Kitabı oku: «Helen in the Editor's Chair», sayfa 7
CHAPTER XI
New Plans
With the end of the school year Tom and Helen were able to give their complete time and energies to the Herald. When Monday, the first of June arrived, they were working on their fourth issue of the Herald and Helen had written a number of stories on the last week’s activities at school, the graduation exercises, the junior-senior dinner and the senior class play. She praised Miss Weeks highly for her work with the class play and lauded the seniors for their fine acting. Although urged that she say something about her own part, Helen steadfastly refused and her brother finally gave up in disgust and delved in to the ledger for on his shoulders fell the task of making out the monthly bills and handling all of the business details of the paper.
When Tom had completed his bookkeeping he turned to his sister.
“Helen,” he began, “we’re not making enough.”
“But, Tom,” she protested, “the paper is carrying more advertising than when Dad ran it.”
“Yes, but our expenses are high,” said Tom. “We’ve got to look ahead all the time. Dad will have used all of the money he took with him in a little less than six months. After that it will be up to us to have the cash in the bank. Right now we’ve just a little under a hundred dollars in the bank. Current bills will take more than that, and our own living expenses, that is for mother and we two, will run at least $100 a month. With our total income from the paper only slightly more than $200 a month on the basis of the present amount of advertising, you see we’re not going to be able to save much toward helping Dad.”
“Then we’ll have to find ways of increasing our volume of business,” said Helen.
“That won’t be easy to do in a town this size,” replied Tom, “and I won’t go out and beg for advertising.”
“No one is going to ask you to,” said Helen. “We’ll make the Herald such a bright, outstanding paper that all of the business men will want to advertise.”
“We’ll do the best we can,” agreed Tom.
“Then let’s start right now by putting in a farm page,” suggested Helen.
“But there won’t be many farm sales from now on,” argued Tom.
“No,” conceded his sister, “but there is haying, threshing and then corn picking and all of the stores have supplies to sell to the farmers.”
“I believe you’re right. If you’ll do the collecting this afternoon, I’ll go down to Gladbrook and see if we can get the cooperation of the county agent. Lots of the townships near here have farm bureaus and I’ll get the names of all of their leaders and we’ll write and tell them what we plan to do.”
After lunch Tom teased the family flivver into motion and set out for Gladbrook while Helen took the sheaf of bills and started the rounds of the business houses. She had no trouble getting her money from all of the regular advertisers and in every store in which she stopped she took care to ask the owner about news of the store and of his family. She noticed that it flattered each one and she resolved to call on them at least once a week.
Tom returned from Gladbrook late in the afternoon. He was enthusiastic over the success of his talk with the county agent.
“He’s a fine chap,” Tom explained. “Had a course in agricultural journalism in college and knows news and how to write it. The Gladbrook papers, the News and the Times, don’t come up in this section of the county and he’ll be only too glad to send us a column each week.”
“When will he start?”
“Next week will be the first one. He’ll mail his column every Tuesday evening and we’ll have it on the Wednesday morning mail. Now, here’s even better news. I went to several of the department stores at Gladbrook and told them we were going to put out a real farm page. They’re actually anxious to buy space and by driving down there once a week I can get two or three good ads.”
“How will the local merchants feel?” asked Helen.
“They won’t object,” replied Tom, “for I was careful to stress that I would only accept copy which would not conflict with that used by our local stores.”
“That was a wise thing to do,” Helen said. “We can’t afford to antagonize our local advertisers. I made the rounds and collected all of the regular accounts. There’s only about eighteen dollars outstanding on this month’s bills and I’ll get all but about five dollars of that before the week is over.”
“Want to go to Cranston Friday or Saturday?” asked Tom.
“I surely do,” Helen replied. “But what for, Tom, and can we afford it?”
“One of us will have to make the trip,” her brother said. “Putting on this farm page means we’ll have to print two more pages at home, six altogether, and will need only two pages of ready-print a week from the World Printing Company. We’ll go down and talk with their manager at Cranston and select the features we want for the two pages they will continue to print for us.”
“Our most important features in the ready-print now are the comics, the serial story and the fashion news for women,” said Helen.
“Then we’ll have one page of comics,” said Tom, “and fill the other page with features of special interest to our women readers.”
The next three days found the young Blairs so busy getting out the current edition of the paper that they had little time to talk about their plans.
