"Remember we settled it that we'd be around to look Jim up about half-past eight, instead of nine o'clock this morning. Thad, it's getting near that time now, so perhaps we'd better be moving. Jim might feel like starting a bit early, so as to give him more time later on for his regular duties. You see, being left in sole charge of the office while Mr. Hanks is away makes him responsible for even the job printing."
Thad was only too glad for an excuse for an earlier start.
"If we have to do any loafing," he went on to say, philosophically, "we can put in the time at the Courier office, just as well as anywhere else. I always did want to mosey around that place, and while Mr. Hanks is away, perhaps I'll have a chance to handle a few type, and watch the regular comp work like lightning. The smell of printers' ink seems to draw me, Hugh, to tell you the honest truth."
Although Thad possibly did not know it at the time, that fascination has been responsible for many a noted editor's career, as the lure of printers' ink, when it gets a firm hold on any one, can seldom be shaken off in after years. Once a newspaper man and it becomes a lifetime pursuit. But then, of course, Thad might be only imagining such things, and the dim future hold out other possibilities for a career that would be far removed from an editor's chair.
They found Jim on deck, and buried up to his ears in work. He seemed to enjoy it to the limit, too, for it made him appear so responsible and tickled his vanity. He grinned at seeing his two young friends.
"I suppose now you've read my latest effusion, boys?" Jim remarked, with an assumption of extreme modesty, which, however, hardly suited his usual bold demeanor.
Jim had all a reporter's "nerve," and could coolly face a raging subscriber who had dropped in to ask to have his subscription closed because of a certain offensive article in the last issue—yes, and likely as not Jim could soothe the ruffled feathers of the enraged man, show him how he had really been paid a compliment, and finally bow him out of the office with another year's subscription left in the shape of a dollar and a half in good money.
"We've fairly devoured it, Jim," frankly admitted Thad. "Why, I can repeat it off-hand right now, I've read it so often. And Jim, I want to say that it's as clever a piece of work as I ever got hold of. That terrible Texan stands out as clear as print. Everybody in Scranton will be rubbering all today, thinking they can see Marshal Hastings in each stranger in town. I congratulate you, Jim; you're a peach at your trade, believe me."
Of course that sort of "gush" just tickled Jim immensely. He tried not to show it, but his eyes were twinkling with gratified vanity. It was fine to hear other people complimenting him so warmly, even though they were but boys from Scranton High. Praise is acceptable even from the lowly; and Jim made queer motions with his lips as though he might be rolling the sweet morsel over his tongue.
"Glad you like it, fellows," he said, in as unconcerned a voice as he could muster to the fore. "Course there was some hurry, because I'm rushed for time, and I could have done a heap better if I really tried to lay myself out. But I guess that ought to fill the bill, and give Brother Lu a little scare, eh, Thad, old scout?"