"Happy as a clam," responded Uncle John, leaning back in his chair with his feet on a foot rest. "If I only had the morning paper there would be nothing else to wish for."
"The paper? That's what that queer tramp at the Junction House asked for," remarked Beth. "The first thought of even a hobo was for a morning paper. I wonder why men are such slaves to those gossipy things."
"Phoo!" cried Patsy; "we're all slaves to them. Show me a person who doesn't read the daily journals and keep abreast of the times and I'll show you a dummy."
"Patsy's right," remarked Arthur Weldon. "The general intelligence and cosmopolitan knowledge of the people are best cultivated by the newspapers. The superiority of our newspapers has been a factor in making us the greatest nation on earth, for we are the best informed."
"My, what big words!" exclaimed Louise.
"It is quite true," said Uncle John soberly, "that I shall miss our daily paper during our four months' retirement in these fascinating wilds. It's the one luxury we can't enjoy in our country retreat."
"Why not?" asked Patsy, with startling abruptness, while a queer expression—as of an inspiration—stole over her bright face.
"Chump!" said Beth, drily; "you know very well why not, Patsy Doyle.
Mooley cows and the fourth estate don't intermingle, so to speak."
"They can be made to, though," declared Patsy. "Why hasn't some one thought of it before? Uncle John—girls!—I propose we start a daily paper."
Louise laughed softly, Beth's lip curled and Arthur Weldon cast an amused glance at the girl; but Uncle John stared seriously into Patsy's questioning blue eyes.