They had decided to go to Cranston Friday but when Helen found that there were special rates for Saturday, they postponed the trip one day. When the Friday morning mail arrived, Helen was glad they had changed their plans. While sorting the handful of letters, most of them circulars destined for the wastepaper basket, she came upon the letter she had been looking forward to for days. The words in the upper left hand corner thrilled her. It was from the Cranston bureau of the Associated Press.
With fingers that trembled slightly, she tore it open. Would she get the job as Rolfe correspondent? A green slip dropped out of the envelope and Tom, who had come in from the composing room, reached down and picked it up.
“Ten dollars!” he whistled.
“What’s that?” demanded Helen, incredulously.
“It’s your check from the Associated Press for covering the tornado,” explained Tom. “Look!”
Helen took the slip of crisp, green paper. She wasn’t dreaming. It was a check, made out in her name and for $10.
“But there must be some mistake,” she protested. “They didn’t mean to pay me that much.”
“If you think there’s a mistake,” grinned Tom, “you can go and see them when we reach Cranston tomorrow. However, if I were you, I’d tuck it in my pocket, invite my brother across the street to the drug store, and buy him a big ice cream soda.”
“Wait until I see what the letter says,” replied Helen. She pulled it out of the envelope and Tom leaned over to read it with her.
“Dear Miss Blair,” it started, “enclosed you will find check for your fine work in reporting the tornado near Rolfe. Please consider this letter as your appointment as Rolfe correspondent for the Associated Press. Serious accidents, fires of more than $5,000 damage and deaths of prominent people should be sent as soon as possible. Telegraph or telephone, sending all your messages collect. In using the telegraph, send messages by press rate collect when the story is filed in the daytime. If at night, send them night press collect. And remember, speed counts but accuracy must come first. Stories of a feature or time nature should be mailed. We are counting on you to protect us on all news that breaks in and near Rolfe. Very truly yours, Alva McClintock, Correspondent in charge of the Cranston Bureau.”
“He certainly said a lot in a few words,” was Tom’s comment. “Now you’re one up on me. You’re editor of the Herald and Associated Press correspondent and I’m only business manager.”
“Don’t get discouraged,” laughed Helen, “I’ll let you write some of the Associated Press stories.”
“Thanks of the compliment,” grinned Tom. “I’m still waiting for that ice cream soda, Miss Plutocrat.”
“You’ll grumble until I buy it, I suppose, so I might as well give in right now,” said Helen. “Come on. I’m hungry for one myself.”
Tom and Helen boarded the nine forty-five Saturday morning and arrived at the state capital shortly after noon. It was Helen’s first trip to Cranston and she enjoyed every minute of it, the noise and confusion of the great railroad terminal, the endless bobbing about of the red caps, the cries of news boys heralding noonday editions and the ceaseless roar of the city.
They went into the large restaurant at the station for lunch and after that Tom inquired at the information desk for directions on how to reach the plant of the World Printing Company. He copied the information on a slip of paper and the two young newspaper people boarded a street car.
Half an hour later they were on the outskirts of the industrial district and even before the conductor called their stop, Tom heard the steady roar of great presses.
“Here we are,” he told Helen as they stepped down from the car and looked up at a hulking ten story building that towered above them.
“The Cranston plant of the Rolfe Herald,” chuckled Helen. “Lead on.”
They walked up the steps into the office, gave their names and indicated their business to the office girl. After waiting a few minutes they were ushered into an adjoining office where an energetic, middle aged man who introduced himself as Henry Walker, service manager, greeted them.
“Let’s see, you’re from the Rolfe Herald?” he asked.
“My sister and I are running the paper while Dad is in the southwest regaining his health,” explained Tom. “We’ve got to expand the paper to increase our advertising space and the only thing we can see to do is cut down our ready-print to two pages.”
“Explain just what you mean,” suggested the service manager.
Tom outlined their advertising field and how they hoped to increase business by adding two more pages of home print, one of which would be devoted to farm advertising and news and the other to be available for whatever additional advertising they could produce.
“We’ll be sorry to have you drop two pages of ready-print,” said Mr. Walker, “but I believe you’re doing the right thing. Now let’s see what you want on the two pages you’ll retain.”
“Helen is editor,” Tom explained, “and it’s up to her to pick out what she wants.”
