  With the end of the school year Tom and Helen were able to give their complete time and energies to the Herald. When Monday, the first of June arrived, they were working on their fourth issue of the Herald and Helen had written a number of stories on the last week’s activities at school, the graduation exercises, the junior-senior dinner and the senior class play. She praised Miss Weeks highly for her work with the class play and lauded the seniors for their fine acting. Although urged that she say something about her own part, Helen steadfastly refused and her brother finally gave up in disgust and delved in to the ledger for on his shoulders fell the task of making out the monthly bills and handling all of the business details of the paper. When Tom had completed his bookkeeping he turned to his sister. “Helen,” he began, “we’re not making enough.” “But, Tom,” she protested, “the paper is carrying more advertising than when Dad ran it.” “Yes, but our expenses are high,” said Tom. “We’ve got to look ahead all the time. Dad will have used all of the money he took with him in a little less than six months. After that it will be up to us to have the cash in the bank. Right now we’ve just a little under a hundred dollars in the bank. Current bills will take more than that, and our own living expenses, that is for mother and we two, will run at least $100 a month. With our total income from the paper only slightly more than $200 a month on the basis of the present amount of advertising, you see we’re not going to be able to save much toward helping Dad.” “Then we’ll have to find ways of increasing our volume of business,” said Helen. “That won’t be easy to do in a town this size,” replied Tom, “and I won’t go out and beg for advertising.” “No one is going to ask you to,” said Helen. “We’ll make the Herald such a bright, outstanding paper that all of the business men will want to advertise.” “We’ll do the best we can,” agreed Tom. “Then let’s start right now by putting in a farm page,” suggested Helen. “But there won’t be many farm sales from now on,” argued Tom. “No,” conceded his sister, “but there is haying, threshing and then corn picking and all of the stores have supplies to sell to the farmers.” “I believe you’re right. If you’ll do the collecting this afternoon, I’ll go down to Gladbrook and see if we can get the cooperation of the county agent. Lots of the townships near here have farm bureaus and I’ll get the names of all of their leaders and we’ll write and tell them what we plan to do.” After lunch Tom teased the family flivver into motion and set out for Gladbrook while Helen took the sheaf of bills and started the rounds of the business houses. She had no trouble getting her money from all of the regular advertisers and in every store in which she stopped she took care to ask the owner about news of the store and of his family. She noticed that it flattered each one and she resolved to call on them at least once a week. Tom returned from Gladbrook late in the afternoon. He was enthusiastic over the success of his talk with the county agent. “He’s a fine chap,” Tom explained. “Had a course in agricultural journalism in college and knows news and how to write it. The Gladbrook papers, the News and the Times, don’t come up in this section of the county and he’ll be only too glad to send us a column each week.” “When will he start?” “Next week will be the first one. He’ll mail his column every Tuesday evening and we’ll have it on the Wednesday morning mail. Now, here’s even better news. I went to several of the department stores at Gladbrook and told them we were going to put out a real farm page. They’re actually anxious to buy space and by driving down there once a week I can get two or three good ads.” “How will the local merchants feel?” asked Helen. “They won’t object,” replied Tom, “for I was careful to stress that I would only accept copy which would not conflict with that used by our local stores.” “That was a wise thing to do,” Helen said. “We can’t afford to antagonize our local advertisers. I made the rounds and collected all of the regular accounts. There’s only about eighteen dollars outstanding on this month’s bills and I’ll get all but about five dollars of that before the week is over.” “Want to go to Cranston Friday or Saturday?” asked Tom. “I surely do,” Helen replied. “But what for, Tom, and can we afford it?” “One of us will have to make the trip,” her brother said. “Putting on this farm page means we’ll have to print two more pages at home, six altogether, and will need only two pages of ready-print a week from the World Printing Company. We’ll go down and talk with their manager at Cranston and select the features we want for