"See here, Mr. Opp, do you know what day it is? It's Monday, and we've got two columns to fill. New subscriptions are coming in all the time. We've got to live up to our reputation." "Extremely well put," agreed Mr. Opp; "the reputation of the paper must be guarded above all things. I like to consider that after my mortal remains has returned to dust, my name will be perpetuated in this paper. That no monument in marble will be necessary, so long as 'The Opp Eagle' continues to circulate from home to home, and to promulgate those--" "Can't you write some of it down?" suggested Nick; "it would fill up a couple of paragraphs. Part of it you used before, but we might change it around some." "Never," said Mr. Opp. "On no consideration would I repeat myself in print. I'll just run through my box here, and see what new material I have. Here's something; take it down as I dictate. "'Pastor Joe Tyler is holding divine service every second Sunday in Cove City. He has had thirty conversions, and on Saturday was presented with a $20.00 suit of clothing from and by this community, and a barrel of flour, which fully attests what a general church awakening will accomplish in the direction of good. No one should think of endeavoring to rear their children or redeem society without the application of the gospel twice per month.'" "Now, if you can keep that up," said Nick, hopefully, "we'll get through in no time." But Mr. Opp had gone back to his letter, and was trying to decide whether it would take one stamp or two. When he felt Nick's reproachful eye upon him, he put the envelop resolutely in his pocket. "You've already said that work would be resumed at the oil-wells as early as the inclemency of the weather would permit, haven't you?" "We've had it in every issue since last fall," said Nick. "Well, now, let's see," said Mr. Opp, diving once more into his reserve box. "Here, take this down: 'Mr. Jet Connor had his house burnt last month, it being the second fire he has had in ten years. Misfortunes never come single.'" "All right," encouraged Nick. "Now can't you work up that idea about the paper offering a prize?" Mr. Opp seized his brow firmly between his palms and made an heroic effort to concentrate his mind upon the business at hand. "Just wait a minute till I get it arranged. Now write this: '"The Opp Eagle" has organized a club called the B.B.B. Club, meaning the Busy Bottle-Breakers Club. A handsome prize of a valued nature will be awarded the boy or girl which breaks the largest number of whisky and beer bottles before the first of May.' The boats to Coreyville run different on Sunday, don't they, Nick?" Nick, who had unquestioningly taken the dictation until he reached his own name, glanced up quickly, then threw down his pen and sighed. "I'm going up to Mr. Gallop's," he said in desperation; "he's got his mind on things here in town. I'll see what he can do for me."