit that it might help our circulation along, old man,” he began;
“but you see----”
“It would probably bring you a lot of advertising, too,” Hawley broke
in. “Really, Fred, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if this camera
campaign resulted in a bunch of nice, fat advertising contracts for the
_Bulletin_.”
“I doubt that,” said Carroll. “It is true that increased advertising
generally follows increased circulation; but it wouldn’t in my case. As
I told you the other day, most of the big advertisers of this town are
connected in some way or other with that bunch of grafters the
_Bulletin_ is fighting, and they wouldn’t advertise in our columns no
matter what figures our circulation books might show.”
“Maybe they wouldn’t,” the Camera Chap rejoined; “but there are lots of
others who would. I wasn’t thinking about the local advertisers. I have
in mind the big concerns--the breakfast-food people, the purveyors of
potted ham, canned soups, cocoa, and mixed pickles; the manufacturers of
safety razors, automobiles, shaving soaps, ready-made clothing, et
cetera. That’s the kind of advertising we’ll get for your sheet, Fred.”
Carroll laughed grimly. “Don’t you suppose I’ve been after all those
people already? There’s nothing doing with any of them. I’ve called
personally on those whose advertising offices are in near-by cities, and
spent a small fortune in postage stamps corresponding with the rest. Not
one of them could be made to see that it would be to his advantage to
advertise in the Oldham _Bulletin_.”
“Of course not,” exclaimed Hawley; “not while your circulation is as low
as it is at present. Naturally, they’ve no desire to throw their money
away. But wait until we’ve boosted the _Bulletin’s_ circulation
sky-high. Then we can talk contracts to them, and I’ll wager they’ll be
ready enough to listen.
“So, you see, Fred,” he added laughingly, “you really can’t afford to
turn down my application for the position of staff photographer on your
esteemed paper.”