the two pages they will continue to print for us.” “Our most important features in the ready-print now are the comics, the serial story and the fashion news for women,” said Helen. “Then we’ll have one page of comics,” said Tom, “and fill the other page with features of special interest to our women readers.” The next three days found the young Blairs so busy getting out the current edition of the paper that they had little time to talk about their plans. They had decided to go to Cranston Friday but when Helen found that there were special rates for Saturday, they postponed the trip one day. When the Friday morning mail arrived, Helen was glad they had changed their plans. While sorting the handful of letters, most of them circulars destined for the wastepaper basket, she came upon the letter she had been looking forward to for days. The words in the upper left hand corner thrilled her. It was from the Cranston bureau of the Associated Press. With fingers that trembled slightly, she tore it open. Would she get the job as Rolfe correspondent? A green slip dropped out of the envelope and Tom, who had come in from the composing room, reached down and picked it up. “Ten dollars!” he whistled. “What’s that?” demanded Helen, incredulously. “It’s your check from the Associated Press for covering the tornado,” explained Tom. “Look!” Helen took the slip of crisp, green paper. She wasn’t dreaming. It was a check, made out in her name and for $10. “But there must be some mistake,” she protested. “They didn’t mean to pay me that much.” “If you think there’s a mistake,” grinned Tom, “you can go and see them when we reach Cranston tomorrow. However, if I were you, I’d tuck it in my pocket, invite my brother across the street to the drug store, and buy him a big ice cream soda.” “Wait until I see what the letter says,” replied Helen. She pulled it out of the envelope and Tom leaned over to read it with her. “Dear Miss Blair,” it started, “enclosed you will find check for your fine work in reporting the tornado near Rolfe. Please consider this letter as your appointment as Rolfe correspondent for the Associated Press. Serious accidents, fires of more than $5,000 damage and deaths of prominent people should be sent as soon as possible. Telegraph or telephone, sending all your messages collect. In using the telegraph, send messages by press rate collect when the story is filed in the daytime. If at night, send them night press collect. And remember, speed counts but accuracy must come first. Stories of a feature or time nature should be mailed. We are counting on you to protect us on all news that breaks in and near Rolfe. Very truly yours, Alva McClintock, Correspondent in charge of the Cranston Bureau.” “He certainly said a lot in a few words,” was Tom’s comment. “Now you’re one up on me. You’re editor of the Herald and Associated Press correspondent and I’m only business manager.” “Don’t get discouraged,” laughed Helen, “I’ll let you write some of the Associated Press stories.” “Thanks of the compliment,” grinned Tom. “I’m still waiting for that ice cream soda, Miss Plutocrat.” “You’ll grumble until I buy it, I suppose, so I might as well give in right now,” said Helen. “Come on. I’m hungry for one myself.” Tom and Helen boarded the nine forty-five Saturday morning and arrived at the state capital shortly after noon. It was Helen’s first trip to Cranston and she enjoyed every minute of it, the noise and confusion of the great railroad terminal, the endless bobbing about of the red caps, the cries of news boys heralding noonday editions and the ceaseless roar of the city. They went into the large restaurant at the station for lunch and after that Tom inquired at the information desk for directions on how to reach the plant of the World Printing Company. He copied the information on a slip of paper and the two young newspaper people boarded a street car. Half an hour later they were on the outskirts of the industrial district and even before the conductor called their stop, Tom heard the steady roar of great presses. “Here we are,” he told Helen as they stepped down from the car and looked up at a hulking ten story building that towered above them. “The Cranston plant of the Rolfe Herald,” chuckled Helen. “Lead on.” They walked up the steps into the office, gave their names and indicated their business to the office girl. After waiting a few minutes they were ushered into an adjoining office where an energetic, middle aged man who introduced himself as Henry Walker, service manager, greeted them. “Let’s see, you’re from the Rolfe Herald?” he asked. “My sister and I are running the paper while Dad is in the southwest regaining his health,” explained Tom. “We’ve got to expand