“Good!” says he. “What did you say his name was?” He jerked his thumb toward Catty. “Catty Atkins,” says I. “New-comer?” “Yes.” “Give him a personal. Mr. Catty Atkins, of—where does he come from?—is visiting friends in our midst. Something like that, eh?” “I think,” says Catty, “that I’ve got better news than that for you.” “Do, eh? What is it? Who’s been doin’ what?” “It’s about Sands Jones and Darkie Patt,” says Catty. “Only news about _them_,” says Editor Cuppy, “would be that they had gone to work of their own accord.” “They have,” says Catty, “and, what’s more, they’re goin’ to work on the same job, and what’s more, it’s a race. Never had no paintin’-race in this town, did you?” “Not that I call to mind,” said Editor Cuppy, and he began to look interested. “What’s the idee?” Catty explained the whole thing to him, and Editor Cuppy began to laugh, and then he grabbed a piece of paper and begun to write. “Best story in a year,” says he. “We’ll run her down the front page.... So your Pa is goin’ into business here, eh?” “Yes. We’ve rented Mr. Gage’s store, and we’re goin’ to have the most up-to-date paintin’ and decoratin’ shop in the state, and a refreshment-stand in the little shop at the side.” “Good! Glad to see enterprise comin’ to our midst. I’ll put in some about it,” and he grabbed his pencil and wrote quite a lot about Catty and his Dad being acquisitions to our town that the town ought to be proud to welcome, and stuff like that. Then he said he was much obliged and went out into the back room to set the story up in type. Next we went to the hardware-store where they kept paints and brushes and such-like things, and Catty walked right up to Mr. Moss, hardware, and says: “Mr. Moss, my father, Mr. Atkins, who has the contract for painting Mr. Manning’s new warehouse, sent me in to order this list of supplies. He would like to have them delivered before noon at the warehouse, so he can get to work mixing paints and one thing and another. We start work Monday morning.” Catty had a list of things and of quantities of oil and paint and everything. “We are new-comers here,” says Catty, “and you don’t know us, but Mr. Manning will send you your check in payment himself.” “That’s all right. That’s all right,” says Mr. Moss. “Anything else I kin do fur you?” “Unless you have four or five ladders. We need some new ladders.” “Nary a ladder, young man. But I’ll deliver these things before noon. Much obleeged.” “Don’t you find it a kind of a nuisance to handle paints with your hardware business?” Catty says. “Must take up room you need for other things, and use up a lot of time. Hain’t much profit into it, neither.” “That’s right, young feller. But somebody’s got to handle ’em for accommodation of the public.” “Well, maybe Dad and you could make an arrangement,” says Catty. “We might be willin’ to buy out your paint stock, if you was to put a reasonable price onto it. Kind of calc’late to go into business permanent here.”