CHAPTER XV
Next afternoon late Mrs. Strubber came in with a challenge to the HomeCulturers, all drawn up and ready to print. Mark had sent her pictureaway to have a cut made, and as soon as the challenge came in we took itright out to Tecumseh Androcles Spat to have him set it in type. He readit over once, and then he read it over twice, and then he reached forhis coat.
"Where you g-g-goin'?" asks Mark.
"Far, far away," says he, moving toward the door.
"What d'you m-mean?" says Mark.
"I've lost my taste for this employment," says he. "The sweetness of thejob got worn off as soon as I read that paper. I'm a peaceful man, MarkTidd. I hain't never carried no weapons, and I regard those that seekfor warfare and strife as not havin' the necessary quantity of brains.I'll admit," says he, "that I've participated in a couple of riots and afew fights, but it wasn't of my own free will and accord. Furthermore,and you can take the word of Tecumseh Androcles Spat for it, thenewspaper business hain't as safe as knittin' socks, anyhow, but whenyou start to call down trouble onto yourself, like this challenge willcall it down, then it's time for a man who's set up as many almanacs asI have, and is steeped in wisdom, to go and enlist in a regiment boundto fight Injuns."
"Mr. Spat," says Mark, "what in the world are you talkin' about?"
"You'll see," says he. "Wait till them enraged wimmin start besiegin'this office. Wait till they jam into the place bristlin' with hatpinsand dignity. Wait till the full awfulness of what's goin' to happenbegins to occur, and then you'll think of Tecumseh Androcles Spat andregret you cast aside his wise words with scorn."
"Shucks!" says Mark. "Those ladies will get us a wad ofs-s-subscriptions."
"At what a cost!" says he.
"Tecumseh Androcles Spat," says Mark, "be you goin' to f-f-fail us whenwe need you most, eh? Be you g-goin' to desert us, carryin' away thewisdom and experience we can't spare? Lemme ask you, how d-d-do yous'pose we can git along without you to advise us? If t-t-trouble shouldcome," says he, "who would git us out of it if you was g-g-gone?"
"Hum!" says Spat.
Mark winked at me.
"See what you've made of this p-p-paper already," says he. "L-look whatyou kin do before you're through. D'you know how f-folks in this townspeak about you, Mr. Spat? D'you know you've been spoke of for the StateLegislature? And you'd go away and desert Wicksville and us on accountof a few wimmin that couldn't hurt a-a-anythin'."
"Mark Tidd," says Spat, "it seems like I'm duty bound to stay, but markmy words, which is words of experience, paid for with groans and misery,you're goin' to wish you was locked into a cage with ravenin' wildcatsand howlin' hyenas before this contest is over. I'll stay, but I'llsuffer. I'll stay to save you boys from the results of your rashness....Now gimme back that challenge."
He went back to work and set it up, and more stuff Mark had writtenexplaining all about the contest, and Mrs. Strubber's picture was to beprinted right in the middle of all of it, with some glowing andcomplimentary facts about her and her club. The whole thing was to beprinted on the first page of the _Trumpet_.
While this was going on Mark and the rest of us was pretty busy gettingall the news of the county fair that was going on, and the night beforethe _Trumpet_ came out we had a heap of writing to do. It was my job towrite little items about folks and things that happened. Mark said hewanted enough to fill a column, so I set to work, and it _was_ work, Ican tell you. I did more chawing of my pencil than writing, and it tookme about a dozen times as long to do it as it took Mark to write threetimes as much. But I was pretty proud of what I'd done when I wasthrough with it. I figgered it would be about the most interesting partof the paper, and it did come pretty close to being that. When I handedit to Mark I says, "There, if that hain't perty good newspaper writin' Ihope I don't ever git to eat another fried-cake."
Mark read it over, and every once in a while he would look up at me andchuckle, and then he says, "Binney, if you'd done this apurpose it wouldbe g-great."
"I done it apurpose," says I. "Think I done all that writin' byaccident, like a feller would stub his toe and accidentally skin hisnose?"