“You’re doing a splendid job on the Herald,” the service manager told Helen. “I get copies of every paper we serve and I’ve been noticing the changes in make-up and the lively stories. However, I am sorry to hear about your father but with you two youngsters to give him pep and courage he ought to be back on the job in a few months.”
“We’re sure he will,” smiled Helen as she unfolded a copy of their last edition of the Herald. “I’ve pasted up two pages of the features I want to retain,” she explained as she placed them in front of the service manager.
“I see,” he said. “You’re going to be quite metropolitan with a full page of comics and a page devoted to women. I’m glad of that. Too many editors of weeklies fail to realize that the women and not the men are the real readers of their papers. If you run a paper which appeals to women and children you’ll have a winner. Comics for the youngsters and a serial story with a strong love element and fashions and style news for the women.”
“How about cost?” asked Tom.
“Dropping the two pages won’t quite cut your bill with us in half,” explained Mr. Walker, “for you’re retaining all of our most expensive features. However, this new plan of yours will reduce your weekly bill about 40 per cent.”
“That’s satisfactory,” agreed Tom, “and we’d like to have it effective at once. Helen has written the headings she wants for each page.”
“We’ll send the pages, made up in the new way, down at the usual time next week,” promised the service manager, “and when there is anything else we can do, don’t hesitate to let us know.”
When they were out of the building, they paused to decide what to do next.
“I liked Mr. Walker,” said Helen. “He didn’t attempt to keep us from making the change. It means less money for his company yet he didn’t object.”
“It was good business on his part,” replied Tom. “Now we feel kindly toward him and although he has lost temporarily he will gain in the end for we’ll give him every bit of business we can in the way of ordering supplies for job printing and extra stock for the paper.”
“If we have time,” suggested Helen, “I’d like to go down to the Associated Press office.”
“Good idea,” agreed Tom. “I’d like to see how they handle all of the news.”
They boarded the first down town street car and got off fifteen minutes later in the heart of Cranston’s loop district. Across the street was the building which housed the Cranston Chronicle, the largest daily newspaper in the state. They consulted the directory in the lobby of the building and took the elevator to the fifth floor where the Associated Press offices were located.
They stepped out of the elevator and into a large room, filled with the clatter of many machines. A boy, his face smeared with blue smudges off carbon paper, rushed up to them and inquired their business.
“I’m Helen Blair, a new correspondent at Rolfe,” explained the editor of the Herald, “and I’d like to see Mr. McClintock, the chief correspondent.”
“Okay,” grinned the boy. “I’ll tell him. You wait here.”
The youngster hurried across the room to a large table, shaped like a half moon and behind which sat a touseled haired chap of indeterminate age. He might be 30 and he might be 40, decided Helen.
“Glad to know you, Miss Blair,” he said. “You did a nice piece of work on the storm.”
“Thank you, Mr. McClintock,” replied Helen. “But my brother, Tom, deserves all of the credit. He suggested calling the story to you.”
“Then I’ll thank Tom, too,” laughed the head of the Cranston bureau of the Associated Press.
“We’re here today on business for our paper,” explained Helen, “and with a few minutes to spare before train time hoped you wouldn’t mind if we came in and saw how the ‘wheels go round’ here.”
“I’ll be happy to show you the ‘works’,” replied Mr. McClintock, and he took them over to a battery of electric printers.
“These,” he explained, “bring us news from every part of the country, east, south and far west. In reality, they are electric typewriters controlled from the sending station in some other city. We take the news which comes in here, sift it out and decide what will interest people in our own state, and send it on to daily papers in our territory.”
“Do these electric printers run all day?” asked Tom.
“Some of them go day and night,” continued Mr. McClintock, “for the A.P. never sleeps. Whenever news breaks, we’ve got to be ready to cover it. That’s why we appreciated your calling us on the storm. We knew there was trouble in your part of the state but we didn’t have a correspondent at Rolfe. It was a mighty pleasant surprise when you phoned.”
They visited with the Associated Press man for another fifteen minutes and would have continued longer if Tom had not realized that they had less than twenty minutes to make their train. The last two blocks to the terminal were covered at a run and they raced through the train gates just before they clanged shut.
“Close call,” panted Tom as they swung onto the steps of the local and it slid out of the train shed.
“Too close,” agreed Helen, who was breathless from their dash.
