So I set in to laughing with all my might. Mr. Giddings looked at us and grinned.
“Perty good, eh?” says he.
“You bet,” says Mark, “but I hear tell Mr. Pawl’s goin’ to have even that sign beat.”
“He is, is he?” says Mr. Giddings. “How is he, I’d like to know? He better not start in on anythin’. What’s the leetle weasel up to now?”
“Advertisin’,” says Mark. “He’s goin’ to advertise such b-b-bargains as Wicksville ’ain’t ever seen before. I got wind of somethin’ else, too. I hear he’s goin’ to allude to his competitors in his advertisement, and sort of lambaste ’em and their goods.”
“He is, eh? When? How?”
“To-morrow, in the Wicksville Trumpet,” says Mark. “He’s g-g-goin’ to have a full-page ad., and I’ll bet he’ll say some mean things in it, too.”
“Think so?” says Mr. Giddings, eager-like. “Well, now, I’ll fool the little flea. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll have a page ad., too, and if he can offer better bargains than I do, or say more cuttin’ things, then I’ll go out of business. Paper comes out to-morrow, don’t it?”
“Yes,” says Mark. “Better have your page in the office this afternoon. It’ll have to be set up in a hurry.”
“You bet I will,” says Mr. Giddings, “and I’ll say things in it so hot your compositor’ll burn his fingers settin’ ’em in type.”