A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
With a belly filled at the most excellent Lickskillet Diner, and a wrapped meat-pie tucked under one arm, Roland Smith had one more errand to run before setting foot in his newly-claimed property.
This afternoon, the freight office would deliver his possessions. He'd be unpacking and assembling his tools and machines for the next day, and likely performing a variety of minor repairs and improvements to the shop. But when all that sweaty work was done, there'd be naught but crickets in his shop if he didn't do something about making his arrival in town generally known to the citizenry.
That meant advertising. And that meant The Kalispell Union- a newspaper he'd already been informed was prone to look unfavorably into people's affairs. The best way to prevent that was to buy ad-space, and so he'd be killing two birds with one stone. Or perhaps avoiding his birds being killed by anyone else's stones.
That was probably more apt.
With that in mind, he made his way through the front doors of the local newspaper office, taking a moment for his eyes to adjust to the lighting inside. It did not take long, as there were plenty of windows at the front of the newspaper shop.
The layout was about what one might expect. A counter with personnel behind it, and a back area full of the expensive apparatus of the trade. What was here appeared to be hand-operated, and not machine driven... but he wouldn't have been entirely shocked to find a steam engine like his own in some corner that could be belted to one of the machines to act as a driver. Then again, this town was likely small enough that such innovation wasn't required to service the local readership.
He stepped forward with a hopeful smile, "Good afternoon. I wonder if I might inquire after the possibility of placing an advertisement in the weekend printing?"
@[Flip]
"Go ahead and hang me, it was worth it!"
Zenobia Matthews, who might have been considered one of the beauties of the town, were it not for the slight turn in her eye, her skeletal, almost consumptive figure, and a rather ill-mannered way of conducting herself, was looking at something pinned to the noticeboard when the Englishman walked in. The service in this place was abysmal, old McVey telling her she'd have to wait until he'd sorted out his ps and qs or some such nonsense, before he cold tend to her. And that woman he employed as a reporter: well, she was next to useless!
And then... outrage of all outrages:
He stepped forward with a hopeful smile, "Good afternoon. I wonder if I might inquire after the possibility of placing an advertisement in the weekend printing?"
Zenobia span on her heel and, steam puffing from her nostrils, marched up to the interloper... then had to step back a little, he was preternaturally tall.
"Excuse me!" she snapped, craning her neck up to look him in the eyes "I believe that I was first. It's very bad manners to push in, don't you know?! We don't do that around here!"
Then she turned on the poor innocent proprietor of the newspaper.
"Mister McVey, I hope you don't intend to deal with this man before me!"
She was on about her third contretemps of the day. Though not the easiest person to get along with, Miss Matthews did have one point in her favour: with her sainted mother recently deceased, a father who spent the good part of his days in an alcoholic daze and an absentee older brother, she more or less kept her little family together and in food, having taken over the running of her father's business, the only barber shop in the town. Most men put up with her waspish ways: after all, when listening her rants, she was usually holding a straight razor over their foamed up, gulping throats.
"Every town needs a newspaper."
Phin started to ask Zenobia what he could do for her when the man inquired; He stepped forward with a hopeful smile, "Good afternoon. I wonder if I might inquire after the possibility of placing an advertisement in the weekend printing?"
Whether she or he was first was of little importance at the moment, the man, a stranger probably had no idea who the firebrand was, or what a scene she was more than capable of starting over nothing, let alone over something large or small.
And then, it was one before he could get a word in edgewise, in his own shop. "Mister McVey, I hope you don't intend to deal with this man before me!"
Phin hung his head momentarily and then looked up with a smile on his face and asked; "Excuse me sir, I'll be with you presently. Yes Miss Mathews, how can I help you?" Hopefully, he thought, this would go quickly as the man was new in town and could well be an ongoing advertiser. And it was the ads that paid the freight and kept the price down.
Tags: Javia, Cuban Writer
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
Roland's eyes went wide as a nearby slender woman erupted into unexpected agitation. It was as though a small, yippy dog had been magically transformed into a human being, and its barking had been similarly translated into human speech.