“Had to make it, though,” added Tom, “or we’d have been stranded here flat broke with the next train for home Monday night.”
“Don’t worry about something that didn’t happen,” Helen said. “I’ve enjoyed every minute of our trip and we’re all ready now to start our expansion program for the Herald in earnest.”
Adding two more pages of home print to the paper meant more work than either Tom or Helen had realized. There was more news to be written and more ads to be set and another run to be made on the press.
With early June at hand the summer season at the resorts on the lower end of Lake Dubar got under way and Helen resolved to make a trip at least once a week and run a column or two of personals about people coming and going. She also gave liberal space to the good roads election in July, stressing the value the paved scenic highway would be to Rolfe.
The two pages of ready-print arrived on Tuesday and Tom and Helen were delighted with the appearance of the comic page and the feature page for women readers.
“We’ll have the snappiest looking paper in the county,” chuckled Tom. “Dad won’t know the old paper when he sees this week’s issue.”
The county agent kept his promise to send them at least a column of farm news and Helen made it a point to gather all she could while Tom went to the county seat Tuesday morning and solicited ads for the page. The result was a well-balanced page, half ads and half news. Careful solicitation of home town merchants also brought additional ads and when they made up the last two pages Thursday noon they felt the extra work which increasing the size of the paper meant was more than repaid in extra advertising.
“I’m printing a number of extra copies this week,” explained Tom. “There are lots of people around here who ought to take the Herald. With our expansion program we may pick up some extra subscriptions and we might get a chance at the county printing.”
“Tom!” exclaimed Helen. “Do you really think we might get to be an official county paper.”
“I don’t see why not,” said Tom. “Of course the two Gladbrook papers will always be on the county list but there are always three who print the legal news and the third one is the Auburn Advocate. Auburn isn’t any larger than Rolfe and I know darned well we have almost as many subscriptions as they do.”
“How do they decide the official papers?” Helen wanted to know.
“The county board of supervisors meets once a year to select the three official papers,” Tom explained, “and the three showing the largest circulation are selected. It would mean at least $2,000 extra revenue to us, most of which would be profit.”
“Then why didn’t Dad try for it?” Helen asked.
“I’m not sure,” said Tom slowly. “There are probably several reasons, the principal one being that he wasn’t strong enough to make the additional effort to build up the circulation list. The other is probably Burr Atwell, owner and publisher of the Auburn Advocate. I’ve heard Dad often remark that Atwell is the crookedest newspaperman in the state.”
“How much circulation do you think the Advocate has now?” Helen asked.
“Their last postoffice statement showed only 108 more than ours,” replied Tom.
“And when do the supervisors have their annual meeting?”
“About the 15th of December,” said Tom. “Now what’s up?”
“Nothing much,” smiled Helen. “Only, when the supervisors meet next the Rolfe Herald is going to have enough circulation to be named an official county paper.
“Why Tom,” she went on enthusiastically, “think what it would mean to Dad?”
“I’m thinking of that,” nodded her brother, “but I’m also thinking of what Burr Atwell might do to the Herald.”
CHAPTER XII
Special Assignment
The enlarged edition of the Herald attracted so much comment and praise from the readers that Tom and Helen felt well repaid for their additional efforts. Tom sat down and figured out the profit, deducted all expenses, and announced that they had made $78 on the edition, which, they agreed, was a figure they should strive to reach each week.
“If we can keep that up,” commented Tom, “we’ll be sitting on top of the world.”
“But if we were only an official county paper we’d have the moon, too,” Helen said.
They discussed the pros and cons of getting enough additional circulation to beat the Auburn Advocate and the danger of arousing the anger of Burr Atwell, its publisher.
“We don’t need to make a big campaign for subscriptions,” argued Helen. “We’ve taken the biggest step right now – improving and expanding the amount of local and country reading matter. Whenever I have an extra afternoon this summer I’ll drive out in the country and see if I can’t get some people who haven’t been subscribers to take our paper.”
Tom agreed with Helen’s suggestion and that very afternoon they took the old family touring car, filled it with gas and oil, and ambled through the countryside. Tom had a list of farmers who were non-subscribers and before the afternoon was over they had added half a dozen new names to the Herald’s circulation list. In addition, they had obtained at least one item of farm news at every place they stopped.