the paper to increase our advertising space and the only thing we can see to do is cut down our ready-print to two pages.” “Explain just what you mean,” suggested the service manager. Tom outlined their advertising field and how they hoped to increase business by adding two more pages of home print, one of which would be devoted to farm advertising and news and the other to be available for whatever additional advertising they could produce. “We’ll be sorry to have you drop two pages of ready-print,” said Mr. Walker, “but I believe you’re doing the right thing. Now let’s see what you want on the two pages you’ll retain.” “Helen is editor,” Tom explained, “and it’s up to her to pick out what she wants.” “You’re doing a splendid job on the Herald,” the service manager told Helen. “I get copies of every paper we serve and I’ve been noticing the changes in make-up and the lively stories. However, I am sorry to hear about your father but with you two youngsters to give him pep and courage he ought to be back on the job in a few months.” “We’re sure he will,” smiled Helen as she unfolded a copy of their last edition of the Herald. “I’ve pasted up two pages of the features I want to retain,” she explained as she placed them in front of the service manager. “I see,” he said. “You’re going to be quite metropolitan with a full page of comics and a page devoted to women. I’m glad of that. Too many editors of weeklies fail to realize that the women and not the men are the real readers of their papers. If you run a paper which appeals to women and children you’ll have a winner. Comics for the youngsters and a serial story with a strong love element and fashions and style news for the women.” “How about cost?” asked Tom. “Dropping the two pages won’t quite cut your bill with us in half,” explained Mr. Walker, “for you’re retaining all of our most expensive features. However, this new plan of yours will reduce your weekly bill about 40 per cent.” “That’s satisfactory,” agreed Tom, “and we’d like to have it effective at once. Helen has written the headings she wants for each page.” “We’ll send the pages, made up in the new way, down at the usual time next week,” promised the service manager, “and when there is anything else we can do, don’t hesitate to let us know.” When they were out of the building, they paused to decide what to do next. “I liked Mr. Walker,” said Helen. “He didn’t attempt to keep us from making the change. It means less money for his company yet he didn’t object.” “It was good business on his part,” replied Tom. “Now we feel kindly toward him and although he has lost temporarily he will gain in the end for we’ll give him every bit of business we can in the way of ordering supplies for job printing and extra stock for the paper.” “If we have time,” suggested Helen, “I’d like to go down to the Associated Press office.” “Good idea,” agreed Tom. “I’d like to see how they handle all of the news.” They boarded the first down town street car and got off fifteen minutes later in the heart of Cranston’s loop district. Across the street was the building which housed the Cranston Chronicle, the largest daily newspaper in the state. They consulted the directory in the lobby of the building and took the elevator to the fifth floor where the Associated Press offices were located. They stepped out of the elevator and into a large room, filled with the clatter of many machines. A boy, his face smeared with blue smudges off carbon paper, rushed up to them and inquired their business. “I’m Helen Blair, a new correspondent at Rolfe,” explained the editor of the Herald, “and I’d like to see Mr. McClintock, the chief correspondent.” “Okay,” grinned the boy. “I’ll tell him. You wait here.” The youngster hurried across the room to a large table, shaped like a half moon and behind which sat a touseled haired chap of indeterminate age. He might be 30 and he might be 40, decided Helen. “Glad to know you, Miss Blair,” he said. “You did a nice piece of work on the storm.” “Thank you, Mr. McClintock,” replied Helen. “But my brother, Tom, deserves all of the credit. He suggested calling the story to you.” “Then I’ll thank Tom, too,” laughed the head of the Cranston bureau of the Associated Press. “We’re here today on business for our paper,” explained Helen, “and with a few minutes to spare before train time hoped you wouldn’t mind if we came in and saw how the ‘wheels go round’ here.” “I’ll be happy to show you the ‘works’,” replied Mr. McClintock, and he took them over to a battery of electric printers. “These,” he explained, “bring us news from every part of the country, east, south and far west. In reality, they are electric typewriters controlled from the sending station in