Rensselaer Republican, Volume 27, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 June 1896 — QUESTION OF EXPENSE [ARTICLE]

QUESTION OF EXPENSE

When a ‘new man” came to town to ■tart a paper, occupy a pulpit, practice law or open a grocery store he became the talk dr the place. You must bear in m nd that Williamsburg is a small town and in appearance just like scores of other towns in Missouri. Prairie count 15 on one side, woods and a “crick" on the other, with hills between. The roads that are dignified by the name of streets are yellow in Williamsburg. In summer they are afikle deep in dust, in winter knee deep in mud. The walkt. where there are any at all, are made of two planks laid about a foot apart—the plank itself too narrow for two, so that when particularly interesting pairs of young people walk home from meeting or the opera house trader the Williamsburg moon they wonder what could have been the purpose <»: the inventor of that sidewalk in putting the boards so far apart. Williamsburg has a "square,” with a rickety court house in the center, toward which equally fallen-down stores face tach other from eadh of the four sides. A few trees lean about the court Louse losing limbs in every wind-storm-limbs that hang there until they die ana the town boys pull them down and a poor Marky takes the branches home fdr firewood. "Hines’ grocery house" was the biggest store of the kind in Williamsburg several years ago. It sold more Vandalia flour than all the ot her stores put together.—Old Hines was a man whom nobody liked, but always kept a good stock. His clerks w ere three bright young men, who made friends and kept them as patrons of the store. “I’ve heerd," said the old man, one evening after business was over, “that some dem fool is thinkin’ about startin' another paper here. Lord knows the Banger's doin’ poor enough.” said one of the clerks. “I heard the same thing this morning. Young fellow from Kentucky’s going to start it. Over at the Merchant's Hotel last night he told some of the boys that he was going to call her the Champion.” “Huh.” grunted Hines. "That’s a good name.” Here he blew out the lamp on on s of the counters and moved forwaid toward the door—"and I’ll double all your wages if it’s runnin’ this time next year." The quartet moved toward the door, blowing out the lamps as they went. They stood in the darkness under the wooden awning just a moment “Yes," went on the old man before saying good-uight to his clerks. “Let’s see, this is the first. Just for luck I’ll pick the 29th of February next year, it bein' leap year, an’ if the Champion, as you call it. is runnin’ then I’ll give all of you boys $lO raise apiece March 1!” The "boys" said nothing. Old man Hines said gdod night and started for home. After he was well out of hearing the young clerk who had mentioned a knowledge of the Cha mplon* r remarked: “The old man has been losing money on the Banner ever since he bought part of it No wondCr be.doesn’t want any fresh opposition." “Sarah Merner has been setting most of (lie paper, too, at $6 a week,” sugst<-<! another of the boys. “He could . >t hir a man to do the work for sls. it would be tough on him if the new paper'd get Sarah.” With a few more words concerning the prospects of the new journal the three clerks separated for their homes. In the morning all of Williamsburg was talking about the new paper that was to be started. The editor had been “around the .square" at an early hour, receiving hearty encouragement in nearly every store. Some of the merchants contributed small advertisements, nearly all subscribed for the Champion, a few paid in advance. Hickman Arnold was the name of the new editor. He was a tall, handsome fellow of 2G, wdth a small, curly, light mustache that he twirled and pulled almost constantly. His hair was light and curly, too, massing closely about a high, broad forehead, under which •hone iarge bljie eyes, full of honesty. **He acts ilk? a hustler,” old Hines had to admit, after the young man had gone out of his store without receiving ■ word of encouragement, “but mark my words, beys, you’ll not get a raise of your wages next March first or a doubl- in a year. He ain’t the kind that’ll last. Wait till he pays sls a week for a printer for a dozen weeks be Just won’t do It, that’s all.” Kaeji of the three clerks resolved that it would be a good thing for them to do tlitir best ,work, very quietly of course, to keep the new paper on Its <oet at least beyond March 1. The first, tasue cnjnc out in a week, full of bright local*, hili alarmingly deficient in adgertlHi meuta. “We are here to stay,”

was the Announcement at the head of the editorial column, whereat old man Hines shook his head gloomily and murmured that he doubted it The first thing that suggested itself to one of the clerks, as he thought of schemes to help the young paper along, was to quietly arouse Sarah Merner s interest in the' Champion, so that she would go there for a small raise in pay. That would save Arnold at least five or six dollars a week, quite an Item in the journalism of Williamsburg. But he did not have to arouse that Interest Sarah Merner felt it from the moment she saw the handsome young editor stalking about the streets. Sarah was a bright-eyed girl, with rosy cheeks and hair that made their color stand but the more because of Its blackness. Her hands were of the plump variety, so fat that her knuckles were marked only' by dimples. The first fingers of the right Land Were hard on the Inside of the first joint, made so bv the steady picking up of the type—not callous, but much harder than they would have been had they touched piano keys instead of long primer. She sat on the high stool in front of her ease in the Banner office and looked out on the street Young Arnold was just passing. He involuntarily looked up, not at the girl so near the window, but at the office of his contemporary. His eyes met those of the young compositor, however, and he got to thinking—not of the pretty girl, but of the business stroke that she suggested. “That’s the scheme,” he said to himself, as he walked toward the office of the Champion. “I’ll hire a woman printer. She’s just as good for a country office and a good bit cheaper.”

