HOW JIM PETTIGREW FIXED IT
When Saturday morning came, the two chums of Scranton High met as per
arrangement, and as Thad expressed it, made a "bee-line" downtown.
They were fairly wild to get bold of the first copy of the _Weekly
Courier_ that was placed on sale.
As a rule, it was delivered to the several newsstands, and at the
railroad station, around eight o'clock. Then the "printer's devil,"
who was also the carrier, delivering copies to most of the town
folks who subscribed in that fashion, would start out with a first
bundle in his bag, taking his time about leaving the same at different
doors. Perhaps nowadays, however, when there was likely to be a
baseball game in the afternoon to enliven things, the said boy might
quicken his pace a bit, so as to get through, and have a chance to
witness the struggle.
They were just in time to see a package delivered at the main news
store, where sporting goods could also be purchased. Paul Kramer's
was a place most beloved among the boys of Scranton, for the small
store held almost everything that was apt to appeal to the heart of
the average youth. Besides, all baseball, and in due season, football
paraphernalia, as well as hockey sticks, and shin guards, the old
storekeeper always carried a well-chosen stock of juvenile fiction
in cloth; and those fellows who were fond of spending their spare
hours in reading the works of old favorites like Optic and Alger,
as well as numerous more recent additions to the ranks of authors,
were to be found poring over the contents of numerous book shelves
and racks, deciding which volume they would squander their latest
quarter for.
Then at Kramer's "Emporium" there was always a huge stock of the
latest music in cheap form; and the girls had also contracted a
habit of dropping in to look this over, with an eye to adding to
their lists. So that from early morning until nine in the evening,
on ordinary occasions, if a boy could not be found anywhere else
it was "dollars to doughnuts," as Thad always said, that he was
rummaging at Paul Kramer's, and lost to all the world for the time
being.
Eagerly, then, did Thad throw down a nickel, and snatch up the first
copy of that week's issue sold that morning. It was virtually "fresh
from the press"; indeed, the odor of printers' ink could easily be
detected in the sheet.
There was no difficulty about finding the article they were most deeply
interested in. It occupied a leading place on the front page. Jim
Pettigrew had certainly seen to it that the head was next door to
what is known as a "scare" head; for the type was black and bold
enough to attract attention the first thing any one unfolded their
copy of the _Courier_.
What Mr. Adoiphus Hanks would say was a question, when later on he
came to look over the latest issue of the family paper, and discovered
such liberties on the part of the "cub" reporter, raised for one
day to the responsible position of editor. But then Jim was
smooth-tongued enough to settle all that with his boss, for Jim
could talk almost anyone into believing that black was white.
Possibly he would think it the best policy to confide the whole
story to Mr. Hanks, and explain just how it had been done in the
public policy. Adoiphus was not such a bad sort of fellow, and
really believed that he took a leading part in the upbuilding of the
morals of Scranton; so he might forgive Jim's breaking away from the
long-established policy of the family paper, which allowed of but
little sensationalism.
Well, it was a great story! Jim had allowed his imagination full swing,
that was certain. He spoke of actually running across the stern
official from Texas, and making his acquaintance under rather
dramatic conditions connected with a broken-down car on the road.
Then he launched forth into a vivid description of how the minion
of justice confided to him the reason for his being there so far
distant from the field of his customary useful and perilous operations.
Sly little hints were conveyed in his mention of the rascal whom
he had vowed to find, and take back with him to Texas, there to pay
the penalty for breaking the laws. Why, surely the guilty conscience
of Brother Lu must discover a description of himself in every word
that the imaginary marshal uttered.
The two boys finished at about the same time. Their eyes met in a
stare, and Thad gave utterance to a whistle.
"Whew! Jim is sure a dandy when it comes to write-ups, isn't he,
though, Hugh?" he breathed softly, for the proprietor of the "Emporium"
happened to be bustling about the place, and was evidently a bit
curious to know just what there could be in that week's edition of
the _Courier_ to so plainly interest Hugh and his chum.
"He certainly is," admitted Hugh. "Why, you can almost see that
Marshal Hastings walking before you, and looking as if he had his
eagle eye fixed on you for keeps. Jim's described him so smartly
that it would apply to almost any Western sheriff or marshal we've
ever seen in the movies."
"But just think how the cold creeps will chase up and down the spinal
column of that miserable sneak of a hobo when he glimpses this article,"
chuckled Thad. "I can imagine him starting, and his eyes nearly
popping out of his head as he gets busy devouring the whole thing. And,
then, Hugh, what d'ye reckon his next move will be?" Hugh shrugged
his shoulders as he slowly replied:
"Honestly now, Thad, I give it up. If he's really guilty, as we
believe, why, of course, he'll not wait on the order of his going,
but skip out like a prairie fire, and we'll be shut of him. But
there's always the doubt. In fact, we never can be sure we've struck
the right nail on the head until we see Lu hitting the high places,
and never even looking back."
