"How d'y'," said Sam Billings, one morning as he sauntered into Stout's Grocery, where the proprietor was busily engaged sorting a barrel of apples.

"Mornin'," replied Peter.

"Nice kind of weather."

"Yes."

"How's things?"

"Nothin' to complain about."

"You're lucky."

"You mean I 'tend to business."

"What's that got to do with luck?"

"Most everything."

"What you gettin' for apples now?" Sam asked as he picked up one of the largest and took a huge bite.

"Nothin'—for some," replied Peter, without looking up.

"Give 'em away?" munched Sam, innocently.

"Don't have to."

"You mean some folks pay, and some folks don't?"

"Somethin' like that."

"And them that do pay have to make up for them that don't," Sam chuckled, wisely.

"That's about it," replied Peter, wearily, as he rolled the empty barrel toward the rear of the store.

"Say, Peter," said Sam, following, "I want to borrer some big sheets of wrappin' paper and your markin' ink and brush, if you don't mind."

"Goin' to write a letter?" grinned Peter.

"Now, Peter, quit your teasin'. I'll tell you all about it when it's finished."

"All right, help yourself," said Peter, as he went behind the counter, and turned an attentive ear, and a smiling what-will-you-have-this-morning look on a customer who had just come in.

Sam took twenty-five or thirty of the largest sheets of wrapping-paper he could find, and went into the back room where the oil, molasses, vinegar, empty boxes, etc., were kept. After rummaging about for a few minutes he found the marking ink and brush. Then he spread one of the sheets of paper on a bench, dipped the brush in the ink, and eyed the paper with a how-shall-I-begin look. Five minutes later Peter came out to draw some oil and found him in the same attitude.

"Got somethin' on your mind, Sam?" he asked.

"Eh! Oh, yes," Sam replied, "I say, Peter, have you got any old show-bills?"

"There's one in the window 'bout the firemen's 'play-out' over to Union Corners."

"That won't do."

"Well, then there's some old circus bills pasted on the inside of the barn door," said Peter, as he squatted in front of the kerosene barrel and began filling a can.

"I dunno, guess I'll take a look at 'em anyway," replied Sam, doubtfully, as he started out of the back door toward the barn.

Peter watched through the doorway, and wondered what Sam was up to until he was called back to business by the kerosene which was running over the top of the can.

Sam returned to the back room after an absence of ten minutes, took up his brush and eagerly went to work. After half an hour's labour he had painted something that resembled a homemade no-trespassing-beware-of-the-dog sign upside down, which read:

Sam held up the sheet and read it again and again with pride. His only regret was that he had no red or green paint to heighten the effect and make the poster a work of real art.

"Peter," he called, when he was sure that his work could not be improved, and when Peter appeared in the doorway, asked: "What do you think of that?"

"Well," said Peter, slowly, after he had read the poster, "it shows up some."

"I should say it did," replied Sam, proudly. "And it's jest what the show needs. Ev'ry house and barn for ten miles 'round oughter be papered with 'em inside and out."

"Your idea?" queried Peter.

"Ev'ry word."

"What you goin' to do with it?"

"Make a dozen more and stick 'em up 'round."

"Does the club women folks know?" asked Peter.

"Well,—er—I—I've talked it over with one of the officers," replied Sam, hesitating suspiciously. "And she kinder thought that some advertisin' ought to be done, though they didn't want to spend any money doin' it. So I thought I'd help 'em out and s'prise 'em at the same time."

"They'll be surprised all right," said Peter, grinning.

"Think so?"

"Sure."

"Guess they'll think my advertisin' scheme's all right."

"Hope so, for your sake," replied Peter, as he returned to his work.

Sam worked industriously during the remainder of the forenoon, and by noontime had finished twelve more posters just like the first.

"Mind if I put one of these up on the outside of the store?" he asked, as he emerged from the back room with one of the posters carefully held up in front of himself.

"Go ahead," said Peter, who was busy and had been bothered enough for one morning. Ten minutes later the poster was exposed on the front of the store where the public—when it happened that way—could see it. Sam was patiently waiting for the first passer-by when Alick Purbeck drove up. Alick read the poster through, and then gave a long whistle.

"Well, what you got to say?" asked Sam, who had watched from the doorway for the effect of the poster on Alick.

"Reads like a circus; some of your doin's, I'll bet," Alick replied.

"Yes, 'tis; you don't know a good thing when you see it."

"Perhaps not," retorted Alick, "but I know some folks in town that will appreciate it. If you knew how much paint you'd got on your face, you'd go and stick your head into a bucket of turpentine."

Sam sneered at Alick's remark, but, though he did have some misgivings as to how his work would be received, was determined to carry out his original plan. Without deigning to look or speak to Alick or Peter, he went into the store, filled his mouth with tacks, put a hammer in his pocket, took another poster, and went across the street to Mr. Flint's church, where he tacked the poster on to the bulletin board over the notice of an oyster party.

The opposition of Mr. Flint to the stage in general, and the club entertainment in particular, did not occur to Sam. His only thought was that the church was a good and conspicuous place for a poster.

Alick Purbeck watched from the doorway when Sam started across the road, and when he saw what his object was called Peter.

"See what that blamed fool's doin'," he said.

"He'll get set on so hard some day that he'll know it," was Peter's comment.

When the poster was secure in its place, Sam walked slowly backward until he reached the middle of the road, where he stopped with his hands in his pockets, his head cocked to one side, and viewed his work with a critical eye. He had been there but a moment when Doctor Jones drove up, and when he saw Sam's peculiar attitude stopped.

"Hello, Sam, what do you see that is so absorbing?" he asked, after waiting a moment for Sam to move or speak. In reply Sam waved his hand proudly toward the poster on the church.

The doctor looked and read.

"Some of your work?" he asked.

Sam nodded.

"So you are the club's advertising agent?"

"Nope," replied Sam, modestly. "I jest wanted to help 'em out a little."

"Very kind, I'm sure," said the doctor, as he drove away wondering who had made the mistake.

When Sam returned to the store he found Alick Purbeck standing in the doorway grinning.

"Do you expect to live long, Sam?" asked Alick.

Sam pushed by without replying, went to the back room, rolled up the remaining posters, walked out of the store without looking to the right or left, and marched off up the road.

By nightfall twelve more of Sam's posters were displayed in as many conspicuous places, and before the last one had been tacked up the whole town—except the members of the Morning Glory Club—was laughing.

Mrs. Tweedie was furious when Tommy asked if he could go to the "Big Show," and poor Ezra, he would have thought it funny had not his wife scolded the whole evening just as though he was to blame.

That night, after they were abed, Mrs. Stout told Peter, among other things, that he didn't have the sense of a half-grown puppy to let that fool of a Sam Billings do such a thing. When she had finished it was time for Peter to get up—and he thought so, too.

The Reverend Elijah Flint was in a terrible rage (state of righteous indignation). He went to the church as soon as he heard of the outrage, tore the offending poster into fragments, and vehemently declared that the perpetrator of the crime should be punished to the full extent of the law.

And Miss Sawyer, poor Lizzie, she knew that it was her fault, and bemoaned her indiscretion in mentioning advertising to Sam Billings. She wept all night, and vowed that she would never speak to him again as long as she lived.