"My friend," said Tec.u.mseh, "your view is narrow, not to say biased. I have read the volumes you praise. Without doubt there is merit in them.

Oh, without doubt. But as compared to that marvelous book, Izaak Walton's _Compleat Angler_, it is the nickering of a match to the shining of the noonday sun."

"_Angler_," says Mr. Tidd, disgusted as could be.

"Yes, _Angler_," says Tec.u.mseh.

"Huh!" says Mr. Tidd.

"Do not snort at Izaak Walton," roared Tec.u.mseh. "I will not stand by to see it done."

"Then don't go belittlin' Gibbon," says Mr. Tidd.

"Have you read _The Compleat Angler_?" shouted Tec.u.mseh.

"No," says Mr. Tidd, more warlike than I thought he had it in him to be, "nor I hain't read the Compleat Fly-catcher, nor the Compleat Cold-catcher, nor-?"

"Sir!" yelled Tec.u.mseh, reaching as if to take off his coat and finding it was off. It sort of surprised him, I guess, but he got over it and shook his fist under Mr. Tidd's nose. He quit talking educated and careful, too-just for that minute.

"Your Gibbon wasn't nothin' but a flea on Walton's collar," says he.

It looked like there was going to be a regular rumpus, so I sort of stepped up and says:

"How's the printin'-press gettin' along, Mr. Tidd?"

"Eh?" says he. "Printin'-press. What printin'-press?"

"This one," says I.

"Um!" says he, rubbing his chin. "Calc'late I plum' forgot it. What's matter with it, Binney?"

"You was goin' to find out," says I.

"So I was.... So I was," says he.

"And you," says I to Tec.u.mseh Androcles, "you quit botherin' him. He's busy. See if it hain't catchin'."

Well, sir, you should have seen Tec.u.mseh go to work. He could work, too, and knew just what he was doing. He set every one of us doing something, and it didn't seem like ten minutes, though it must have been an hour or so, when Mark came out with some paper in his hand.

"Here's the hand-bill," says he. "Tec.u.mseh Androcles, can you s-s-set this up so's it'll look strikin'?"

"Give it to me, young man, and you shall see. Ah, you shall see."

So Tec.u.mseh went to work and in no time had the thing set up. He fixed it so it would go on the job press and then we began printing it. Just let me tell you it was a jim-dandy. This is how it went:

THE WICKSVILLE "TRUMPET"

IS GOING TO TOOT

New Editor, New Management New Policy, New Everything

First Toot Thursday

Mark Tidd and Company will give this town a paper that will make the State jealous.

$1.25 a Year

If there's anything you want to know, look in the "Trumpet"

for it. It'll be there.

Don't crowd, don't push. But hand in your subscription early.

If you miss the first toot you'll never forgive yourself.

SUBSCRIBE SUBSCRIBE SUBSCRIBE

By that time it was noon. Tec.u.mseh was the first one to notice it.

"It is my custom," said he, "to eat at this time. As I understand it you are to supply me with nourishment."

"That was the b-bargain," says Mark. "Come on."

He went out with Tec.u.mseh, and the rest of us followed. We knew he didn't have any money to buy a meal with, because he'd spent his last cent the day before, and we wondered what he was up to. He went straight to the Acme Restaurant.

"Where's the boss?" he says to the girl at the counter.

"Kitchen," says she.

"Call him out," says he.

"Call him yourself," says she. "Your voice is as strong as mine."

So Mark yelled, and in a minute out came Mr. Schmidt, waddling like an old duck.

"Vat iss?" says he.

"I want to b-board this gentleman here," says Mark, pointing to Tec.u.mseh.

"Ya.s.s," says Mr. Schmidt.

"But I hain't got any m-money."

"Den you don't got any board," says Mr. Schmidt--

"But I've g-got a _business_ p-proposition to make you."

"Make it quick, cakes iss in dat stove," says Mr. Schmidt.

"We own the newspaper," says Mark. "It's going to be the g-greatest newspaper in the State. Everybody's goin' to read it. _You're_ goin' to r-r-read it. Now, I want to make money for you."

"Why?" says Mr. Schmidt.