With that idea in view he went into the stere of a friend whom he had known for several years. He explained what he wanted. “Now,” Arnold went on, “where can I get her?” “There’s no girl compositor in town except Sarah Merner,” said the young editor's friend, “and she’s working for the Banne*, where she learned her trade." One of oln Hines' clerks was In the store. “I heard,” he spoke up, “that Sarah is going to quit the Banner because she’s toad at Bill Cannon, the man who edits it. But of course I don’t know bow true It is.” • As a matter of fact, he had stated pure fiction. He was out of the store In a moment, however, bound for the office of the Banner. He went up stairs and Into the editorial-room. Cannon was not there. He went through a door where two cases of type and an old Washington hand press stood. “Good-day, Miss Sarah,” he said, half out of breath. “Just heard you was going to quit.” “Whatl” the girl exclaimed. Then she remembered that the young man was one of Hines’ clerks. Still, that did not enlighten her. ~ “Who told you?” she proceeded, diplomatically. “Oh, just heard Mr. Arnold, the new editor, say that he’d hired ycrti, or was going to.” “Well.” said Miss Sarah, “I don’t know anything about it.” Of course the young clerk did not say anything, but somehow the next day old man Hines was astonished by the announcement that he and Cannon would have to get a printer, while all of Williamsburg was talking about Sarah Merner’s two-dollars-a-week raise by going to the Champion office. . “You will not have to assist at making up the forms, Miss Merner,” the young editor said, as he came In with a buneh of copy. “I know enough of the art preservative to do that I hope that your work on the Champion will be pleasant” She said “Yes, sir,” or something like that, for in truth she was nervous under his steady, blue-eyed gaze. She sat on her stool all day, picking up the new type and placing them, one by one, in her “stick.” But when evening came she found that her day’s work was not up to the standard. She had not set as much type as usual. It was because it was new, she thought. But that was not a good reason. Then her fat hand twitched as she heard the door open. “No,” she said to herself as young Arnold came in, "it is not that.” “Still at work?” the editor asked, cheerily. "You are putting In long hours. You’ve set a good deal of -type, too—more than your high-priced preuecessor got up in twice the time.” “Thank you,” Sarah murmured, “but I am afraid that you will find the proof very bad." “Guess not,” returned Arnold. “This one here seems to be all right at. a glance.” The girl got down from her high stool and went to a basin in the rear part of the' room, where she washed her hands. She took her apron off and put on a pretty, round, all-season hat. Then she said: “I’m going. Mr. Arnold, good-night.” “Good-night, Miss Merner,” the young editor responded, as the girl reached the door. Just as she was passing out he looked up suddenly. “I say,” he called, “where do you live?” • “Oh, only a little way—about half a mile south.” “Let me go with you, then. It’S getting dusky.” Sarah hesitated in the open doorway. The young editor was looking at her, waiting for an answer. Then she said; “Think you, Mr. Arnold, but I win go alone.” Then she pulled the door shut. Arnold opened it in an instant. “Miss Merner/’ he said, “I hope that you did not think impertinent in offering my company, for surely I was honest in feeling that you should be escorted.”

“Oh, that's all right,” the girl answered, lightly, “Williamsburg is a little place and there’s no danger. I’m used to it. And ” She stopped. Her heart was beating so loully that she almost beard it “Yes, Miss Merner?" “And—well, you know I’ve only, been here a day, and—but, yoti oughtn’t to go home with me, Mr. Arnold, that's all. u “Not for the world, let me assure you. If that’s the view you take of it. I beg a thousand pardons for offering myself.” The door closed and Mary weht home aloue as she had done scores of times while working at the ‘ Banner office. This lime she was thinking very seriously. Had she made a mistake in changing from the old well-established paper to the new one? But the cohfi-