"Um!" says he. "We'll p-p-print it jest as it stands, and say, 'ByBinney Jenks,' at the top, so everybody'll know you d-did it. That,"says he, "may save the l-lives of some of the rest of us."
"What you mean?" says I.
"I'll r-read 'em to you," says he. This was the first he read:
"'Mr. Bud Drimple took first prize for the fattest pig at the fair.'"Mark peeked at me out of his little eyes that was twinkling likeeverything. "Maybe Bud Drimple _was_ the f-f-fattest pig there and oughtto have got the p-prize," says he, "but he'll hate to be t-told so."
I didn't say a word. Mark read another.
"'Many folks asked Jacob Wester what he exhibited at the fair. He saidit was a cow.'" Mark giggled. "What did it look like, Binney, if so manyf-f-folks was uncertain about it? Did it resemble a l-locomotive or asewin' m-machine?"
"Huh!" says I. "You think you're smart."
"No," says he, "I t-think you be. Here's another: 'Mrs. Hob Sweet wasamong those watching the prize Jersey cow. Many claimed she was thefinest piece of live stock on the grounds.' ... Which, Binney, theJersey or Mis' Sweet?"
"Anybody," says I, "would know I meant the Jersey."
"'Jed Tingle,'" he read again, "'who just got m-m-married to MyrtieWise, bought him a new horse-whip, for which he s-s-says he's gotpressing need lately.'" Mark shook his head. "I dunno," says he, "but wemight get sued in court for accusin' a man of thrashin' his wife."
"I didn't," says I. "That wasn't why he had pressin' need of that whip;it's because, as everybody knows, he's been stuck with a balky colt."
"All right," says Mark. "How about this? 'Dave Ward made two purchasesat the fair. One was a pie baked by Mrs. John Baird, and sold at theMethodist ladies' booth. The other was a bottle of pain-killer.'"
"What's wrong with that?" I says.
"N-nothin'," says he. "It's good sense. You'd know if you ever ate a pieof hern. Dave was wise, but maybe Mis' Baird won't like bein' twittedwith it."
"Git out!" says I, beginning to feel uncomfortable. "You twist aroundeverything a feller says."
"This," says he, "is m-mighty descriptive. 'Crowds stood around themerry-go-round watching it go around and around.'"
I didn't say a word. He was makin' me mad.
There were a lot more of them, but I told Mark he needn't bother to readme any others. I had enough. The way _he_ read them made them soundaltogether different than I had meant them, but I guess he read what Iwrote, all right. Which goes to show that folks ought to be careful whatthey write, and be sure they mean what they are saying. I'll bet lots oftrouble gits started just that way. One fellow writes something that'sall right, but says it careless, and the fellow that reads it thinkssomething mean is said about him. Then, _bingo_!
Anyhow, Mark put them in the paper just as they were, and the paper cameout. You can believe me or not, just as you want to, but the next two orthree days I was pretty scarce around there, especially after Hob Sweetdropped into the office with a horse-whip and inquired after me anxious,like he was particular desirous of seeing me. I saw him coming and madeup my mind that some place else would be more comfortable, so, I skinnedout of the back door.
While I was making for a safe spot I almost bumped into Jed Tingle andMrs. Baird, who were standing on a corner, each one with a _Trumpet_clutched in their hand, and talking mad as anything. I didn't stop tomention anything to them, but cut out around them so as not to disturbthem a mite.
Mark knew where I'd be and he sent Plunk out with a basket of grub and awarning to keep away from home till it was bedtime, and then to sneak inpretty average cautious, because, he said, there had been a processionof folks calling at my house all day to look for me, and he judged myfather was some put out at being bothered that much.
Well, that blew over after a while. Folks sort of forgot it in theexcitement of the battle between the Liter
ary Circle and the HomeCulturers. No sooner had that challenge got around than Mrs. Bobbinrushed into the office with an answer to it and _her_ picture. And heranswer wasn't what you'd call diplomatic. Well, Mrs. Strubber'schallenge wasn't as gentle as it might have been.
