Jack explained his scheme. The _Weekly Planet_ would offer a five-years’ subscription, free, for the best pie, any sort or species, sent to its editorial rooms, accompanied by the name of the authoress, within four calendar weeks of the announcement. “We want to personally interest the ladies,” said Jack, “and a pie contest will do it.” Higginson Peabody was struck by the original force of Jack’s suggestion. Hailing from what Mr. Warner called “the region of perpetual pie,” he could appreciate its merits. He put but one question: “Whom shall we name as judge?” Higginson Peabody also added that it was beyond his own genius to act in that capacity, alleging a dyspepsia. Jack’s eyes lit up like the windows of a hurdy-gurdy on the evening of a fandango. “I’ll be judge,” said Jack. The value of a pie contest as a spur to circulation gained immediate exhibition. The _Weekly Planet_ jumped from thirty-four to one hundred and ten, and new subscriptions coming every hour. Also, pies began to appear—pies of every kind. There was the morose mince, the cheerful dried apple, the sedate pumpkin, the consoling custard, the flippant plum; every variety of dried or canned goods on Mr. Wright’s broad shelves was drawn upon to become the basis of pie. Since no limit had been placed upon her labours, every fair contestant sent ardent scores of entries. Lest one baking had been slightly burned on the under crust, each lady broke forth in further bakings, and by the end of the second day of that rivalry pies had accumulated on the premises of the _Weekly Planet_ by the gross. They were stacked up in tiers of twelve on the editorial table, they covered printing-press and make-up stones, there were no chairs left and hardly room remained to move about among the cases because of pies. And the end was not yet; the third day opened with an aggregate consignment of eighty pies, and each confection a hopeful claimant of that five-years’ free subscription. When Jack evolved a pie contest he had no foreknowledge of what would be its fatal popularity. In proposing to act as judge of that pastry competition he in no wise foresaw the pie-deluge which would set in. Still, being of the material from which heroes are made, Jack bore himself doughtily. The first day he ate twenty-eight pies; the second day he got no further than twenty; on the third day, with two hundred untouched pies awaiting his sampling tooth, Jack fell ill. “Of course,” said Jack, feebly, “I could go on, I s’ppose, and I’ll sell my life dearly; but what’s the use? What could one boy do against two hundred pies?”