some other city. We take the news which comes in here, sift it out and decide what will interest people in our own state, and send it on to daily papers in our territory.” “Do these electric printers run all day?” asked Tom. “Some of them go day and night,” continued Mr. McClintock, “for the A.P. never sleeps. Whenever news breaks, we’ve got to be ready to cover it. That’s why we appreciated your calling us on the storm. We knew there was trouble in your part of the state but we didn’t have a correspondent at Rolfe. It was a mighty pleasant surprise when you phoned.” They visited with the Associated Press man for another fifteen minutes and would have continued longer if Tom had not realized that they had less than twenty minutes to make their train. The last two blocks to the terminal were covered at a run and they raced through the train gates just before they clanged shut. “Close call,” panted Tom as they swung onto the steps of the local and it slid out of the train shed. “Too close,” agreed Helen, who was breathless from their dash. “Had to make it, though,” added Tom, “or we’d have been stranded here flat broke with the next train for home Monday night.” “Don’t worry about something that didn’t happen,” Helen said. “I’ve enjoyed every minute of our trip and we’re all ready now to start our expansion program for the Herald in earnest.” Adding two more pages of home print to the paper meant more work than either Tom or Helen had realized. There was more news to be written and more ads to be set and another run to be made on the press. With early June at hand the summer season at the resorts on the lower end of Lake Dubar got under way and Helen resolved to make a trip at least once a week and run a column or two of personals about people coming and going. She also gave liberal space to the good roads election in July, stressing the value the paved scenic highway would be to Rolfe. The two pages of ready-print arrived on Tuesday and Tom and Helen were delighted with the appearance of the comic page and the feature page for women readers. “We’ll have the snappiest looking paper in the county,” chuckled Tom. “Dad won’t know the old paper when he sees this week’s issue.” The county agent kept his promise to send them at least a column of farm news and Helen made it a point to gather all she could while Tom went to the county seat Tuesday morning and solicited ads for the page. The result was a well-balanced page, half ads and half news. Careful solicitation of home town merchants also brought additional ads and when they made up the last two pages Thursday noon they felt the extra work which increasing the size of the paper meant was more than repaid in extra advertising. “I’m printing a number of extra copies this week,” explained Tom. “There are lots of people around here who ought to take the Herald. With our expansion program we may pick up some extra subscriptions and we might get a chance at the county printing.” “Tom!” exclaimed Helen. “Do you really think we might get to be an official county paper.” “I don’t see why not,” said Tom. “Of course the two Gladbrook papers will always be on the county list but there are always three who print the legal news and the third one is the Auburn Advocate. Auburn isn’t any larger than Rolfe and I know darned well we have almost as many subscriptions as they do.” “How do they decide the official papers?” Helen wanted to know. “The county board of supervisors meets once a year to select the three official papers,” Tom explained, “and the three showing the largest circulation are selected. It would mean at least $2,000 extra revenue to us, most of which would be profit.” “Then why didn’t Dad try for it?” Helen asked. “I’m not sure,” said Tom slowly. “There are probably several reasons, the principal one being that he wasn’t strong enough to make the additional effort to build up the circulation list. The other is probably Burr Atwell, owner and publisher of the Auburn Advocate. I’ve heard Dad often remark that Atwell is the crookedest newspaperman in the state.” “How much circulation do you think the Advocate has now?” Helen asked. “Their last postoffice statement showed only 108 more than ours,” replied Tom. “And when do the supervisors have their annual meeting?” “About the 15th of December,” said Tom. “Now what’s up?” “Nothing much,” smiled Helen. “Only, when the supervisors meet next the Rolfe Herald is going to have enough circulation to be named an official county paper. “Why Tom,” she went on enthusiastically, “think what it would mean to Dad?” “I’m thinking of that,” nodded her brother, “but I’m also thinking of what Burr Atwell might do to the Herald.” |
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