Mark Tidd, Editor Part 10

"Go on, Pawl," said Uncle Ike, "step up and lam him one."

Pawl backed off like the place he was standing was too hot for his feet.

"Um!" says Uncle Ike. "Well, _you_ start it, Giddings. Somebody put a chip on Pawl's shoulder. Giddings'll knock it off."

"I won't have no chip on my shoulder," says Pawl.

"I see somebody goin' into my store," says Giddings. "I got to hurry over there."

"Both of you better hurry back," says Uncle Ike. "I'm what you might call a man with experience and wisdom. For more years 'n I like to think about I've been a-drivin' this 'bus, and the seat of a 'bus is the place to git experience. Nothin' like it. Greatest teacher in the world. I calc'late there's few things I hain't capable of discussin' if I was asked. I'm capable of offerin' both of you belligerents advice right here and now, and this is it: You go on back to your stores and tend to business, which don't mean puttin' sand in the sugar, or sellin'

cold-storage eggs with a yarn that the hen is still cacklin' that laid 'em. Jest try bein' square with your customers, and with each other, if you kin go so far, and you won't git made sich an idiotic spectacle of as you be now. n.o.body's profited by this here rumpus but Mark Tidd.

Advertisin'! Huh! Now run along, you fellers, and advertise all over again, but advertise yourselves, and advertise honest. Try it once, and see if you don't git a substantial profit out of it. Jest tell the plain truth in Mark's paper, and stick to what you advertise. Bein' as you're who you are, 'tain't reasonable to expect wonders of you, but you can give a sort of flickerin' imitation of business men.... G'dap, bosses.

Mooch along there." And Uncle Ike rattled off up the street, contented with himself and almost tickled to death that he'd got a chance to jaw somebody.

As for us fellows, we went to selling papers as hard as we could, and would you believe it, before noon we were cleaned out. Yes, sir, we'd sold every single solitary one.

"Don't get s-s-set up," says Mark. "Tain't goin' to be as easy all the t-t-time. Folks is buyin' to-day out of curiosity. Next week we'll have harder sleddin'."

"Bet we don't," says Plunk. "Bet it'll be easier to run this old paper than it is to slide down-hill. I don't see anythin' hard about it."

"Huh!" says Mark, and not another word.

Mark and I walked past the hotel, and there stood Spragg. He scowled at us over the top of one of our papers that he had paid three real cents for.

[Ill.u.s.tration: We went to selling papers as hard as we could, and before noon we were cleaned out]

"Well," says I, "what do you think of it?"

"Kid paper," says he.

"Those page ads. are k-k-kid ads., ain't they?" says Mark.

"Luck," says Spragg. "I'll have 'em next week."

"Wigglesworth story was a kid story?" says Mark.

"Nothin' to it," says Spragg. "I've asked folks. I'm a newspaper man, and if there was a story I'd get it. It wouldn't be you young ones."

"You g-go on thinkin' so," says Mark. "We couldn't ask anythin'

b-better."

We went on, and when we were out of earshot Mark says: "That reminds me, I want to go up to Lawyer Jones. I w-w-want to know about Mr.

Wigglesworth's w-w-will. Folks'll want to know in the next _Trumpet_, t-too."

"All right," says I. "I don't mind sayin' I'm a mite curious, myself."

So up we went.

"Ah," says Lawyer Jones, "what can I do for you, my young friends? Are you-ah-representing the press to-day?"

"Y-yes," says Mark. "We came to find out if there was anything new to the Wigglesworth b-business. Or if you'd tell us about the w-w-will."

"Nothing new," says Lawyer Jones. "I can't find out a thing about that boy, and he can't tell me anything that will throw the least light on why he was in Henry Wigglesworth's house. Seems he's been kept alone most of his life-without folks, anyhow. Pretty well looked after, I guess, though. Been to one boarding-school after another ever since he can remember-cheap ones. Didn't know who paid his bills. Lonely little customer. Not a coul in the world ever stood to him in the position of father or guardian."

"Interestin'," says Mark. "Who's stayin' there with the boy?"

"Mr. Wigglesworth's man-of-all-work. Jethro's his name."

"_What_?" says Mark in a tone that made me jump.

"Jethro," repeated Mr. Jones, sort of surprised. "Why?"

"Oh, nothin'," says Mark. "Kind of a f-f-funny name."

"About the will," says Mr. Jones, "I guess there's nothing to prevent me from reading it to you. It's sort of queer, like everything else that has happened since Mr. Wigglesworth died. I don't know just what to do."

"Will it d-d-do any harm if we p-print it?" says Mark.

Mr. Jones hesitated a moment, like lawyers always do, just for effect, I guess, then he said, "Wa-al, I dunno's it would do any harm."

"And it'll do a h-h-heap of good," says Mark, with a grin. "There's a lot of curiosity itchin' f-f-folks that readin' what that will says will c-cure."

"And that sells newspapers," says Lawyer Jones. "Well, I'm glad to help you all I can." So he went to his safe and came back with the will. We could understand it, all right, though for the life of me I can't see why it wasn't written out plain without so many "whereases" and "theretofores" and "devises," and such like.

Anyhow, the gist of it was that Henry Wigglesworth claimed his mind was as good as new and that this was his regular will, and no other one was worth a cent. Then he said his debts had to be paid, which they would have had to be, whether he said it or not, I guess. Then he "gave, devised, and bequeathed," whatever that means, all the "rest, residue, and remainder" of his property to "any heir or heirs in direct line of descent from myself, if such exist or can be found."

All that meant, Lawyer Jones explained, was that he wanted his property to go to his sons or daughters, or his grandsons or granddaughters or great-grandsons or great-granddaughters, if he had any.

Then the will said if n.o.body could find any of these direct heirs the property was to go to George Gardener Grover, only son of Mr.

Wigglesworth's only sister. And there you are.

"Um!" says Mark when Lawyer Jones was through. "'Tis f-f-funny, hain't it? These heirs, now. Why didn't he up and name 'em by n-name?"

"I can't tell you," said Lawyer Jones.

"He acts," says I, "like he wasn't sure whether he had any or not."

Mark looked at me with a squint, his little eyes twinkling like everything. "Binney," says he, "that's a g-good shot. I'll bet that's it. Anyhow, we'll m-make b'lieve it is till we find out different. Got to have s-somethin' to start on."

"To start what on?" says I.

"Why," says he, "the job of f-f-findin' these heirs, or of findin out there hain't any." Then he turned to Mr. Jones. "Mr. Wigglesworth must 'a' had a son or daughter or s-somethin'," says he, "or he wouldn't be s-suspectin' he had grandchildern or great-grandchildern."

"That sounds reasonable," said Mr. Jones.

"Ever hear of any?" says Mark.

"In the years Mr. Wigglesworth has been here," said Mr. Jones, "he has never mentioned a relative to me. No, I never heard that he had a child or a wife. Somehow I had always supposed he was an old bachelor."