That afternoon about four o’clock the paper came out, and right on the front page of it was a big piece about Sands Jones and Darkie Patt and the painting-race. Mr. Cuppy had done himself proud. Everything was there that Catty had told him and a lot of things Catty never thought of at all.
“This event,” said Editor Cuppy, “constitutes one of the most remarkable examples of civic and business ingenuity ever manifested in our midst. Our village will thrill at the prospect of such a contest between such well-known citizens as Mr. Patt and Mr. Jones. There have been horse-races and foot-races and balloon-races and dog-races, but never to our knowledge has the earth seen a painting-race. It remained for our town to set the lead in this new realm of sport, and it remained for our new and valued citizens, Atkins & Son, painters and decorators and contractors, to bring this honor to us. It represents true enterprise. We should all extend the hand of welcome to these progressive citizens. It is to be hoped that the town will take formal notice of this event and that some sort of celebration will be arranged to mark the start of the race. The least that could be done would be to organize a parade to the place of the contest, and to hear some words of congratulation and patriotism spoken before the gladiators lay on their brushes.” There was a lot more of it and Catty was tickled to death.
“I guess I git my ladders now,” he said.
“How?”
“Wait and see,” says he.
We walked over to Mr. Manning’s warehouse where Mr. Atkins was mixing paints. He was about done when we got there, and Catty grabbed onto him and told him to come along.
“Where?” says Mr. Atkins. “I want a chance to git off and rest and look at birds a-flyin’ and clouds a-scuddin’ by.”
“After this,” says Catty, “about the only time you git to do that is Sundays. You’re goin’ to be too busy the rest of the week.”
“I be, be I? Wa-al, where we goin’ now?”
“Barber’s,” says Catty.