"Try a small one over yonder," he said to the boy.
Ralph obeyed instructions in an awkward, though passable manner,
whereat the artist looked his approval.
"You'll do, I guess. Be careful about the corners. If a corner
doubles on you, you're in trouble. I'll fasten up, and run round to
the newspapers with a few ads. then finish fixing up. Look sharp;
don't get lost, and be back as soon as you can."
Ralph took his way down Main Street, feeling, as he expressed it, a
good deal like a duck out of water.
Presently he stopped at a high board fence and stuck a couple of bills
without much trouble. Quigg had not instructed him where and where not
to place the posters, and he was pasting a large one against the front
of a closed warehouse, when some one at a near by corner called out:
"Hey, there! Yo' white boy, there! What are yo' up to?"
CHAPTER VII.
An Enraged Photographer.
Ralph continued his work, thinking some one else was referred to, when
he was seized by the shoulder and jerked rudely around.
His mountain blood was aflame in an instant, and seeing only that his
assailant was a negro boy but little larger than himself, he let drive
with his fist and sent the other staggering against the wall.
"Gret king!" exclaimed the darky, rubbing his ear, which had received
the blow, "What yo' do dat for, anyhow?"
"To teach folks to mind their own business," replied Ralph, turning to
his half stuck poster again.
"P'lice have you, when yo' stick dat up dar.
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