THE WAY INTO PRINT
Sam Cotting's General Store at Millville divided importance with Bob
West's hardware store but was a more popular loafing place for the
sparse population of the tiny town. The post office was located in one
corner and the telephone booth in another, and this latter institution
was regarded with much awe by the simple natives. Once in awhile some
one would telephone over to the Junction on some trivial business, but
the long-distance call was never employed except by the "nabobs"--the
local name for John Merrick and his nieces--or by the manager of the new
mill at Royal, who had extended the line to his own office in the heart
of the pine forest.
So, when Uncle John and the girls entered Cotting's store and the little
gentleman shut himself up in the telephone booth, a ripple of
excitement spread throughout the neighborhood. Skim Clark, the youthful
hope of the Widow Clark, who "run the Emporium," happened to be in the
store and he rushed out to spread the news that "the nabob's talkin' to
New Yoruk!"
This information demanded immediate attention. Marshall McMahon McNutt,
familiarly known as "Peggy" McNutt--because he had once lost a foot in a
mowing machine--and who was alleged to be a real estate agent, horse
doctor, fancy poultry breeder and palmist, and who also dabbled in the
sale of subscription books, life insurance, liniment and watermelons,
quickly slid off his front porch across the way and sauntered into
Cotting's to participate in the excitement. Seth Davis, the blacksmith,
dropped his tools and hurried to the store, and the druggist three doors
away--a dapper gentleman known as Nib Corkins--hurriedly locked his door
and attended the meeting. Presently the curious group was enlarged by
the addition of Nick Thome the liveryman, Lon Taft, a carpenter and
general man-of-all-work, and Silas Caldwell the miller, the latter a
serious individual who had "jest happened to come acrost from the mill
in the nick o' time."
Sam Cotting, being himself of great local importance, had never regarded
with favor the rivalry of the nabob, but he placed stools near the
telephone booth for the three girls, who accepted the courtesy with a
graciousness that ought to have disarmed the surly storekeeper. They
could not fail to be amused at the interest they excited, and as they
personally knew every one of the town people they pleasantly nodded to
each arrival and inquired after their health and the welfare of their
families. The replies were monosyllables. Millville folks were diffident
in the presence of these city visitors and while they favored the girls
with rather embarrassing stares, their chief interest was centered on
the little man in the telephone booth, who could plainly be seen through
the glass door but might not be heard, however loudly he shouted.
"Talkin' to New Yoruk" was yet a marvelous thing to them, and much
speculation was exchanged in low tones as to the probable cost of such
a conversation as Mr. Merrick was now indulging in.
"Costs a dollar to connect, ye know," remarked Peggy McNutt to Ned Long.
"Bet a cookie he's runnin' the blame bill up to two dollars, with all
this chinnin'. Why can't th' ol' nabob write a letter, like common
folks, an' give his extry cash to the poor?"
"Meanin' you, Peggy?" asked Nib Corkins, with a chuckle.
"He might do wuss ner that," retorted Peggy. "Lor' knows I'm poor
enough. You don't ketch _me_ a-talkin' to New York at a dollar a throw,
Nib, do ye?"
Meantime Mr. Merrick had succeeded in getting Mr. Marvin, of the banking
house of Isham, Marvin & Co., on the wire.
"Do me a favor, Marvin," he said. "Hunt up the best supply house and
have them send me a complete outfit to print a daily newspaper.
Everything must be modern, you know, and don't let them leave out
anything that might come handy. Then go to Corrigan, the superintendent
of the railroad, and have him send the freight up here to Chazy
Junction by a special engine, for I don't want a moment's delay and the
regular freight takes a week or so. Charge everything to my account and
impress upon the dealer the need of haste. Understand all that, Marvin?"
"I think I do, sir," was the reply; "but that's a pretty big order, Mr.
Merrick. The outfit for a modern daily will cost a small fortune."
"Never mind; send it along."
"Very well. But you'd better give me some details. How big a newspaper
do you want to print?"
"Hold the wire and I'll find out," said Uncle John. Then he opened the
door of the booth and said: "Patsy, how big a thing do you want to
print?"
"How big? Oh, let me see. Four pages will do, won't it, Louise?"
"Plenty, I should say, for this place," answered Louise.
"And how many columns to a page?" asked Uncle John.
"Oh, six or seven. That's regular, I guess."
"Make it six," proposed Beth. "That will keep us busy enough."
"All right," said Uncle John, and closed the door again.
This conversation was of the most startling nature to the assembled
villagers, who were all trying to look unconcerned and as if "they'd
jest dropped in," but were unable to dissemble their curiosity
successfully. Of course much of this interchange of words between the
man in the booth and the girls outside was Greek to them all, but "to
print" and "columns" and "pages" could apply only to one idea, which,
while not fully grasped, was tremendously startling in its suggestion.
