Then, the telephone having served its purpose, Mr. Warren took Uncle John across the street to the newspaper office and introduced him to Charley Briggs, the editor.

Briggs was a man with one eye, a sallow complexion and sandy hair that stuck straight up from his head.  He set type for his paper, besides editing it, and Uncle John found him wearing a much soiled apron, with his bare arms and fingers smeared with printer’s ink.

“Mr. Merrick wants to see you on business, Charley,” said the banker.  “Whatever he agrees to I will guarantee, to the full resources of my bank.”

The editor pricked up his ears and dusted a chair for his visitor with his apron.  It wasn’t easy to make a living running a paper in Elmwood, and if there was any business pending he was anxious to secure it.

Uncle John waited until Mr. Warren had left him alone with the newspaper man.  Then he said: 

“I understand your paper is Democratic, Mr. Briggs.”

“That’s a mistake, sir,” replied the editor, evasively.  “The Herald is really independent, but in political campaigns we adopt the side we consider the most deserving of support.”

“You’re supporting Hopkins just now.”

“Only mildly; only mildly, sir.”

“What is he paying you?”

“Why, ’Rast and I haven’t come to a definite settlement yet.  I ought to get a hundred dollars out of this campaign, but ’Rast thinks fifty is enough.  You see, he plans on my support anyhow, and don’t like to spend more than he’s obliged to.”

“Why does he plan on your support?”

“He’s the only live one in the game, Mr. Merrick.  ’Rast is one of us—­he’s one of the people—­and it’s policy for me to support him instead of the icicle up at Elmhurst, who don’t need the job and don’t care whether he gets it or not.”

“Is that true?”

“I think so.  And there’s another thing.  Young Forbes is dead against advertising, and advertising is the life of a newspaper.  Why, there isn’t a paper in the district that’s supporting Forbes this year.”

“You’ve a wrong idea of the campaign, Mr. Briggs,” said Uncle John.  “It is because Mr. Forbes believes in newspaper advertising, and wants to protect it, that he’s against these signs.  That’s one reason, anyhow.  Can’t you understand that every dollar spent for painting signs takes that much away from your newspapers?”

“Why, perhaps there’s something in that, Mr. Merrick.  I’d never looked at it that way before.”

“Now, see here, Mr. Briggs.  I’ll make you a proposition.  I’ll give you two hundred and fifty to support Mr. Forbes in this campaign, and if he’s elected I’ll give you five hundred extra.”

“Do you mean that, sir?” asked the editor, scarcely able to believe the evidence of his ears.

“I do.  Draw up a contract and I’ll sign it.  And here’s a check for your two-fifty in advance.”

The editor drew up the agreement with a pen that trembled a little.