MR. SKEELTY OF THE MILL
The next morning they drove to town again, passing slowly up the street
of the little village to examine each building that might be a possible
location for a newspaper office. Here is a map that Patsy drew of
Millville, which gives a fair idea of its arrangement:
[Illustration: Village Street]
Counting the dwellings there were exactly twelve buildings, and they all
seemed occupied.
When they reached the hardware store, opposite Cotting's, Mr. West, the
proprietor, was standing on the broad platform in front of it. In many
respects Bob West was the most important citizen of Millville. Tall and
gaunt, with great horn spectacles covering a pair of cold gray eyes, he
was usually as reserved and silent as his neighbors were confiding and
talkative. A widower of long standing, without children or near
relatives, he occupied a suite of well-appointed rooms over the hardware
store and took his meals at the hotel. Before Mr. Merrick appeared on
the scene West had been considered a very wealthy man, as it was known
he had many interests outside of his store; but compared with the
multi-millionaire old Bob had come to be regarded more modestly,
although still admitted to be the village's "warmest" citizen. He was an
authority in the town, too, and a man of real importance.
Mr. Merrick stopped his horse to speak with the hardware man, an old
acquaintance.
"West," said he, "my girls are going to start a newspaper in Millville."
The merchant bowed gravely, perhaps to cover the trace of a smile he
was unable to repress.
"It's to be a daily paper, you know," continued Mr. Merrick, "and it
seems there's a lot of machinery in the outfit. It'll need quite a bit
of room, in other words, and we're looking for a place to install it."
West glanced along the street--up one side and down the other--and then
shook his head negatively.
"Plenty of land, but no buildings," said he. "You might buy the old mill
and turn it into a newspaper office. Caldwell isn't making much of a
living and would be glad to sell out."
"It's too dusty and floury," said Patsy. "We'd never get it clean, I'm
sure."
"What's in that shed of yours?" asked Uncle John, pointing to a long,
low building' that adjoined the hardware store.
West turned and looked at the shed reflectively.
"That is where I store my stock of farm machinery," he said. "There's
very little in there now, for it's a poor season and I didn't lay in
much of a supply. In fact, I'm pretty well cleaned out of all surplus
stock. But next spring I shall need the place again."
"Good!" cried Mr. Merrick. "That solves our problem. Has it a floor?"
"Yes; an excellent one; but only one small window."
"We can remedy that," declared Uncle John. "Here's the proposition,
West: Let us have the shed for six months, at the end of which time we
will know whether the _Millville Tribune_ is a success or not. If it is,
we'll build a fine new building for it; if it don't seem to prosper,
we'll give you back the shed. What do you say?"
West thought it over.
"There is room on the rear platform, for all the farm machinery I now
have on hand. All right, Mr. Merrick; I'll move the truck out and give
you possession. It won't make a bad newspaper office. But of course you
are to fit up the place at your own expense."
"Thank you very much, sir!" exclaimed Uncle John. "I'll set Lon Taft at
work at once. Where can he be found?"
"Playing billiards at the hotel, usually. I suppose he is there now."
"Very good; I'll hunt him up. What do you think of our newspaper scheme,
West?"
The old merchant hesitated. Then he said slowly:
"Whatever your charming and energetic nieces undertake, sir, will
doubtless be well accomplished. The typical country newspaper groans
under a load of debt and seldom gets a fair show to succeed; but in this
case there will be no lack of money, and--why, that settles the
question, I think. Money is the keystone to success."
"Mr. West," said Louise, with dignity, "we are depending chiefly on the
literary merit of our newspaper to win recognition."
"Of course; of course!" said he hastily. "Put me down as a subscriber,
please, and rely upon my support at all times. It is possible, young
ladies--nay, quite probable, I should say--that your originality and
genius will yet make Millville famous."
That speech pleased Uncle John, and as the hardware merchant bowed and
turned away, Mr. Merrick said in his cheeriest tones: "He's quite right,
my dears, and we're lucky to have found such a fine, roomy place for our
establishment. Before we go after the carpenter to fix it up I must
telephone to Marvin about the things we still need."
Over the long-distance telephone Mr. Marvin reported that he had bought
the required outfit and it was even then being loaded on the freight
cars.
"I've arranged for a special engine," he added, "and if all goes well
the freight will be on the sidetrack at Chazy Junction on Monday
morning. The dealer will send down three men to set up the presses and
get everything in running order. But he asks if you have arranged for
your workmen. How about it, Mr. Merrick? have you plenty of competent
printers and pressmen at Millville?"
"There are none at all," was the reply. "Better inquire how many we will
need, Marvin, and send them down here. And, by the way, hire women or
girls for every position they are competent to fill. This is going to
be a girls' newspaper, so we'll have as few men around as possible."
"I understand, sir."
Uncle John ordered everything he could think of and told his agent to
add whatever the supply man thought might be needed. This business being
accomplished, he found Lon Taft at the hotel and instructed the
carpenter to put rows of windows on both sides of the shed and to build
partitions for an editorial office and a business office at the front.
