Mighty few knew how much pride he had in it.

Has it struck you that now would be a precious good time for it to occur to Rod McCune to come out of his hole?
Suppose we go by the board, what's to stop him?
What's to stop him, anyway?
Who knows where the boss put those copies and affidavits, and if we did know, would we know the best way to use 'em?
If we did, what's to keep the 'Herald' alive until McCune lifts his head?
And if we don't stop him, the 'Carlow County Herald' is finished.

Something's got to be done!'" No one realized this more poignantly than Mr.Fisbee, but no one was less capable of doing something of his own initiation.

And although the Tuesday issue was forthcoming, embarrassingly pale in spots--most spots--Mr.Martin remarked rather publicly that the items were not what you might call stirring, and that the unpatented pages put him in mind of Jones's field in winter with a dozen chunks of coal dropped in the snow.

And his observations on the later issues of the week (issues which were put forth with a suggestion of spasm, and possibly to the permanent injury of Mr.Parker's health, he looked so thin) were too cruelly unkind to be repeated here.