Mark Tidd, Editor Part 8

This Black Glove feller's the boss, it looks to me Jethro's either d-doin' somethin' or f-f-findin' out somethin' for Black Gloves, and this ad. tells him to report. That's easy. He's to do his r-r-reportin'

at the Center Line Bridge, and the 'eight' means eight o'clock.... But what d-day?"

"Why," says I, "the day the paper comes out!"

"N-no," says Mark. "I f-figger he means _next_ day. By that time Jethro'd have time to get his p-p-paper and see the ad. Most likely he's been told to look for his orders that way."

"To be sure," says I, and it did seem pretty clear after Mark reasoned it out, but I never would have got that far in six years of digging.

"So," says Mark, "you and me will be at Center Line Bridge Friday n-n-night an hour ahead of t-t-time, so's to hide away and overhear what's up."

"And probably git our backs busted," says I.

"Hain't n-never got 'em b-busted yet," says he.

"All right, Mark," I says. "Where you go I go, but one of these times neither one of us'll be comin' back in one piece. No, sir, we'll be gettin' scattered all over the county so our folks'll have to gather us up in a basket."

"B-b-between now and Friday," says Mark, changing the subject, "there's a n-newspaper to get out. Stop gabblin' and go to work."

Mark turned around to his desk and went to work. I stood around a minute and then, not seeing anything special to get at, I asked him what he wanted me to do.

"Go out and get some advertisin'," says he, and went to work again.

Get some advertising, says he! I had about as much idea how to get advertising as I had how to catch eels with my bare hands-and I found out that advertis.e.m.e.nts were just about as easy to catch as eels. Yes, and maybe a little harder. If you try to catch an eel, why, he just wriggles away, but if you try to catch an advertis.e.m.e.nt the man you try to catch it from is as likely as not to kick you out of his store. I don't see why ads. aren't catching, like measles or mumps. It would make it a heap easier for us newspaper men.

Anyhow, all the business I managed to get was a miserable little advertis.e.m.e.nt from old man Crane, who had started to grow whiskers and wanted to trade a safety razor for a brush and comb. It was a cent a word and there were fifteen words. I didn't see exactly how we were going to get rich at that rate.

While I was on my way back to the office I saw what looked like it was going to be a fight, so I stopped around to watch, but it turned out to be nothing but a squabble. It was kind of fun, though, even if n.o.body did anything but talk and holler. The men mixed up in it were Mr. Pawl, who owned the Emporium Grocery, and Mr. Giddings, who ran the Busy Big Market.

When I got there they were just beginning to get started good. Mr. Pawl, who was about five feet and a half tall, was reaching up in the air as far as he could reach to shake his fist under Mr. Giddings's nose-and Mr. Giddings's nose was so high up he couldn't even come near it.

"You did," says he, hollering as loud as he could yell. "You know you did, you-you yaller gra.s.shopper. She come right over and told me.

'Tain't the first time, neither. But it's goin' to be the last. No man kin say to Missis Petty that the eggs in my store was laid by a hen that was sufferin' from ague. No, sir, n.o.body kin. Sufferin' from ague, says you, so that the eggs was addled before they was laid, on account of the hen shakin' and s.h.i.+verin' so.... That's what you told her, you wab-blin'

old bean-pole. Tryin' to drive away my customers, eh? I'll show you."

"Now, Banty," says Mr. Giddings, calling Mr. Pawl a name that always made him mad enough to eat a barrel of nails, because he didn't like to have folks mention his size, "now, Banty, jest keep your feet on the ground. 'Tain't a mite worse for me to tell Missis Petty what I told her than it is for you to tell Missis Green that whenever you grease up your buggy you git a pound of my b.u.t.ter 'cause it's better for the purpose than the best axle grease-but hain't good for nothin' else. Remember that, don't you, you half-grown toadstool? ... Jest let me tell you, this here slanderin' 's been goin' on long enough, and I'm a-goin' to fight back. I'll give you t.i.t for tat, and don't you forgit it."

"I'll have the law on you," Mr. Pawl hollered.

"Law-shucks! I'll take you acrost my knee and spank you," says Giddings.

