Particulars Saturday
The other says:
MISTER, IS YOUR WIFE PROUD OF YOU?
YOU WILL SOON BE ABLE TO TELL
SMALLEY’S BAZAR—SATURDAY
We called in Tallow and Binney and explained things to them. They were more tickled with the scheme than I was, though that last sign of Mark’s did make it look more likely. By printing that thing and sending it around town he’d practically fixed it so every woman would have to do some voting for her husband or let him think she didn’t set much store by him. It beat all how Mark seemed to understand folks. He could sit and figure and come pretty close to guessing what anybody would do if this thing or that thing should happen. Sometimes it seemed almost like mind-reading.
“Now,” says he, “we’ll get tickets printed for votin’.”
“How many?” I says. “A hundred?”
“Hundred,” he snorted; “we’ll start with f-five thousand.” He was a little mad I could see—he always stuttered worse when he was mad.
I thought he was crazy, but there wasn’t any use arguing. When once Mark Tidd gets his head set you can’t move it with a crowbar. So I said all right, and he went over to the printing-office and gave his order.