“Homer, I guess we can’t sell him.”
At that Duff leaped high in the air, bumped father’s hat off his head, caught it in the air and ran frisking about the boat with it.
No, he couldn’t be sold; there was something in Duff that showed in his eyes and prohibited a price.
The Silverton Appeal was the one newspaper in Silverton. It was a weekly, that the editor told me might some time be changed to a daily, if the town ever responded to its encouragement; but the town didn’t respond, so that the Silverton Appeal is still a weekly. For a time it got to look like it would be a monthly. The editor always set type and smoked long stem pipes; with big shears he culled from every other paper. Lots of times he took cord wood for subscriptions, and, after that system had been inaugurated for a few years, he ran a wood yard in connection with the Silverton Appeal.
The Appeal was unique in its way; there was an individuality about the paper that one would know it was published in Silverton and nowhere else. The editor was about as smart as any man in town, but once in a while he