"I must read that wonderful article again," quoth the admiring Thad.
"It's simply great the way Jim's written it up, and I'm sure that chap
is bound to occupy an exalted place in newspaperdom down in New York
one of these days when luck comes to him, and he emigrates that way."
They scanned it line by line until they could almost repeat the
whole story by heart, it made such a great impression on them. Thad
seemed more than amused over the idea that the good folks from
Scranton would swallow it whole, and believe there was really a
Texan marshal in their midst, looking right and left for a desperate
character who had dropped down in that quiet and respectable
neighborhood, thinking he would be safe from molestation there.
"Why, Hugh," he went on to say, exuberantly, "all today I warrant
you hundreds of people here, women as well as boys and men, will
be scanning every party who happens to be wearing a felt bat anything
like the one Marshal Hastings is said to possess; and wondering if
the stranger from Mechanicsville, or Allandale, or any other old
place can be the wonderful Texan official, who according to Jim's
graphic account has notches cut on the stocks of both his big
revolvers to indicate just how many bad men he has been compelled
to lay low during the course of his long and thrilling public career.
Oh! I feel just as if I wanted to drop down and laugh till my sides
ached, it's such a rich joke. That Jim will kill me yet with his
wonderful write-ups."
Hugh was apparently also highly amused, but he did not lose sight of
the main facts in the case, as his next remark proved.
"Remember we settled it that we'd be around to look Jim up about
half-past eight, instead of nine o'clock this morning. Thad, it's
getting near that time now, so perhaps we'd better be moving. Jim
might feel like starting a bit early, so as to give him more time
later on for his regular duties. You see, being left in sole charge
of the office while Mr. Hanks is away makes him responsible for even
the job printing."
Thad was only too glad for an excuse for an earlier start.
"If we have to do any loafing," he went on to say, philosophically,
"we can put in the time at the _Courier_ office, just as well as
anywhere else. I always did want to mosey around that place, and
while Mr. Hanks is away, perhaps I'll have a chance to handle a few
type, and watch the regular comp work like lightning. The smell of
printers' ink seems to draw me, Hugh, to tell you the honest truth."
Although Thad possibly did not know it at the time, that fascination
has been responsible for many a noted editor's career, as the lure
of printers' ink, when it gets a firm hold on any one, can seldom
be shaken off in after years. Once a newspaper man and it becomes
a lifetime pursuit. But then, of course, Thad might be only imagining
such things, and the dim future hold out other possibilities for a
career that would be far removed from an editor's chair.
They found Jim on deck, and buried up to his ears in work. He seemed
to enjoy it to the limit, too, for it made him appear so responsible
and tickled his vanity. He grinned at seeing his two young friends.
"I suppose now you've read my latest effusion, boys?" Jim remarked,
with an assumption of extreme modesty, which, however, hardly suited
his usual bold demeanor.
Jim had all a reporter's "nerve," and could coolly face a raging
subscriber who had dropped in to ask to have his subscription closed
because of a certain offensive article in the last issue--yes, and
likely as not Jim could soothe the ruffled feathers of the enraged
man, show him how he had really been paid a compliment, and finally
bow him out of the office with another year's subscription left in
the shape of a dollar and a half in good money.
"We've fairly _devoured_ it, Jim," frankly admitted Thad. "Why, I
can repeat it off-hand right now, I've read it so often. And Jim,
I want to say that it's as clever a piece of work as I ever got
hold of. That terrible Texan stands out as clear as print. Everybody
in Scranton will be rubbering all today, thinking they can see
Marshal Hastings in each stranger in town. I congratulate you,
Jim; you're a peach at your trade, believe me."
Of course that sort of "gush" just tickled Jim immensely. He tried
not to show it, but his eyes were twinkling with gratified vanity.
It was fine to hear other people complimenting him so warmly, even
though they were but boys from Scranton High. Praise is acceptable
even from the lowly; and Jim made queer motions with his lips as
though he might be rolling the sweet morsel over his tongue.
"Glad you like it, fellows," he said, in as unconcerned a voice as
he could muster to the fore. "Course there was some hurry, because
I'm rushed for time, and I could have done a heap better if I really
tried to lay myself out. But I guess that ought to fill the bill,
and give Brother Lu a little scare, eh, Thad, old scout?"
"I'm expecting he'll shake himself out of his shoes, or rather
Brother-in-law Andrew's footwear," exclaimed the eager Thad. "But
say, Jim, how about your going out with us, and watching him skip!"
Jim looked serious.
"H'm! got an awful bunch of work to do, fellows, this morning, as
well as hold the editorial desk down for Mr. Hanks; but perhaps the
sooner we get that little job over with the better. Yes, I'll call
Philip, our boy here, who's rubbing the ink off his face and hands,
and we'll all start out to finish Brother Lu's career in Scranton."