Mark Tidd, Editor Part 26

"And f-f oiks gen'ally think you're for Bowman, don't they?".

"Yes."

"And so his side's restin' easier in their minds?"

"Some," says Wiggins.

"Well, then," says Mark, "s'posin' I was to p-print a story in my paper sayin' that the row between you and Brown was made up, and that you and Brown had met and hobn.o.bbed and that you'd agreed, for some reason or another, to wait till the convention and, when the f-fight got good and hot, to make the d-delegates you control vote, not for Bowman, but for Whittaker? Folks 'u'd be int'rested in that story, eh?"

"Say, kid," says Wiggins, jumping up onto his feet, "who sent you here?"

"n.o.body," says Mark. "We just come after the p-printin'."

"What you say is bosh," says Wiggins.

"It's _so_," says Mark, "and we know it's so, and you know it's so.

What," says he, "if you was overheard t-talkin' up in the court-room awhile ago?"

Mr. Wiggins sort of caved in. "You haven't told anybody?"

"Course not. Sich p'litical information hain't much good when you give it away."

"My dad's for Whittaker, anyhow," says I.

"So's mine," says Mark, "but politics is politics. How about your influence, Mr. Wiggins?"

"You get it," says Wiggins, sharp-like. "Go tell Brown to go up to the court-room."

We did that, and Brown was pretty surprised, but he went. We followed along, and there was Wiggins waiting for us. He told Brown what Mark had said to him, and Brown began to laugh as hard as he could, and then got serious.

"You win, kids," says he, "providin' you can keep quiet."

"We git the p-printin'?"

"You do," says Brown, "but how Wiggins and I will explain it to certain newspaper men, particularly the Eagle Center _Clarion_, I don't know."

"Was the Eagle Center _Clarion_ goin' to git it?" says I.

"They figured on it pretty strongly," says Mr. Brown.

And that's how we landed the county printing. It was all by Mark Tidd's using his brains. All he needed was a hint, and he reasoned the thing right out, and it was so like he reasoned it. It made Mark pretty famous with politicians before it was all done, for after the convention, when Whittaker got the nomination, the story leaked out, and everybody laughed at Brown and Wiggins, and when folks found out Mark hadn't really heard a thing, but just jumped at conclusions and made a bluff, they laughed harder than ever.

That was all right, but what really counted was that we got a dandy piece of business that paid well and gave the paper a lot of reputation and standing around the county. It got us a lot of subscribers, too, because there are folks that have to read about the county proceedings.

Mr. Wiggins took us to dinner and made a lot of us, and didn't hold a grudge at all. After that we caught the train and went home, feeling like we had done a pretty good day's work.

CHAPTER XIII

The first thing we did when we got home was to hunt up Plunk and Tallow to find out if anything had been heard of Rock, but he was still just as missing as ever-and even more so.

"Well," says Mark, "we got to f-find him, and find him quick. We need him in our business and he needs us in hisn."

"You hain't goin' to give him up to Jethro like you said-honest, are you?"

"You b-b-bet I am," says Mark, and there was an end to that.

"To-morrow mornin'," says he, "you f-f-fellows be at my house at five o'clock, and we'll git after him. I got an idee," says he.

"Five o'clock," says I. "What's the use of goin' to bed at all?"

Mark he sort of grinned and says: "This Rock business is a sort of s-s-side issue with us. What we're doin' for a livin' is run a newspaper-and we got to give consid'able time to it."

That was Mark Tidd all over. Business was first. He could tend to business more and harder than any kid I ever heard of.

Next morning we were on hand when Mark said, and off we started toward the place where we lost track of Rock. Mark was as sure as ever he was some place close around. "Bet I can p-prove it pretty quick," says he, "and after I've proved it I bet I can go straight to where he's asleep this minute."

"Shucks!" says I.

"Will you eat a r-rotten apple if I can't?" says Mark.

Well, I knew him pretty well, and when he talked like that he was pretty sure he knew what he was talking about, so I sort of backed down as easy as I could. He didn't say anything, but just grinned aggravating.

There was just one farm out that way, and Mark headed us in the yard and around to the barn, where Mr. Soggs was milking.

"'Mornin', Mr. Soggs," says he.

"Up kinder early, hain't ye?" says Mr. Soggs.

"Ketchin' worms," says Mark. "Say, Mr. Soggs, been missin' anythin'

around here l-l-lately?"

"How'd you know?" says Soggs. "You boys hain't campin' out around here, be ye? 'Cause if ye be, and it's you that's been a-pesterin' my wife, stealin' pies off n the winder-sill and sich, I'll have the law on ye."

"Not guilty," says Mark. "What was stolen?"

"A hull apple pie 'n' a hunk of ham 'n' half a loaf of bread."

"Too bad," says Mark, but I could see a twinkle in those little eyes of his. "Hope it didn't spoil your meal, Mr. Soggs."

"I managed," says Soggs, "I managed."

"To be sure," says Mark. "Well, we'll be movin' on. G'by, Mr. Soggs."

"G'by to ye," says he, and off we went.