"I have," said the landlord, "in the storeroom a stack of printing. I came by it in this way. There was a show out here about a year ago. The company got stranded; could go no further, and, to make a long story short, when the troupe started to walk home the printing remained behind. Exhibit No. 1."
"I'm on. Proceed."
"Let me further elucidate. I had a partner who at one time was in the bill-posting profession—it is a profession now, isn't it?" Handy smiled. "Well, he had a bit of money—not a great deal, and he invested in the line of publicity. Well, he was called away suddenly. He didn't exactly die—but that's of no consequence, and his assets dropped into my hands for safe-keeping. Among the valuables was a lot of miscellaneous printing of all kinds, plain and colored—and of all sorts and sizes—a dandy assortment. Exhibit No. 2."
"Fire away!"
"Furthermore, old Phineas Pressman, the town printer here, owes me a bill. It isn't much, but little as it is I can't squeeze a red cent of ready money out of him, and I see no earthly way of getting square with him only by giving him an order for whatever new printing stuff we may require, and in that way change the balance of trade in my direction. Exhibit No. 3. Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly."
"But you don't seem to enthuse over the prospects."
"No," answered Handy calmly. "No, I'm no enthuser. I was just turning over in my mind your proposition. As I have not seen your paper, how it would suit, I can't imagine what it looks like."
"What in thunder has that got to do with the case? Paper is paper, printing is printing, and pictures are pictures, ain't they?"
"Quite correct, my friend. But you must bear in mind that they might not fit any show that the company could do itself credit in."