(fence of youth, bueyed her and she concluded that everything was right. Mr. Arnold was surely a gentleman, and If she conducted herself as she had In the past/there could be no gossip, even in Williamsburg. Many of .her friends congratulated her on the •change that she had ma.de. In fact, she ■ soon felt sure that there was no mistake* in Thd next day passed as pleasantly as the first. Arnold worked • hard and was enthusiastic. 01 get new subscribers every time I’m on the street,” he said to Sarah. “If advertisements were a trifle more plentiful there’d be no trouble ahead for the Champion.” The girl’s eyes sparkled. “I hope not,’’ she said: “there’s room In Williamsburg for a good, real newspaper." “Something different from the Banner, eh? Arnold laughed. “Well, we’ll try to give it to ’em." “Wait till spring opens and we’ll be all right,” he said, “but In the meantime it’s uphill work. I’m sorry to put you off this way for your salary, but I’ve got to pay the paper bills first or the agent will come put from St. Louis and take the press. W r e couldn’t get out much of a paper without the press, could we?" he laughed. “Don’t worry about my pay, Mr. Arnold,” she said “Any time within a week will do me." The Banner was having an equally hard time. It was a more expensive paper than the Champion. Cannon, the editor, drew out enough money to maintain his family, and the., sls a week printer haa to be paid, too. Half a dozen times did old man Hines have to go down in his private purse for money to maintain the paper. “It ain’t this dead loss .that bothers me,” lie muttered. “What I want to know is, who’s backin’ the Champion? If that thing hangs on till the roads break up and dry out I’m a ruined man.” But the Champion was not backed, Arnold brought a little money to Williamsburg with him, but he had spent It in equipment. By making explanations to his landlady he secured an extension on his board bill and by the hardest kind of hustling he raised enough monej' each week to defray the expenses of his little paper. In February, however, matters 1 began to look very blue. He had collected every available cash subscription and every advertisement was paid a full month ahead. One day. near the end of the month Arnold came into the office looking very gloomy. Ho knew that the Champion’s days were numbered. “Mins Merner,” he said, “I am sorry to say to you that our next issue will be our last.” “Whatl” Sarah fairly screamed. Her “stick,” half full of type, fell on the case. “It’s too bad,” she said, more calmly. Then she bent her hfead down on her arms and began tocry. “There, there, Miss Merner,” Arnold exclaimed. "Don’t. I’m sorry enough, mysel' 1 , goodness knows, but I don’t see any way of avoiding it. I’m sorry for you too—it’s all my fault that you left a good situation on the Banner.” “No, no, Mr, Arnold, I came because I wanted to, and—and I’m glad I did.” “Well, to tell the truth, I am, too,” Arnold returned bluntly. “But there’s no use crying over spilled milk. I’ve written a little editorial here explaining that this field is too small for two papers. When you set it we will be ready to go to press.” The tears were still running over the rosy cheeks of the girl on the stool. She wiped them away with her apron and, picking up the copy that Arnold laid before her, she began looking it over. It told the usual story of hard times, poor appreciation of honest efforts and a limited field of operation. After Sara-. had read it through she let the sheets drop. They floated off the case and fell about the floor. She was dreaming. For a quarter of an hour she sat without moving a muscle, looking straight into the little type boxes before her. Her face was red Worn the roots of her raven hair to the simple bit of edging that filled the neck of her dress. Her heart beat loudly. Her hands were feverish. She picked up the “stick.” Thea she began to pick out the type, one by one. She dropped them into their places faster than ever before. Her eyes flashed and her bands trembled as they worked. In a moment she was through. Again she let the “stick” fall heavily to the case. She looked over the lines that she had just set. They were full of mistakes. Little matter. Sarah got down from her stool, and taking the type she got a proof of It on th j little roller press near at hand. Then she slipped off her apron and donned her hat. She took the proof Into the front room, where Arnold sat, with nis face buried in his hands. “I’m going out for half an hour,” the girl said. “Here is a proof of your editorial.” “Doesn’t matter,” returned Arnold, “I guess it’s all right.” Sarah went out. After she had gone Arnold looked up. “Poor thing.” he muttered. “She’s as badly disappointed as 1 am. No, that can’t be, either, for I not-only lose the Champion, but I lose her, too. No use talking, old man. I’m in love!” a He reached across his desk in an absent-minded fashion and took up the proof slip. He didn’t look at it at first, but tore off bits of the paper and chewed them. Then he chanced to look at the printtag on the long white sheet. “H’m,” he muttered, “she made a mistake. This isn’t my edltoriah He looked at it again. Here is what he savy: - • ■

“To whom It may concern: This is leap year, and with a feeling that I am doing something utterly unwomanly I* offer to you my hand in marriage. It will reduce expenses and besides keeping the Champion alive will, I trust, make both of us happier." Then Arnold got up'from his seat and whistled one soft, long note. He went to the door and looked up and down the street. “She said that she'd be gone for half an hour. That will give me time.” Arnold went back to his desk. For ten minutes his pencil flew over the paper. Here he took the article up and hastily scanned it. “That will do,” he said. He took it into the back room and placed it on Sarah’s case. It was a leading editorial and this was its title: “We Are Here to Stay.”—St; Louis Republic. As a rule, there is most justice in the ■ide of the story that is not told.