“Now for b-business,” says Mark. “First thing ’s to get some s-subscribers. Folks’ll take the Trumpet if they know it’s goin’ to amount to s-somethin’. We’ve got to tell ’em.”
“How?” says I.
“By talkin’ it, singin’ it, w-whistlin’ it and p-playin’ it on your mouth-organ,” says Mark, with a grin. “Also by printin’ it. We’ll get out some hand-bills—and some bigger bills to stick on fences and things. I’ll get up the bills. While I’m doin’ it you fellows go out and see what you can l-learn from Tecumseh Androcles.”
So Mark sat down to his desk and got a pencil and commenced scratching his head. The rest of us went out into the other room—and there was Mr. Tidd and Tecumseh Androcles in a regular old argument. Both of them had forgot all about working.
“’Tain’t so,” Mr. Tidd said, as loud and excited as he was capable of. “There hain’t no book got more solid and useful knowledge in it than Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. It’s better ’n the whole kit and bundle of the rest of the books in the nation.”
“My friend,” said Tecumseh, “your view is narrow, not to say biased. I have read the volumes you praise. Without doubt there is merit in them. Oh, without doubt. But as compared to that marvelous book, Izaak Walton’s Compleat Angler, it is the nickering of a match to the shining of the noonday sun.”
“Angler,” says Mr. Tidd, disgusted as could be.
“Yes, Angler,” says Tecumseh.
“Huh!” says Mr. Tidd.
“Do not snort at Izaak Walton,” roared Tecumseh. “I will not stand by to see it done.”