“Huh!” says Mark, and not another word.
Mark and I walked past the hotel, and there stood Spragg. He scowled at us over the top of one of our papers that he had paid three real cents for.
We went to selling papers as hard as we could, and before noon we were cleaned out
“Well,” says I, “what do you think of it?”
“Kid paper,” says he.
“Those page ads. are k-k-kid ads., ain’t they?” says Mark.
“Luck,” says Spragg. “I’ll have ’em next week.”
“Wigglesworth story was a kid story?” says Mark.
“Nothin’ to it,” says Spragg. “I’ve asked folks. I’m a newspaper man, and if there was a story I’d get it. It wouldn’t be you young ones.”