with my breakfast food company
to let me paint a hundred signs in this neighborhood. A hundred, mind
you! and that means a big laugh on Forbes, and the good will of the
farmers who sell their spaces, and not a cent out of my pocket. How's
that for a checkmate?"

"That's fine," replied Dr. Squiers. "There's been considerable talk
about this sign business, and I'm told that at the meeting last night
one of the girls made a speech about it, and said the farmers were being
converted, and were now standing out for clean fences and barns."

"That's all humbug!"

"I think so, myself. These people are like a flock of sheep. Get them
started a certain way and you can't head them off," observed the
dentist.

"Then we must start them our way," declared Hopkins. "I've got the order
for these signs in my pocket, and I'll have 'em painted all over the
district in a week. Keep your eyes open, Doc. If we've got to fight we
won't shirk it; but I don't look for much trouble from a parcel of
girls."

Mr. Hopkins was quite cheerful by this time, for he had thought out the
situation and his "fighting blood was up," as he expressed it.

He walked away whistling softly to himself and decided that he would go
over to the livery stable, get a horse and buggy, drive out into the
country, and spend the day talking with the farmers.

But when he turned the corner into the side street where the livery was
located he was astonished to find a row of horses and wagons lining each
side of the street, and in each vehicle two men in white jumpers and
overalls. The men were in charge of huge cans of paints, assorted
brushes, ladders, scaffolds and other paraphernalia.

There must have been twenty vehicles, altogether, and some of the rigs
were already starting out and driving briskly away in different
directions.

Mr. Hopkins was puzzled. He approached one of the white-overalled men
who was loading cans of paint into a wagon and inquired:

"Who are you fellows?"

"Sign painters," answered the man, with an amused look.

"Who do you work for?"

"The Carson Advertising Sign Company of Cleveland."

"Oh, I see," replied Hopkins. "Got a big job in this neighborhood?"

"Pretty big, sir."

"Who's your foreman?"

"Smith. He's in the livery office."

Then the man climbed into his wagon and drove away, and Hopkins turned
into the livery office. A thin-faced man with sharp eyes was Talking
with the proprietor.

"Is this Mr. Smith?" asked Hop