This was the beginning of a busy period, especially for poor Uncle John,
who had many details to attend to personally. The next morning the
electricians arrived and began stringing the power cables from the paper
mill to the newspaper office. This rendered it necessary for Mr. Merrick
to make a trip to Royal, to complete his arrangement with Mr. Skeelty,
the manager. He drove over with Arthur Weldon, in the buggy--four miles
of hill climbing, over rough cobble-stones, into the pine forest.
Arriving there, the visitors were astonished at the extent of the plant
so recently established in this practically unknown district. The great
mill, where the wood pulp was made, was a building constructed from pine
slabs and cobblestones, material gathered from the clearing in which it
stood, but it was quite substantial and roomy. Adjoining the mill was
the factory building where the pulp was rolled into print paper.
Surrounding these huge buildings were some sixty small dwellings of the
bungalow type, for the use of the workmen, built of rough boards, but
neat and uniform in appearance. Almost in the center of this group stood
the extensive storehouse from which all necessary supplies were
furnished the mill hands, the cost being deducted from their wages. The
electric power plant was a building at the edge of Royal Waterfall, the
low and persistent roar of which was scarcely drowned by the rumble of
machinery. Finally, at the edge of the clearing nearest the mills, stood
the business office, and to this place Mr. Merrick and Arthur at once
proceeded.
They found the office a busy place. Three or four typewriters were
clicking away, operated by sallow-faced girls, and behind a tall desk
were two bookkeepers, in one of whom Uncle John recognized--with mild
surprise--the tramp he had encountered at Chazy Junction on the morning
of his arrival. The young fellow had improved in appearance, having
discarded his frayed gray suit for one of plain brown khaki, such as
many of the workmen wore, a supply being carried by the company's store.
He was clean-shaven and trim, and a gentlemanly bearing had replaced the
careless, half defiant attitude of the former hobo. It was evident he
remembered meeting Mr. Merrick, for he smiled and returned the "nabob's"
nod.
Mr. Skeelty had a private enclosed office in a corner of the room. Being
admitted to this sanctum, the visitors found the manager to be a small,
puffy individual about forty-five years of age, with shrewd, beadlike
black eyes and an insolent assumption of super-importance. Skeelty
interrupted his task of running up columns of impressive figures to ask
his callers to be seated, and opened the interview with characteristic
abruptness.
"You're Merrick, eh? I remember. You want to buy power, and we have it
to sell. How much will you contract to take?"
"I don't know just how much we need," answered Uncle John. "We want
enough to run a newspaper plant at Millville, and will pay for whatever
we use. I've ordered a meter, as you asked me to do, and my men are now
stringing the cables to make the connection."
"Pah! a newspaper. How absurd," said Mr. Skeelty with scornful emphasis.
"Your name, Merrick, is not unknown to me. It stands for financial
success, I understand; but I'll bet you never made your money doing such
fool things as establishing newspapers in graveyards."
Uncle John looked at the man attentively.
"I shall refrain from criticising your conduct of this mill, Mr.
Skeelty," he quietly observed, "nor shall I dictate what you may do with
your money--provided you succeed in making any."
The manager smiled broadly, as if the retort pleased him.
"Give an' take, sir; that's my motto," he said.
"But you prefer to take?"
"I do," was the cheerful reply. "I'll take your paper, for instance--if
it isn't too high priced."
"In case it is, we will present you with a subscription," said Uncle
John. "But that reminds me: as a part of our bargain I want you to allow
my nieces, or any representative of the _Millville Tribune_, to take
subscriptions among your workmen."
Mr. Skeelty stared at him a moment. Then he laughed.
"They're mostly foreigners, Mr. Merrick, who haven't yet fully mastered
the English language. But," he added, thoughtfully, "a few among them
might subscribe, if your country sheet contains any news of interest at
all. This is rather a lonely place for my men and they get dissatisfied
at times. All workmen seem chronically dissatisfied, and their women
constantly urge them to rebellion. Already there are grumblings, and
they claim they're buried alive in this forlorn forest. Don't appreciate
the advantages of country life, you see, and I've an idea they'll begin
to desert, pretty soon. Really, a live newspaper might do them
good--especially if you print a little socialistic drivel now and then."
Again he devoted a moment to thought, and then continued: "Tell you what
I'll do, sir; I'll solicit the subscriptions myself, and deduct the
price from the men's wages, as I do the cost of their other supplies.
But the Company gets a commission for that, of course."
"It's a penny paper," said Uncle John. "The subscription is only thirty
cents a month."
"Delivered?"
"I suppose so."
"Well, I'll pay you twenty cents, and keep the balance for commission.
That's fair enough."
"Very well, Mr. Skeelty. We're after subscriptions more than money, just
now. Get all you can, at that rate."
After signing a contract for the supply of electrical power, whereby he
was outrageously robbed but the supply was guaranteed, Mr. Merrick and
Arthur returned to the farm.
"That man," said Louise's young husband, referring to the manager of the
paper mill, "is an unmitigated scoundrel, sir."
"I won't deny it," replied Mr. Merrick. "It occurs to me he is hiring
those poor workmen at low wages and making a profit on all their living
necessities, which he reserves the right of supplying from his own
store. No wonder the poor fellows get dissatisfied."