Mark Tidd, Editor Part 42

"Yes," says he.

"Come and git rescued," says I.

"Mark and Binney got out safely?" says he.

"You bet," says I, but I didn't mention the papers we found behind the white brick.

"I never could get past Jethro down the stairs," says he.

"Stairs," says I, "was made for folks to walk up and down on-not for folks to escape on. What would be the fun of escapin' jest by walkin'

down a flight of steps? Any adventure in that? Why," says I, "Mark Tidd would be disgusted if you escaped that way!"

"What'll I do, then?" says he.

"Jump," says I.

"I need all my arms and legs," says he.

Just then something dropped on me, and I heard Jethro growl like a bear that he had me. He needn't 'a' told me; I knew it. Of course I did what I could to get away, and threw myself back and squirmed and kicked and thrashed. But he hung on. I was on the ground and he was leaning over me. All at once I heard a thump and a big grunt out of Jethro, and he let go of me and keeled over, making funny, snuffling noises, like his wind was knocked out. Which it was, for Rock had seen what was going on, and he'd hung by his hands from the window-sill and dropped kerslam right onto the back of Jethro's neck.

He grabbed me by the arm and dragged me up.

"Run!" says he, and we ran. I rather guess we ran. Before Jethro got his breath back we had a good start, and in the dark it was enough. He came plunging and yelling after us, but we took to the shadows and dodged and wriggled through the hedge and made up the road. He didn't have any more chance to catch us than an angle-worm has to catch a rabbit.

When we knew we had him beaten good we stopped and hid alongside of the road to wait for Tallow and Plunk and Mark. It was quite a while before they came along, and then they didn't come by the road, but back through the fields and wood-lots. I then whistled out a signal whistle. Mark answered it, so I knew it was our fellows, and in a minute we got together.

"N-now for home," says Mark. "I'll take Rock to the house. You f-fellers keep quiet about everythin' that's happened. I'll give out to-morrow that Rock's a f-friend come to visit me."

That's how it was. Mark stopped on his way home, late as it was, to pound on Lawyer Jones's door. Lawyer Jones was pretty mad when he woke up, and said some pretty descriptive things to Mark, but when Mark told him what was up he quieted right down, and him and Mark went inside for a few minutes. Then we all went home.

Next day Mark and Rock and I went to Lawyer Jones's and we all read that paper. Rock's eyes nearly popped out of his head, but Mark says he knew it all the while.

"Now, Lawyer Jones," says he, "it was the _Trumpet_ that f-found this paper and got it. So the _Trumpet's_ ent.i.tled to something hain't it?"

"You bet," says Rock. "Whatever you want from we."

"All I want," says he, "is to have this kept quiet till after the paper comes out d-day after to-morrow. That'll be the end of the contest, too, and the dinners and everything. And we can print this whole thing, and almost knock the eyes out of folks with what's been goin' on right under their eyes, and them never knowin' it!"

"I guess," says Lawyer Jones, "that you're ent.i.tled to that much."

And so the mystery kept on being a mystery for a couple more days.

Mark got a lot of mail that day and spent most of the morning opening it and studying it. He didn't let on what he was up to and we knew better than to ask. Then he went out, and him and Tec.u.mseh Androcles Spat talked and talked and figured. After that Mark came in and wrote all the afternoon, and then most of the evening, and as fast as he wrote Tec.u.mseh and the young man we'd got to help him set up in type what Mark had written. Part of what he was doing was writing the story about Rock and the mystery, but most of it wasn't that at all. It was something quite different, as Mr. Spragg and the merchants that had gone into his daily-paper scheme found out.

And still the subscriptions came in. It was running close. The Home Culturers had four hunderd and thirty-four, and the Literary Circlers had four hunderd and twenty-nine. Of course n.o.body knew how many votes there were but just us fellows. That night the first dinner, the Literary Girders' dinner, came off, and you'd better believe it was good eating. Eat! Whee! I almost busted the band of my pants, and Mark! you wouldn't believe what that fat kid mowed away. I was sure I'd never be able to go to the dinner the next night and eat a bite. But I did. Of course we all took quite a lot of exercise during the day, and didn't eat much, to save s.p.a.ce.

The Home Culturers' dinner looked to me like it was every bit as good as the Literary Girders', but among other folks there was a lot of argument. I don't know but there might have been a real squabble if Constable Ginney hadn't been there with his star right outside of his coat, warning folks to keep the peace. He scared 'em.

The last day was a tough one for all the women in the contest. They worked like anything, both getting ready for the food show and hauling in the last subscriptions that were to be had. We were busy, too, and as the day moved along we began to get kind of worried. Goodness knows, when we saw how things was coming we had reason enough to worry.

Mark went out to get the last items of news before we went to press, and I went with him. We saw the afternoon train come in, and there got off it Mr. Spragg, who grinned at us like the cat that ate the canary, and a whopping big man that was tanned and dark as an Indian. He went to the hotel, and Mark told me to go in and write what items I had while he went to the hotel to see if there was anything there. He didn't come back for quite a while, and I went out again. I pa.s.sed the hotel and saw him talking to the big man, both of them as earnest as if they was planning to run off with the bank.

When Mark came back he looked all excited, and fidgeted around as if it was hard for him to hold himself in. It was easy to see something had happened.

"Well?" says I.

"If I was to t-t-tell you now," says he, "it would spile a m-mighty fine s'prise for you," says he.

"Huh!" says I. "I'd rather suffer from a spoiled surprise," I says, "than to be worn to the bone by curiosity."

"I'll take a chance," says he.

"You hain't takin' any chance," says I. "You _know_."

"You b-bet I do," says he, and that was all I could get out of him.

"How about Pekoe?" says I. "Is he goin' to be left out at the farm forever?"

"Pekoe's comfortable," says he. "I guess he's about due to c-c-come to town."

Subscriptions straggled in all the afternoon, one at a time. The way the contest was turning out for us was great. We knew we'd have close to fifteen hunderd paid-up yearly subscribers, and Mark says every newspaper man in the world admits a country weekly can make good money with that many.

"But Spragg's daily?" says I.

"He can't t-t-take our subscribers away from us for a year," says he.

"He kin git the advertisin' with his cooperative scheme, though," says I.

"Maybe," says he, "and ag'in m-maybe not. I've been doin' a leetle f-figgerin' for Spragg's benefit-and for our own, too. We got to quit runnin' this paper perty soon and go back to school. Well?"

"Yes," says I, "what then?"

"Why," says he, "we got either to sell it or to hire an editor to run it."

"That's right," says I.

"Well," says he, "it l-looks to me l-like it would be the best idee to sell it."

"If we kin," says I.

"The f-fellers that's int'rested with Spragg has a meetin' to-morrow n-night," says he. "I'd l-like to know what'll turn up."

"Spragg seems perty well pleased," says I.

"Spragg," says he, "would git along b-better if he done more thinkin'

and less t-talkin'."

"Where's Rock?" says I.