The Merrick party was noted for doing astonishing things in the past and
evidently, in the words of Peggy McNutt, they were "up to some blame
foolishness that'll either kill this neighborhood or make it talked
about."
"It's too dead a'ready to kill," responded Nick Thorne gloomily. "Even
the paper mill, four mile away, ain't managed to make Millville wiggle
its big toe. Don't you worry over what the nabob'll do, Peggy; he
couldn't hurt nuthin' if he tried."
The door opened again and Mr. Merrick protruded a puzzled countenance.
"He wants to know about a stereotype plant, Patsy. What'll I tell him?"
Patsy stared. Louise and Beth shook their heads.
"If it belongs to the--the thing we want, Uncle, have 'em send it
along," said Patsy in desperation.
"All right."
A few minutes later the little man again appealed to them.
"How'll we run the thing, girls; steam or electricity?"
Patsy's face was a blank. Beth giggled and Louise frowned.
"Of course it'll have to be run," suggested Mr. Merrick; "but how?
That's the question."
"I--I hadn't given that matter thought," admitted Patsy. "What do you
think, Uncle?"
He considered, holding open the door while he thoughtfully regarded the
silent but interested group of villagers that eagerly hung upon every
word that passed.
"Cotting," called Mr. Merrick, "how do they run the paper mill at
Royal?"
"'Lectricity! 'Lectricity, sir!" answered half a dozen at once.
"They develops the power from the Royal Waterfall of the Little Bill,"
explained Cotting, with slow and pompous deliberation. "Mr. Skeelty he
tol' me they had enough 'lectric'ty to light up the whole dum country
fer ten mile in all directions, 'sides a-runnin' of the mill."
"Who's Skeelty?"
"Manager o' the mill, sir, an' part owner, he says."
"Has he a telephone?"
"Yes, Mr. Merrick."
"Thank you."
Mr. Merrick shut the door and called up Skeelty. Five minutes of
bargaining settled the question and he then connected with Mr. Marvin
again and directed him to have the presses and machinery equipped to run
by electricity. Thinking he had now given the banker all the commissions
he could attend to with celerity, Uncle John next called up Major Doyle
and instructed his brother-in-law to send four miles of electric cable,
with fittings and transformers, and a crew of men to do the work, and
not to waste a moment's time in getting them to Millville.
"What in blazes are ye up to now, John?" inquired the major, on
receiving this order.
"None of your business, Gregory. Obey orders."
"Going to light the farm and turn night into day?" persisted the major.
"This is Patsy's secret, and I'm not going to give it away," said Mr.
Merrick. "Attend to this matter promptly, Major, and you'll see the
result when you come to us in July for your vacation."
Having attended to all the requirements of the projected _Millville
Tribune_, as he thought, Mr. Merrick called the operator for the amount
of his bill and paid it to Sam Cotting--three dollars and eighty cents.
The sum fairly made the onlookers gasp, and as the Merrick party passed
out, Silas, the miller, said solemnly:
"Don't anybody tell me talk is cheap, arter this. John Merrick may be a
millionaire, but ef he keeps this thing up long he'll be a pauper.
Thet's _my_ prophe-sigh."
"Yer off yer base, Si," said McNutt "Joe Wegg tol' me once thet the
nabob's earnin's on his money were more'n he could spend ef he lays
awake nights a-doin' it. Joe says it keeps pilin' up on him, till
sometimes it drives him nigh desp'rit. I hed an idee I'd ask him to
shuck off some of it onter me. _I_ could stan' the strain all right, an'
get plenty o' sleep too."
"Ye won't hev no call to stan' it, Peggy," pre-dcted Lon Tait.
"Milyunhairs may spend money foolish, but they don't never give none
away. I've done sev'ral odd jobs fer Mr. Merrick, but he's never give me
more'n jest wages."
"Well," said McNutt with a sigh, "while he's in easy reach there orter
be _some_ sort o' pickings fer us, an' it's our duty to git all we can
out'n him--short o' actoo-al robbery. What do ye s'pose this new deal
means, boys? Sounds like printin' somethin', don't it?"
"P'raps it's some letterheads fer the Wegg Farm," suggested Nib
Corkins. "These Merricks do everything on a big scale."
"Four pages, an' six columns to a page?" asked Cotting scornfully.
"Sounds to me more like a newspaper, folks!"
There was a moment's silence, during which they all stared at the
speaker fearfully. Then said Skim Clark, in his drawling, halting way:
"Ef thet's the case, an' there's goin' ter be a newspaper here in
Millville, we may as well give up the struggle, fer the town'll be
ruined!"