Spragg’s notion was to put in a little money himself and to have the merchants and business folks in town put in the rest. His argument was that there was money in running a newspaper, and the money was made out of the advertising. So, if the men that put in the advertisements and paid money for them owned the newspaper themselves, why, they would just be paying the money to themselves, and the subscribers would pay the cost of getting out the paper. So the advertisers would be getting their advertisements practically for nothing. It sounded dangerous to me.
I guess it worried Mark some, too, for if merchants could get their advertising in a daily practically without costing them a cent, what would they spend any money in the Trumpet for?
Spragg was just talking the thing up, but he was talking a lot, and it looked like he had the business men interested. Where Spragg came in was that he was to be the editor and have a salary and a share of the profits.
Mark went and sat down on my steps and began to whittle like he always does when he’s got a puzzle on his mind. He whittled and whittled and didn’t say a word for an hour. Then he looked at me out of his twinkling little eyes that you could hardly see over his fat cheeks and says:
“I guess Spragg’s idee is to get these f-f-fellers all into the paper. They’ll p-put their money in to start it, and p-perty soon they’ll see that their advertisements hain’t free. Not by a big s-sight. And p-perty soon they’ll get disgusted and along Spragg’ll come and buy their shares of the paper dirt cheap. He f-f-figgers to come out at the other end with a daily p-paper that didn’t cost him hardly anything. And then he’ll be where he can m-make some money.”
“Yes,” says I, “because by that time, with all the stores not givin’ us any advertisements, we’ll be busted.”
“That,” says he, “is how Spragg f-f-figgers it. But,” says he, “I figger it some d-different.”
“How do you figger it?” says I.
“I f-f-figger,” says he, stuttering like a gas engine just starting up on a cold morning, “that he hain’t ever g-goin’ to start any paper at all, and that we’re goin’ to keep all the business we’ve got, and that Mr. Spragg’ll wisht he never heard of Wicksville or of the Trumpet or of us.”
“Sounds good,” says I, “and I’ve seen you pull out of a lot of deep holes, but this one looks to me like it would be too much for you. I guess this time, Mark, you’re up against it hard.”