“I call that a good afternoon’s work,” Helen commented when they drove the ancient flivver into the garage at home.
“Not bad at all,” Tom agreed. “Only, we’ll keep quiet about our circulation activities. No use to stir up Burr Atwell until he finds it out for himself, which will be soon enough.”
The remaining weeks of June passed uneventfully. The days were bright and warm with the softness of early summer and the countryside was green with a richness that only the middle west knows. Helen devoted the first part of each week to getting news in Rolfe and on Fridays and Saturdays took the old car and rambled through the countryside, stopping at farmhouses to make new friends for the Herald and gather news for the farm page. The revenue of the paper was increasing rapidly and they rejoiced at the encouraging news which was coming from their father.
The Fourth of July that year came on Saturday, which meant a two day celebration for Rolfe and the summer resorts on Lake Dubar. Special trains would be routed in over the railroad and the boats on the lake would do a rushing business.
The managers of Crescent Beach and Sandy Point planned big programs for their resorts and ordered full page bills to be distributed throughout that section of the state. The county seat papers had usually obtained these large job printing orders but by carefully figuring, Tom put in the lowest bids.
Kirk Foster, the manager of Crescent Beach, ordered five thousand posters while Art Provost, the owner of Sandy Point, ordered twenty thousand. Crescent Beach catered to a smaller and more exclusive type of summer visitors while Sandy Point welcomed everyone to its large and hospitable beach.
There was not much composition for the posters but the printing required hours and it seemed to Helen that the old press rattled continuously for the better part of three days as Tom fed sheet after sheet of paper into the ancient machine. The wonder of it was that they had no breakdowns and the bills were printed and delivered on time.
“All of which means,” said Tom when he had finished, “that we’ve added a clear profit of $65 to our bank account.”
“If we keep on at this rate,” Helen added, “we’ll have ample to take care of Dad when he needs more money.”
“And he’ll be needing it sometime this fall,” Tom said slowly. “Gee whizz, but it sure does cost to be in one of those sanitariums. Lucky we could step in and take hold here for Dad.”
“We owe him more than we’ll ever repay,” said Helen, “and the experience we’re getting now will be invaluable. We’re working hard but we find time to do the things we like.”
Helen planned special stories for the edition just before the Fourth and visited the managers of both resorts to get their complete programs for the day.
Kirk Foster at Crescent Beach explained that there would be nothing unusual there except the special display of night fireworks but Art Provost over at Sandy Point had engaged a line of free attractions that would rival any small circus. Besides the usual boating and bathing, there would be free acts by aerialists, a high dive by a girl into a small tank of water, half a dozen clowns to entertain the children, a free band concert both afternoon and evening, two ball games and in addition to the merry-go-round on the grounds there would be a ferris wheel and several other “thrill” rides brought in for the Fourth.
“You ought to have a great crowd,” said Helen.
“Goin’ to be mighty disappointed if I don’t,” said the old resort manager. “Plannin’ a regular rip-snorter of a day. No admission to the grounds, but Boy! it’ll cost by the time they leave.”
“Going to double the prices of everything?” asked Helen.
“Nope. Goin’ to have so many things for folks to do they’ll spend everything they got before they leave.”
“In that case,” replied Helen, “I see where I stay at home. I’m a notorious spendthrift when it comes to celebrating the Fourth.”
“I should say you’re not goin’ to stay home,” said Mr. Provost. “You and your mother and Tom are goin’ to be my guests. I’ve got your passes all filled out. Swim, ride in the boats, dance, roller skate, see the ball games, enjoy any of the ‘thrill rides’ you want to. Won’t cost you a cent.”
“But I can’t accept them,” protested Helen. “We’ll pay if we come down. Besides, we didn’t give you all of those bills for nothing.”
“Seemed mighty near nothin’ compared with the prices all the other printers in the county wanted,” smiled Mr. Provost. “You’ve been down every week writin’ items about the folks who come here and, believe me, I appreciate it. These passes are just a little return of the courtesy you’ve shown me this summer.”
“When you put it that way, I can scarcely refuse them,” laughed Helen.
“As a matter of fact,” she added, “I wanted them terribly for we honestly couldn’t afford to come otherwise.”
When Helen returned to the office she told Tom about the passes and he agreed that acceptance of them would not place the Herald under obligation to the resort owner.
