Part 11 (2/2)
”Well, Marty, if it weren't for the blamed idiots--like Columbus and Tom Watts and the prophets and Abe Lincoln--this world would be in a pretty mess.”
But Marty refused to be convinced, even averring that the world _is_ in a pretty mess, and that probably the aforementioned ”idiots” had caused it to be so. Then finally he spoke caressingly:
”Ah, Joe, tell me it's a joke.”
”No,” said Joe, earnestly, ”it's what I've got to face, Marty, and I need your backing.”
Marty mused miserably.
”So the game's up, and you've changed, and we men can go to the dogs.
Why, we can't run that printery without you. We'd go plumb to h.e.l.l!”
Joe changed his voice--it became more commanding.
”Never mind now, Marty. I want your help to figure things out.”
So Marty got out his little pad and the two drew close together.
”I want to figure on a weekly newspaper--I'm figuring big on the future--just want to see what it will come to. Say an edition of twenty thousand copies, an eight-page paper, eight by twelve, no ill.u.s.trations.”
Marty spoke humbly:
”As you say, Joe. Cheap paper?”
”Yes.”
”Do your own printing?”
”Yes.”
”Well, you'll need a good cylinder press for a starter.”
”How much help?”
”Make-up man--pressman--feeder--that's on the press. Will you set up the paper yourself?”
”No, I'll have it set up outside.”
”Who'll bind it, fold, and address?”
”The bindery--give that out, too.”
”And who'll distribute?”
”Outside, too.”
”The news company?”
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