"I won't muss up my hands touchin' you," says Pawl. "'Twouldn't hurt you nohow, with your rhinoceros hide. Only way to git you sufferin' is to touch your pocket-book. From now I'm a-goin' after your business, and goin' after it hard. I'll _bust_ you, that's what I'll do. I'll bust you so's you can't be put together with glue."

"Two kin play that fiddle," says Mr. Giddings. "In two months there won't be but one grocery store in Wicksville, and that one'll be Giddings's Busy Big Market. Now run along and sleep on that."

Giddings walked off, leaving Pawl dancing up and down and making noises that didn't have any sense to them. He was so mad he didn't know if he was a man in Wicksville or a rampaging hyena in the Desert of Sahara.

I poked along to the office with my little ad. and handed it to Mark, sort of figgerin' maybe he'd be mad because I hadn't got more, but he wasn't, and I might have known he wouldn't be.

"F-f-fine," says he. "That's a starter. I didn't really f-f-figger you'd get _any_, first time out. Bet you get to be the best advertisin'-getter in the office."

Maybe he didn't mean it, and maybe he was saying it just to make me feel good, but anyhow it was a good idea. If he'd growled and acted disappointed, most likely it would have taken the heart out of me, so that next time I'd have done worse. But as it was I felt, somehow, like I could go out and get a whole basketful of ads. now. That was Mark Tidd's way of doing things. He knew how to manage fellows and how to get the most work out of them. I'll bet you that some day he's one of the biggest business men there is. I don't mean big just because he's such a whopper, but important.

I told him about the row between Pawl and Giddings, and he laughed till the fat on his cheeks wabbled like a dish of jelly. Then he got sober and began tugging his ear.

"Come on, Binney," says he.

"Where?" says I.

"Out to git some b-b-business," Says he.

I went following along till he came to Pawl's Emporium and was turning in.

"Hey," says I, "what you goin' in here for? He's too mad to _sell_ things, let alone buyin' advertisin' s.p.a.ce."

"Maybe," says Mark. "Let's try, anyhow."

So in we went. Mr. Pawl was behind the counter, walking up and down like a wolf in a circus cage, and every little while he would up with his fist and bang it down with all his might. I guess he imagined he was smas.h.i.+ng Giddings.

"Come on away from here," says I to Mark. "He may take it into his head to wallop us."

Mark just grinned.

"Howdy, Mr. Pawl!" says he.

Mr. Pawl just glared at him and banged the counter again.

"I don't b-b-blame you for being mad," says Mark. "I'd be madder 'n you are if it was me."

"If what was you?" says Mr. Pawl.

"If a compet.i.tor was t-tryin' to get ahead of me like yours is tryin' to get ahead of you."

"What's he doin' now? What's he doin' now?" Mr. Pawl yelled at the top of his voice.

"I'll tell you what I _think_ he's goin' to d-d-do," says Mark. "He's goin' to go after your customers hard. He's goin' to offer 'em b-bargains, and maybe he'll have somethin' to say about _you_."

"What d'you mean? How'll he offer bargains? Where'll he say anythin'

about me?"

"I _think_," says Mark, "he's goin' to p-p-put a big advertis.e.m.e.nt in the p-p-paper. If he does he'll tell f-f-folks about some whoppin'

bargains. And I guess maybe he'll compare his store with yours, and his b-bargains with yours, and your stuff won't get p-praised much. D'you f-figger it will?"

"Advertise, will he? Thinks he can git ahead of me, does he? Go spatterin' printer's ink, eh? Well, he better not. I'll have the law on him, so I will. I'll make him wish his name wasn't Giddings 'fore I'm through with him."

"I know what I'd do if I was you," says Mark.

"What 'u'd _you_ do?" growled Mr. Pawl.

"I'd b-b-beat him at his own game," says Mark. "I wouldn't let on I f-f-figgered he was goin' to advertise, but I'd advertise myself, and wouldn't I offer b-bargains! I'll bet I'd put things in the paper that would start a reg'lar p-p-procession into this store. And if I could think of anythin' to say, I guess I'd sort of allude to compet.i.tors and their way of d-d-doin' business, and such."