errick, for he smiled and returned the "nabob's"
nod.

Mr. Skeelty had a private enclosed office in a corner of the room. Being
admitted to this sanctum, the visitors found the manager to be a small,
puffy individual about forty-five years of age, with shrewd, beadlike
black eyes and an insolent assumption of super-importance. Skeelty
interrupted his task of running up columns of impressive figures to ask
his callers to be seated, and opened the interview with characteristic
abruptness.

"You're Merrick, eh? I remember. You want to buy power, and we have it
to sell. How much will you contract to take?"

"I don't know just how much we need," answered Uncle John. "We want
enough to run a newspaper plant at Millville, and will pay for whatever
we use. I've ordered a meter, as you asked me to do, and my men are now
stringing the cables to make the connection."

"Pah! a newspaper. How absurd," said Mr. Skeelty with scornful emphasis.
"Your name, Merrick, is not unknown to me. It stands for financial
success, I understand; but I'll bet you never made your money doing such
fool things as establishing newspapers in graveyards."

Uncle John looked at the man attentively.

"I shall refrain from criticising your conduct of this mill, Mr.
Skeelty," he quietly observed, "nor shall I dictate what you may do with
your money--provided you succeed in making any."

The manager smiled broadly, as if the retort pleased him.

"Give an' take, sir; that's my motto," he said.

"But you prefer to take?"

"I do," was the cheerful reply. "I'll take your paper, for instance--if
it isn't too high priced."

"In case it is, we will present you with a subscription," said Uncle
John. "But that reminds me: as a part of our bargain I want you to allow
my nieces, or any representative of the _Millville Tribune_, to take
subscriptions among your workmen."

Mr. Skeelty stared at him a moment. Then he laughed.

"They're mostly foreigners, Mr. Merrick, who haven't yet fully mastered
the English language. But," he added, thoughtfully, "a few among them
might subscribe, if your country sheet contains any news of interest at
all. This is rather a lonely place for my men and they get dissatisfied
at times. All workmen seem chronically dissatisfied, and their women
constantly urge them to rebellion. Already there are grumblings, and
they claim they're buried alive in this forlorn forest. Don't appreciate
the advantages of country life, you see, and