Suppressing the News.
Lyman found Warren almost in hysterical glee, treading air up and down the office. "Ho!" he cried, as the bridegroom entered the office. "Let me get hold of you. Ho!" he shouted louder as he shook Lyman's hand. "Maybe we haven't got the situation by the forelock. Who ever heard of such a thing! Shake again. I didn't hear about it till awhile ago, and then I took a fit and caught another one from it. Glad I held the paper in line with the Grangers."
"Let me sit down," said Lyman.
"That's exactly what you must do, and write like a horse trotting. I've left two columns open, and I want you to spread yourself."
"Something important?" Lyman asked, sitting down.
"Now, what do you want to talk that way for? It's a world beater."
"What do you mean?"
"The marriage, don't you understand? Make two columns out of it and I'll get fifty subscribers before night. Hurry up, I've got a tramp printer waiting for the copy."
"Nonsense," said Lyman, lighting a cigar. "You wouldn't expect a man to write up his own marriage, any more than you would his own funeral."
"If his funeral was as extraordinary as this marriage I would. Finest piece of news I ever heard of. Never heard of anything to beat it; and we'll make the hair rise up in this community like bristles on a dog. Go ahead with it. The tramp's waiting and I am paying him time."