He held up his free hand in a placating gesture while dipping his head. "Pardon me, Ma'am," he said, pronouncing the word as 'Marm' the way some of his ilk were like to do.
"I assure you, I have no intention of taking precedence or jumping your place in the queue." Not that any queue had been apparent to him.
It seemed that every time he concluded that Americans were among the most casually polite and gregarious specimens of humanity in the world, one of them surfaced to contest the notion. At least not with gunfire, in this instance.
Of course, anyone who knew Roland's intimate thoughts might contest that he was a worthy judge of character, or anything resembling a gentleman himself. For instance, at the moment he was formulating the opinion that if this woman were to be bent over the counter and given a solid Rogering, it might improve her disposition.
This thought developed into a series of mental images that entertained him sufficiently to ameliorate any bruised feelings at her brusque and unpleasant address.
"No worries, Sir, I assure you," Roland added to the apparent proprietor, 'Mr. Mcvey,' as he dealt with the insistent 'Miss Matthews.'
@[Phineas Mcvay]
@[Zenobia Matthews]
"Go ahead and hang me, it was worth it!"
He held up his free hand in a placating gesture while dipping his head. "Pardon me, Ma'am," he said, pronouncing the word as 'Marm' the way some of his ilk were like to do.
"I assure you, I have no intention of taking precedence or jumping your place in the queue." Not that any queue had been apparent to him.
"Well... I should think so, too!" she she huffed, looking him up and down and thinking he could do with a decent shave and a haircut. I mean, really, either grow a beard or don't!
He was looking at her in a funny way she didn't quite like.
"And don't you know it's rude to stare?!" she gasped, pulling her shawl tighter over her non-existent chest.
Phin hung his head momentarily and then looked up with a smile on his face and asked; "Excuse me sir, I'll be with you presently. Yes Miss Mathews, how can I help you?"
"No worries, Sir, I assure you," Roland added to the apparent proprietor, 'Mr. Mcvey,' as he dealt with the insistent 'Miss Matthews.'
Miss Matthews shuffled nearer to Mr McVey's desk, trying to get out of the tall Englishman's earshot, like a couple of inches would make any difference. She glanced around, to make sure he wasn't listening in, then leaned in to the newspaperman and whispered.
"It's the advertisement... I... it will have to be the smaller one next time, without the embellishments and... could it please be on a..." Oh, this was so humiliating, especially with that pushy-iny Englishman staring down at her "... on a cheaper page in the paper?"
She glanced back again to make sure her was still a decent distance away from him, painfully aware that in bending over to talk to Mr McVey privately, her bustle was sticking out.
"I... it's not working. Men are coming in but they don't come back. I... I can't afford the big advertisement anymore." the proud young woman admitted, reddening.
Flip @[Cuban Writer]
"Every town needs a newspaper."
He smiled, one thing, he knew the family, from a distance and was painfully aware that it was often rough going for her and her father. Alcohol did that. He was a drinker, to be sure, and had been since he was a boy, some could, some could not. Her father fell into that latter category.
"It's the advertisement... I... it will have to be the smaller one next time, without the embellishments and... could it please be on a..." Oh, this was so humiliating, especially with that pushy-iny Englishman staring down at her "... on a cheaper page in the paper?"
"I see." Phin said softly, also watching the stranger. "perhaps something like this might be better." He offered taking up a pencil and paper and began to write.
"I... it's not working. Men are coming in but they don't come back. I... I can't afford the big advertisement anymore." the proud young woman admitted, reddening.
"Now, now Miss Matthews, perhaps this would better serve you." As if he was presenting an alternative ad idea, which it was.
This month Free, we'll talk about reduced rates then.
He watched her face as she read the paper. "What do you think Zenobia? Is that workable for you?" It was the very least he could do given the situation.
Tags: Cuban Writer, Javia
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
"And don't you know it's rude to stare?!" Miss Matthews declared.
