“And you say Frank already had his gun out?”
“Yes.”
“Then that means there won’t be anything done about this killing either, will there? Butrum will just go on killing with impunity, backed by Denbigh and tolerated by the marshal and this town. Nobody will do anything about it.”
“No, that’s not true. I’m going to do something about it.”
“Do what? I don’t like it when you talk this way.”
“I’m going to put out an extra.”
“An extra? Oh, John, I don’t know. So many people have pulled their advertising from us that we barely have enough money to put out our regular paper. Do you really intend to do an extra?”
“Millie, the name of this newspaper is the
“What will an extra do but get more people upset with you?”
“A strongly written article can do much to arouse an oppressed people. You have heard of Thomas Paine, haven’t you?”
“Yes, of course I’ve heard of Thomas Paine,” Millie said.
“You might call me the Thomas Paine of the West. Only, instead of a broadside, I’ll be putting out an extra.”
Before starting, John walked over to the front door, turned the sign around to read CLOSED, and pulled down the long, green shade that shut off the door window. “Now, you set the type, I’ll dictate the story.”
Millie walked over to the type trays. Placing the line sticks on the press form, she looked up at her husband.
“I’m ready,” she said.
“These are the times that try men’s souls,” he began.
***
It took but one hour to print five hundred newspapers, that number being sufficient to supply a paper to virtually every family in the county. Once the print run was completed, John stepped out onto the front porch of his office, put his fingers to his lips, and gave a loud whistle.
Hearing the whistle, Kenny Perkins came out of his ma’s boardinghouse, and when he did so, John waved him over.
“I have some papers for you to deliver,” John said when Kenny arrived.
“Today? But this ain’t paper day,” Kenny said.
“I put out an extra. Don’t worry, you’ll get paid extra to deliver it.”
“Yes, sir,” Kenny said.
After Kenny delivered all the papers to the subscribers, he stood out on the street corner shouting “Extra” until the rest of the papers were sold. Less than an hour after he left the office, he came back with the collected money, wearing a broad smile.
“Here you are, Kenny, fifty cents,” John said, counting out the pennies. “You did a good job. Thank you.”
“Yes, sir, and thank you,” Kenny said. “Mr. Bryce, everyone is talkin’ about your paper today. I didn’t get a chance to read it, but you must’ve said somethin’ important, ’cause whatever you wrote got ’em all riled up. But riled up in a good way,” he added quickly.
“I hope it did, Kenny. I sure hope it did,” John said.
Shortly after Kenny left, Mayor Adam Felker came into the office, clutching a copy of today’s extra.
“John, are you crazy?” he asked.
“I don’t think so, Mayor,” John said.
“Well, I think so. Writing this article isn’t going to do a thing in the world but make Denbigh mad.”
“Good, that’s what I set out to do,” John said. “And if you are honest with yourself, Adam, you will agree with me.”
“Well, what if I do? The point is, Denbigh has us between the rock and the hard place. Why, do you know that right now almost eighty percent of all business done in this town is through Denbigh? If he was to pull his support away from Fullerton and take it somewhere else, say up to Lamoure, or Penequa, or down to Emma, where do you think that would leave us?”
“Free of him, I would hope.”
“Bankrupt, that’s where,” Mayor Felker said. “Now, I think you ought to write a retraction and put it in Thursday’s newspaper.”
“A retraction?” John laughed. “What good would that do? And what would make anyone believe me anyway?”
“You could say you’ve been thinking about it, and you have second thoughts,” Felker said. “You’re a good writer, John, you could make it just real believable.”
“Tell me, Adam, do you think the rest of the town thinks just as you do?”
“I know they do,” Mayor Felker replied.
