Aunt Jane's Nieces at Work

Briggs was a man with one eye, a sallow complexion and sandy hair that stuck straight up from his head. He set type for his paper, besides editing it, and Uncle John found him wearing a much soiled apron, with his bare arms and fingers smeared with printer's ink.

"Mr. Merrick wants to see you on business, Charley," said the banker. "Whatever he agrees to I will guarantee, to the full resources of my bank."

The editor pricked up his ears and dusted a chair for his visitor with his apron. It wasn't easy to make a living running a paper in Elmwood, and if there was any business pending he was anxious to secure it.

Uncle John waited until Mr. Warren had left him alone with the newspaper man. Then he said:

"I understand your paper is Democratic, Mr. Briggs."

"That's a mistake, sir," replied the editor, evasively. "The Herald is really independent, but in political campaigns we adopt the side we consider the most deserving of support."

"You're supporting Hopkins just now."

"Only mildly; only mildly, sir."

"What is he paying you?"

"Why, 'Rast and I haven't come to a definite settlement yet. I ought to get a hundred dollars out of this campaign, but 'Rast thinks fifty is enough. You see, he plans on my support anyhow, and don't like to spend more than he's obliged to."

"Why does he plan on your support?"

"He's the only live one in the game, Mr. Merrick. 'Rast is one of us – he's one of the people – and it's policy for me to support him instead of the icicle up at Elmhurst, who don't need the job and don't care whether he gets it or not."

"Is that true?"

"I think so. And there's another thing. Young Forbes is dead against advertising, and advertising is the life of a newspaper. Why, there isn't a paper in the district that's supporting Forbes this year."

"You've a wrong idea of the campaign, Mr. Briggs," said Uncle John. "It is because Mr. Forbes believes in newspaper advertising, and wants to protect it, that he's against these signs. That's one reason, anyhow. Can't you understand that every dollar spent for painting signs takes that much away from your newspapers?"

"Why, perhaps there's something in that, Mr. Merrick. I'd never looked at it that way before."

"Now, see here, Mr. Briggs. I'll make you a proposition. I'll give you two hundred and fifty to support Mr. Forbes in this campaign, and if he's elected I'll give you five hundred extra."

"Do you mean that, sir?" asked the editor, scarcely able to believe the evidence of his ears.

"I do. Draw up a contract and I'll sign it. And here's a check for your two-fifty in advance."

The editor drew up the agreement with a pen that trembled a little.

"And now," said Uncle John, "get busy and hustle for Kenneth Forbes."

"I will, sir," said Briggs, with unexpected energy. "I mean to win that extra five hundred!"

CHAPTER VII

PATSY MAKES PROGRESS

Meantime Patsy was in the thick of the fray. The druggist was a deep-dyed Democrat, and sniffed when she asked him what he thought of Forbes for Representative.

"He's no politician at all – just an aristocrat," declared Latham, a dapper little man with his hair slicked down to his ears and a waxed moustache. "And he's got fool notions, too. If he stopped the advertising signs I wouldn't sell half as many pain-killers and liver-pills."

"He's my cousin," said Patsy, mendaciously; for although they called themselves cousins there was no relationship even of marriage, as Patsy's Aunt Jane had merely been betrothed to Kenneth's uncle when he died.

"I'm sorry for that, miss," replied the druggist. "He's going to be badly beaten."

"I think I'll take two ounces of this perfumery. It is really delightful. Some druggists have so little taste in selecting such things."

"Yes, miss, I do rather pride myself on my perfumes," replied Latham, graciously. "Now here's a sachet powder that gives fine satisfaction."

"I'll take a couple of packets of that, too, since you recommend it."

Latham began doing up the purchases. There was no other customer in the store.

"You know, miss, I haven't anything against Mr. Forbes myself. His people are good customers. It's his ideas I object to, and he's a Republican."

"Haven't you ever voted for a Republican?" asked the girl. "Don't you think it better to vote for the best man, rather than the best party, in a case like this?"

"Why, perhaps it is. But in what way is Mr. Forbes the best man?"

"He's honest. He doesn't want to make any money out of the office. On the contrary, he's willing and able to spend a good deal in passing laws that will benefit his district."

"And Hopkins?"

"Don't you know Mr. Hopkins?" she asked, pointedly.

"Yes, miss; I do." And Latham frowned a little.

"As regards the advertising signs," continued the girl, "I've heard you spoken of as a man of excellent taste, and I can believe it since I've examined the class of goods you keep. And your store is as neat and attractive as can be. The fight is not against the signs themselves, but against putting them on fences and barns, and so making great glaring spots in a landscape where all should be beautiful and harmonious. I suppose a man of your refinement and good taste has often thought of that, and said the same thing."

"Why – ahem! – yes; of course, miss. I agree with you that the signs are often out of place, and – and inharmonious."

"To be sure; and so you must sympathize with Mr. Forbes's campaign."

"In that way, yes; of course," said Mr. Latham, puzzled to find himself changing front so suddenly.

"Mr. Hopkins has taken a lot of money out of this town," remarked Patsy, examining a new kind of tooth wash. "But I can't find that he's ever given much of it back."

"That's true. He buys his cigars of Thompson, the general store man, and I keep the finest line ever brought to this town."

"Oh, that reminds me!" exclaimed Patsy. "Mr. Forbes wanted me to purchase a box of your choicest brand, and have you just hand them out to your customers with his compliments. He thinks he ought to show a little cordiality to the men who vote for him, and he said you would know just the people to give them to."

Latham gasped, but he assumed an air of much importance.

"I know every man that comes to this town, miss, as well as any you'll find," he said.

"The best brand, mind you, Mr. Latham," said the girl. "How much will they be?"

"Why, the very best – these imported perfectos, you know – are worth six dollars a box of fifty. Perhaps for election purposes something a little cheaper – "