Roland made a point of averting his gaze as he replied, "Forgive me, ma'am. I find that my attention is drawn against my will to your significant charms. I shall endeavor to improve my comportment."
The young shrew moved closer to the proprietor of the newspaper shop, leaning forward significantly in an apparent attempt to keep her affairs secret. This had the effect of raising her bustle significantly, which did little to improve Roland's comportment in light of his recent musings.
He also found that he could overhear her affairs quite ably, despite her efforts and the polite distance he had kept from her.
She had some sort of business, and it was doing poorly. She needed to reduce her advertising costs.
Apparently, repeat business was a problem.
No mystery there, he thought, but then mentally chastised himself just a little.
People in difficulty should not be mocked. It would be better to find some way to help her, despite her attitude. He'd found that doing a small kindness for another person could sometimes result in a good turn in kind... even if not from the subject of one's assistance. Good turns had a way of meandering through a community like a diffuse cloud of perfume, improving the air for all.
@[Phineas Mcvay]
@[Zenobia Matthews]
"Go ahead and hang me, it was worth it!"
"Forgive me, ma'am. I find that my attention is drawn against my will to your significant charms. I shall endeavor to improve my comportment."
She noted his accent for the first time. English. Probably some ruffian down from Fort Calgary, driven from his home country for some murky crime and now driven from the Canadas. "Yes, please avert your gaze!" Zenobia was one of those individuals who could make the words 'please' and 'thank you' make a sentence sound ruder rather than more polite.
She conducted her business with Mr McVey and was finally confronted by an offer as helpful as it was kind.
"Now, now Miss Matthews, perhaps this would better serve you." As if he was presenting an alternative ad idea, which it was.
This month Free, we'll talk about reduced rates then.
He watched her face as she read the paper. "What do you think Zenobia? Is that workable for you?" It was the very least he could do given the situation.
It was the solution she needed. She should have grabbed it and run. Instead, the anger, the red mist she had learned to use to mask her pain, took her over once more. She stood up straight and puffed out her scrawny chest. "I will not accept charity, Mr McVey" she huffed. "Please put in your smallest..." she gulped "... cheapest advertisement. I shall send Raymond around with the money tomorrow!"
In her mortification at being treated like a charity case, she had quite forgotten about the presence of the annoying Englishman behind her: she turned on her boot-heel now to flee the place and, in her haste, crashed right into the immovable object of his tall strong frame - her little gloved fists instinctively rising she beat them on his iron chest. "Oh, out of my way, you awful man!!" she cried and pushing past him exeunted the office, leaving behind nothing more than the sound of a slammed door and the scent of lye soap and woman.
Flip @[Cuban_Writer]
"Every town needs a newspaper."
Phin watched her exit attempt, running into the stranger, snipping at him in true Zenobia style, then getting herself clear of further obstructions, went through the door closing it rather than slamming it. Phin had held his breath. That poor door could only stand so much.
Phin stood up and moved to the counter again, "My apologies, sir, everyone is treated that way. Now, down to business, what is it I can do for you, sir?" Undoubtedly the fellow was new, and perhaps this was the man taking over the gun shop, and that would be good for the town.
@[Cuban_Writer]
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
Roland looked down as the excitable Miss Matthews pounded on him with her little fists before whirling out of the newspaper office. That was... well... it had been an experience. He'd recently found himself wishing for intimate feminine contact. Perhaps he should make his wishes more specific in the future.
"Hello. Mr. McVay, I believe? My name is Roland Smith." He held out a hand to shake the proprietor's.
"I've just purchased a shop, and gauged that it wouldn't have much in the way of custom if I didn't make it known." He smiled, but paused, glancing over his shoulder at the trail of ire Zenobia had left in her wake, still detectable as a wisp of impotent anger hanging in the air.
"Forgive my curiosity... does that young lady operate a business in this town?"
He was fairly sure she did, given the conversation he'd overheard. But he was curious as to what that business could possibly be.
@[Phineas Mcvay]