Mark Tidd, Editor Part 21

"We stop," says I. "It says it on this paper, but it didn't need to.

We're stopped, anyhow, by what comes next."

"What does come next?"

"'Ninety degrees in the shade,'" says I.

"Perty hot," says he.

"Does it mean we got to look for a spot that's as warm as that?"

"Don't b'lieve it," says he. "No spot's n-ninety degrees in the shade around here _always_. To be any good for what Mr. Wigglesworth's got in mind, a spot would _always_ have to be ninety in the shade. Or else there'd have to be somethin' to tell just when to look. See? If he's given directions to find somethin', I think those directions are good every d-day and every hour of the day."

"That's l-likely," says I. "If we only knew he _was_ givin' directions,"

says I, "we could git along better."

"As for me," says he, "I'm s-s-sure of it."

"That settles it, then," says I, gettin' a little sarcastic.

While we were arguing about it there was a clanging and banging out in the yard like a dozen kids were knocking tin pans together, and we heard somebody set up a holler.

"Hey! inside there! Hey! Marcus Aurelius Fortunatus Tidd, are you at home?"

"It's Zadok," says I, and we ran to the door.

Sure enough, there was old Zadok Biggs, the tin peddler, who was such a good friend of ours. Zadok was about half a man high and a man and a half wide, with the soberest, most serious-looking face you ever saw. He traveled all over the State in his red wagon, swapping tinware with wimmen for old rags.

"Come in, Zadok," Mark called, and in he came.

"Ha!" says he. "My friend Marcus Aurelius. Remarkable boy, remarkable name. Where's your ma and pa? Extraordinary folks. No ordinary ma and pa would have picked out such a name. Live up to it," says Zadok Biggs.

"And there's Binney Jenks, too. Howdy, Binney?"

"Fine," says I, "and how's yourself?"

"Excellent," says he, "or, to put it in plain language, very well indeed. What have you boys been accomplishing? Accomplishing is an elegant word. I love to use it. Most folks would say'doing.'"

"We're runnin' a newspaper," says I. "At least Mark is, and the rest of us are helping."

"Newspaper. Ha! Splendid! Molding public opinion. I, Zadok Biggs, might have been a great editor, though nature fitted me to be a judge. What newspaper?"

"The Wicksville _Trumpet_" says Mark.

"Splendid! Extraordinary! Are you making money? Do the folks appreciate a good periodical-paper is the commoner term?"

"Some d-does and some doesn't," says Mark.

"Ha! Not going as well as would be wished. Talk it over with Zadok. Tell Zadok your troubles. Maybe there will be a resultant benefit. Good words, those. Another man would say that maybe good would come of it, but Zadok Biggs has seen life and studied life, and he knows words.

Perhaps I will be able to point out an opportunity. Opportunities are my specialty."

"You b-bet they are," says Mark, and I agreed with him, for Zadok had helped us out more than once before.

"Opportunity!" says Zadok. "A fine word and means a fine thing. What is an opportunity? Means something like a chance, only better. An opportunity is something you take hold of and hang onto and it leads you ahead. Always ahead. Opportunities never hold you back. Some folks say there aren't opportunities, but they don't know. If they rode all over the State on top of my wagon they would know. I know. I see 'em.

Everywhere I see opportunities, and I see folks missing them. Yes, sir, missing opportunities that would make something of them. Why? Because they're lazy, or because they want somebody to help them instead of helping themselves, or because they haven't eyes to see. But I don't take much stock in that. Anybody has eyes to see. What they lack is ambition to git up and hustle. Am I right?"

"You are," says Mark.

"Marcus Aurelius Fortunatus Tidd does not let his opportunities slip. I have seen him catch them by the tail. Oh, many times I have seen him, and Binney, too, and Plunk and Tallow. Don't be impatient. While I talk I think, I look about to see if there is an opportunity running at large. An opportunity for boys running a newspaper. Ha!"

He stopped and scratched his head, and whistled "Marching Through Georgia," and got up and walked out to the dining-room, where he yelled at Mr. Tidd and Mark's mother, and talked to them awhile. Then he came back and says:

"How does a paper make money? Subscribers, say I, and advertising. How do you get subscribers? First by having a good paper they'll want to read. I can trust you to do that. Mark Tidd would have no other kind.

Advertising? There may be advertising your experience has not made you aware of. That you don't know about would be the vulgar way of expressing it. And Zadok Biggs knows of such advertising. It pays. There is money in it."

"Good," says Mark. "What is it?"

"County advertisin'," says Zadok. "Things the law requires the county to have published in a newspaper. Like accounts and audits and proceedings and such. Advertise for bids generally, and the paper that bids lowest gets the work. For a year, mostly. And now's the time."

"Mostly goes to politicians, don't it?" says Mark.

"Yes," says Zadok, "but there's an opportunity for other folks-for Mark Tidd and his friends. If I was them I'd go to the county-seat, and I'd see the county authorities and I'd argue with 'em. Yes, sir, and I'll bet I'd get that business. I'd surprise'em. That's what I'd do."

"When is the contract g-given out?" says Mark.

"Next week," says Zadok.

"Then," says Mark, "you can expect to see Binney and me h-headin' for the county-seat about the day after to-morrow."

"Why not to-morrow?" says Zadok. "Opportunities don't perch long. You got to get 'em before they flit."

So we told him we had to see Rock to-morrow and why and all about it, and he agreed with us. "Let's see that cryptogram," says he. "You know what cryptogram means, eh?"

"Yes," says Mark, and handed him the writing and told him what we had made out of it. As far as we had gone he agreed with us, but couldn't go any farther.

"About that Man With the Black Gloves," says he. "I'll keep an eye out for him. Comes from the West, does he? I'll watch. Zadok goes many places and sees many folks. Perhaps I will see him. Now," says he, "is there a piece of apple pie and a gla.s.s of milk and a bed for me?"

"You bet," says Mark, so we all had a lunch that Mrs. Tidd got for us, like she always does whenever anybody is there, and I went home. I promised to be there bright and early to go out to Rock's with Mark.

CHAPTER XI

Mark was around at my house, whistling for me, before I was through breakfast, so I gobbled down my last four pancakes and hustled out. He had another lunch as big as a trunk, so it was safe to say we wouldn't starve before noon.

About a half a mile from the Wigglesworth place we saw a buggy coming toward us like the horse was running away, but it wasn't. A man was driving, and the man was Jethro. When he saw us he pulled up so short he almost snapped his horse's head off, which was mighty poor driving.

"Hey!" says he. "Seen a kid down that way anywheres?"