But Nort refused to be further depressed. If things did not happen of themselves in Hempfield, why he was there to make them happen. When he went out at noon he began asking everybody he met, at the hotel, at the post office, at the livery stable, whether they had seen the Star that week. Nort had then been in Hempfield about four months, and the town had begun to enjoy him—rather nervously, because it was never quite certain what he would do next. In Hempfield almost everybody was working for the approval of everybody else, which no one ever attains; while Nort never seemed to care whether anybody approved him or not.
"Seen the Star this week?" he asked Joe Crane, the liveryman, apparently controlling his excitement with difficulty.
"No," says Joe. "Why?"
"It's the biggest issue we ever had. We are printing the poems of all the poets of Hempfield."
Joe paused to consider a moment, while Nort looked at him earnestly.
"Didn't know they was any poets in Hempfield," observed Joe finally.
"Why," says Nort, "Hempfield has more poets than any town of its size in America."
Now, Joe took the Star as a matter of course, and advertised in it, too: