We looked at one another but nobody had any ideas.
“Might sick a dog on him,” says I.
“We might get out an Eagle Center edition of the Trumpet,” says Plunk.
Well, there was an idea and we talked it over, but it wasn’t long before we saw that wouldn’t do. We had our hands full now without monkeying with Eagle Center.
“If,” says I, “we could only fix it so’s folks here didn’t want anything to do with Eagle Center—”
“Binney,” says Mark, “there is an idee. Start a t-town row. Get folks here to hatin’ Eagle Center. Make a sort of war, eh? Fine. Now,” says he with a grin, “all we got to do is f-figger out how to do it.”
“If that Eagle Center paper would only talk mean about Wicksville,” says I.
“It won’t,” says Mark; “they’re after Wicksville b-business.”
He sat back and pulled at his ear like he does when he’s thinking hard, and whistled a little, and reached for his jack-knife and whittled some.
Pretty soon he whacked his leg and says he’s got it.