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Read Ebook: Salt ... or No Salt ... by Anonymous
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Ebook has 94 lines and 2590 words, and 2 pages
"I shouldn't go so far as that, either," returned Mr. Cameron kindly. "What I mean is that you could not buy a printing press and operate it with the money you would probably have at hand. Nevertheless there are, as I said before, other ways of getting at the matter. If I were in your place I should look them up before I abandoned the project."
"How?"
"Make sure of your proposition. Find out how many of your schoolmates would pledge themselves to subscribe to a paper if you had one. Then, when you have made a rough estimate of about how much money you would be likely to secure, go and see some printer and put the question up to him. Tell him what you would want and find out exactly what he could do for you. You've always been in a hurry to leave school and take up business. Here is a business proposition right now. Try your hand at it and see how you like it."
Mr. Cameron pushed back his chair, rose, and sauntered into his den; and Paul, familiar with his father's habits, did not follow him, for he knew that from now until late into the evening the elder man would be occupied with law books and papers.
Therefore the lad strolled out into the yard. His studying was done; and even if it had not been he was in no frame of mind to attack it to-night. A myriad of schemes and problems occupied his thought. Slowly he turned into the walk and presently he found himself in the street.
It was a still October twilight,--so still that one could hear the rustle of the dry leaves as they dropped from the trees and blew idly along the sidewalk. There was a tang of smoke in the air, and a blue haze from smoldering bonfires veiled the fall atmosphere.
Aimlessly Paul lingered. No one was in sight. Then the metallic shrillness of a bicycle bell broke the silence. He wheeled about. Noiselessly threading his way down the village highway came a thick-set, rosy-faced boy of sixteen or seventeen years of age.
"Hi, Carter!" called Paul. "Hold on! I want to see you."
Carter grinned; stopping his wheel by rising erect on its pedals, he vaulted to the ground.
"What's up, Paul?"
Without introduction Paul plunged into his subject. He spoke earnestly and with boyish eloquence.
"Say, Cart, what do you think of '20 starting a school paper?"
"A paper! Great hat, Kipper--what for?"
Kipper was Paul's nickname.
"Why, to read, man."
"Oh, don't talk of reading," was Melville Carter's spirited retort. "Aren't we all red-eyed already with Latin and Roman history? Why add a paper to our troubles?"
Paul did not reply.
"What do you want with a paper, Kipper?" persisted Melville.
"Why to print our life histories and obituaries in," he answered. "To extol our friends and damn our enemies."
Carter laughed.
"Come off," returned he, affectionately knocking Paul's hat down over his eyes.
"Stop your kidding, Cart. I'm serious."
"I don't mean a newspaper, Cart," explained Paul with a touch of irritation. "I mean a zippy little monthly with all the school news in it--hockey, football, class meetings, and all the things we'd like to read. Not highbrow stuff."
"Oh! I get you, Kipper," replied young Carter, a gleam of interest dawning in his face.
"That wouldn't be half bad. A school paper!" he paused thoughtfully. "But the money, Kip--the money to back such a scheme? What about that?"
"We could take subscriptions."
"At how much a subscrip, oh promoter?"
"I don't know," Paul responded vaguely. "One--twenty-five per--"
In spite of himself Paul chuckled.
"Maybe they wouldn't know them before."
"Football and hockey! Nix! Don't they all go to the games?"
"Not always. Besides, we'd put other things in--grinds on the Freshies--all sorts of stuff."
"I say! That wouldn't be so worse, would it?" declared Melville with appreciation.
He looked down and began to dig a hole in the earth with the toe of his much worn sneaker.
"Your idea is all right, Kip--corking," he asserted at length. "But the ducats--where would those come from? It would cost a pile to print a paper."
"I suppose we couldn't buy a press second-hand and do our own printing," ruminated Paul.
"Buy a press!" shouted Carter, breaking into a guffaw. "You are a green one, Kip, even if you are class president. Why, man alive, a printing press that's any good costs a small fortune--more money than the whole High School has, all put together. I know what presses cost because my father is in the publishing business."
Paul sighed.
"That's about what my dad said," he affirmed reluctantly. "He suggested we get someone to print the paper for us."
"Oh, we could do that all right if we had the spondulics."
"The subscriptions would net us quite a sum."
"How much could we bank on?"
"I've no idea," Paul murmured.
"I'll bet I could nail most of the Juniors. I'd simply stand them up against the wall and tell them it was their money or their life--death or a subscription to the--what are you going to call this rich and rare newspaper?" he inquired, suddenly breaking off in the midst of his harangue and turning to
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