“I always thought old man Provost a pretty good scout,” he said, “but I hardly expected him to do this. And say, these passes are good for both Saturday and Sunday. What a break!”
“If we see everything Saturday we’ll be so tired we won’t want to go back Sunday,” Helen said. “Besides, Mother has some pretty strong ideas on Sunday celebrations.”
The telephone rang and Helen hastened into the editorial office to answer.
She talked rapidly for several minutes, jotting down notes on a pad of scratch paper. When she had finished, she hurried back into the composing room.
“Tom,” she cried, “that was Mr. Provost calling.”
“Did he cancel the passes?”
“I should say not. He called to say he had just received a telegram from the Ace Flying Circus saying it would be at Sandy Point to do stunt flying and carry passengers for the Fourth of July celebration.”
“Why so excited about that? We’ve had flying circuses here before.”
“Yes, I know, Tom, but ‘Speed’ Rand is in charge of the Ace outfit this year.”
“‘Speed’ Rand!” whistled Tom. “Well, I should say that was different. That’s news. Why Rand’s the man who flew from Tokyo to Seattle all alone. Other fellows had done it in teams but Rand is the only one to go solo. He’s big news in all of the dailies right now. Everyone is wondering what daredevil stunt he’ll do next.”
“He’s very good looking and awfully rich,” smiled Helen.
“Flies just for fun,” added Tom. “With all of the oil land he’s got he doesn’t have to worry about work. Tell you what, I’ll write to the Cranston Chronicle and see if they’ll send us a cut of Rand. It would look fine on the front page of this week’s issue.”
“Oh,” exclaimed Helen “I almost forgot the most important part of Mr. Provost’s call. He wants you to get out 10,000 half page bills on the Ace Flying Circus. Here are the notes. He said for you to write the bill and run them off as soon as you can.”
The order for the bills put Tom behind on his work with the paper and it was late Thursday afternoon before Helen started folding that week’s issue. But they didn’t mind being late. The bill order from Sandy Point had meant another piece of profitable job work and Mr. Provost had also taken a half page in the Herald to advertise the coming of his main attraction for the Fourth. Mrs. Blair came down to help with the folding and Margaret Stevens, just back from a vacation in the north woods with her father, arrived in time to lend a hand.
“Nice trip?” Helen asked as she deftly folded the printed sheets.
“Wonderful,” smiled Margaret, “but I’m glad to get back. I missed helping you and Tom. Honestly, I get a terrific thrill out of reporting.”
“We’re glad to have you back,” replied Helen, “and I think Mr. Provost down at Sandy Point will be glad to give me an extra pass for the Fourth. I’ll tell him you’re our star reporter.”
“I’d rather go to Crescent Beach for the Fourth,” said Margaret. “It’s newer and much more ritzy than Sandy Point.”
“You’d better stop and look at the front page carefully,” warned Tom, who had shut off the press just in time to hear Margaret’s words.
She stopped folding papers long enough to read the type under the two column picture on the front page.
“What!” she exclaimed, “‘Speed’ Rand coming here?”
“None other and none such,” laughed Tom. “Guaranteed to be the one and only ‘Speed’ Rand. Step right this way folks for your airplane tickets. Five dollars for five minutes. See the beauty of Lake Dubar from the air. Don’t crowd, please.”
“Do you still want me to get a pass?” Helen asked. “It will be honored any place at Sandy Point during the celebration and Mr. Provost says we can all have rides with the air circus ‘Speed’ Rand is running.”
“I should say I do want a pass,” said Margaret. “At least it’s some advantage to being a newspaper woman besides just the fun of it.”
The famous Ace air circus of half a dozen planes roared over Rolfe just before sunset Friday night and the whole town turned out to see them and try to identify the plane which “Speed” Rand was flying.
The air circus was flying in two sections, three fast, trim little biplanes that led the way, followed by three large cabin planes used for passenger carrying. Every ship was painted a brilliant scarlet and they looked like tongues of flames darting through the sky, the afternoon sun glinting on their wings.
The air circus swung over Rolfe in a wide circle and the leading plane dropped down out of the sky, its motor roaring so loud the windows in the houses rattled in their frames.
“He’s going to crash!” cried Margaret.
“Nothing of the kind,” shouted Tom, who had read widely of planes and pilots and flying maneuvers. “That’s just a power dive – fancy flying.”