Mrs. Bobbin's paper says:
The members of the Home Culture Club has read the challenge put out by Mrs. Strubber and them other wirnmin that calls themselves the Literary Circle, and the idea of their being smarter than the Home Culturers made us all laugh till we was sick.
We're tickled to death to contest with them in any kind of a contest from washing dishes to building a house. If they can do a single thing that we can't do a heap better, why, now's the time to show us. We're going into this thing, and when we're through somebody in this town is going to be made to look mighty foolish--which is their natural way of looking.
There was more of it, but that's enough to show how friendly it was andwhat a pleasant and sociable little contest it was going to be.
But what Mrs. Bobbin said was singing a baby to sleep when you come tocompare it with what was said later and what was done later. The towntook sides, and there was more bitter feelings than there was before theelection when we voted on local option. Yes, sir, and more fight, too,because every husband of a club-woman figured he had to let on he wascertain his wife was smartest and the best cook and the whole bag oftricks, and some of them men didn't have any arguments to offer exceptwhat they could double up in their fists. Why, you could go down back ofthe fire-hall and see a fight almost any time of day!
The contest was to run two weeks, ending up with those two dinners andthe exhibit of cooking, but before twenty-four hours was gone by itlooked like maybe there wouldn't be enough folks left undamaged to be inat the finish.
Folks didn't dare stick their heads out of doors for fear of bumpinginto a woman after their subscription to the _Trumpet_. They just dug inlike it was a matter of life and death. Mark watched it and grinned,for, says he, if there's a man, woman, child, cat, dog, or parrot inWicksville that hain't a subscriber for our paper before this thing isover, it's because he's up so high in a balloon that nobody can reachhim.
As for Tecumseh Androcles Spat, he worked with a baseball bat rightbeside him, and the way to both doors barricaded with packing-boxes sonobody could get to him. And when he went out he pulled up the collar ofhis coat and he jerked his hat down over his eyes so nobody wouldrecognize him. He said, as far as he was concerned, he'd a heap ratherhave a whole skin and no excitement than to be having all the fun in theworld, but obliged to see it out of a bed in the hospital.
Some of us had to be in the office all the time these days, and we drewsticks to see who it would be every morning. I lost three days handrunning, so I didn't get out to see Rock, nor out to the bridge whenJethro and G. G. G. met there the night that was set. No, I just hungaround the office and took in subscriptions that the women brought in,and gave them out receipts, and talked to them, and kept both sideshappy, like Mark told me to do. He said I was to do what I could to makeboth parties sure they was winning, but not to give out any real factsabout how many subscribers was got. Which I did as good as I could.
Mark and Tallow went to the bridge, and it seemed from what G. G. G.told Jethro that the man called Pekoe, who had brought Rock toWicksville, was doing something that hadn't been expected of him, andthat G. G. G. was startled over it and wanted Jethro to take extra painsto see that Pekoe didn't get to see Rock. From what Mark and Tallowcould gather, this Pekoe was coming to see Rock, but they didn't knowwhy--G. G. G. and Jethro didn't.
"What he's up to I don't know," G. G. G. told Jethro. "He don't _know_anything. He can't _tell_ the boy anything. But something's in the air.You keep them apart."
"You bet I will," says Jethro.
When Mark and Tallow came back, Mark says, "F-fellers, keep your eyesp-peeled for a strange man. We want to know it the m-minute this Pekoestrikes Wicksville."
So, not having anything else to do but run a paper, and dodge folks thatwanted to lick me, and help with the contest, and do the chores at home,and play some, and a few other little things, I had to help keep my eyeopen to find a man I'd never saw and didn't have any idea what he lookedlike. Mark was always reasonable about what he wanted you to do. Henever asked anybody to do more than _twict_ as much as it was humanlypossible for anybody to manage.
Mark Tidd, Editor Page 15