“Hey, Mark,” says I, “we’re up against it again. Seems like we’re always runnin’ up against it. Folks won’t let us have peace.”
“N-n-now what?” says he.
“Eagle Center Clarion’s goin’ to print a special Wicksville edition,” says I. “They’ve got an editor here, and he says he’s goin’ to put us out of business.”
“Um!” says Mark, and turned around so his face was toward the window. “S-s-special edition, eh?” Then he began tugging at his ear like he always does when there’s a problem to figure out or some sort of difficult thing to overcome. “Well,” says he in a minute, “I don’t see how we can s-s-stop ’em. But we’ll let ’em know they’ve got competition, eh, Binney?”
“You bet,” says I.
“Got to m-m-make our first paper a hummer,” says he, “so folks’ll talk about it and wonder what the dickens we’ll p-p-print next week.”
“Fine,” says I. “How’ll we get about it.”
“Best way,” says he, “is to take a chance of gettin’ licked.”
“Sounds good,” says I.
“We’ll p-p-print some real news,” says he, “and we’ll have a c-c-couple of typographical errors that h-happen on purpose.”