When they reached the hardware store, opposite Cotting’s, Mr. West, the proprietor, was standing on the broad platform in front of it.  In many respects Bob West was the most important citizen of Millville.  Tall and gaunt, with great horn spectacles covering a pair of cold gray eyes, he was usually as reserved and silent as his neighbors were confiding and talkative.  A widower of long standing, without children or near relatives, he occupied a suite of well-appointed rooms over the hardware store and took his meals at the hotel.  Before Mr. Merrick appeared on the scene West had been considered a very wealthy man, as it was known he had many interests outside of his store; but compared with the multi-millionaire old Bob had come to be regarded more modestly, although still admitted to be the village’s “warmest” citizen.  He was an authority in the town, too, and a man of real importance.

Mr. Merrick stopped his horse to speak with the hardware man, an old acquaintance.

“West,” said he, “my girls are going to start a newspaper in Millville.”

The merchant bowed gravely, perhaps to cover the trace of a smile he was unable to repress.

“It’s to be a daily paper, you know,” continued Mr. Merrick, “and it seems there’s a lot of machinery in the outfit.  It’ll need quite a bit of room, in other words, and we’re looking for a place to install it.”

West glanced along the street—­up one side and down the other—­and then shook his head negatively.

“Plenty of land, but no buildings,” said he.  “You might buy the old mill and turn it into a newspaper office.  Caldwell isn’t making much of a living and would be glad to sell out.”

“It’s too dusty and floury,” said Patsy.  “We’d never get it clean, I’m sure.”

“What’s in that shed of yours?” asked Uncle John, pointing to a long, low building’ that adjoined the hardware store.

West turned and looked at the shed reflectively.

“That is where I store my stock of farm machinery,” he said.  “There’s very little in there now, for it’s a poor season and I didn’t lay in much of a supply.  In fact, I’m pretty well cleaned out of all surplus stock.  But next spring I shall need the place again.”

“Good!” cried Mr. Merrick.  “That solves our problem.  Has it a floor?”

“Yes; an excellent one; but only one small window.”

“We can remedy that,” declared Uncle John.  “Here’s the proposition, West:  Let us have the shed for six months, at the end of which time we will know whether the Millville Tribune is a success or not.  If it is, we’ll build a fine new building for it; if it don’t seem to prosper, we’ll give you back the shed.  What do you say?”

West thought it over.

“There is room on the rear platform, for all the farm machinery I now have on hand.  All right, Mr. Merrick; I’ll move the truck out and give you possession.  It won’t make a bad newspaper office.  But of course you are to fit up the place at your own expense.”