“Can you kick a press?” asked the man, evidently favorably impressed by Jack’s appearance.
“Kick a press? Why should I kick a press?”
“Oh, it’s easy to see you don’t know anything about the printing business,” remarked the proprietor, with a smile. “I need a boy to kick a press, run one with his feet, I mean, and set up simple jobs; but it wouldn’t pay me to hire one who doesn’t understand the work.”
“I could learn,” said Jack.
“No, I haven’t any time to teach you, and you’d spoil more work than you’d be worth. Sorry,” and he turned back to his desk.
“I can’t kick a press,” thought Jack, as he went out, “but I can kick a football. Only there’s no chance on the gridiron these days. Wonder if I could get a job in some theatre?”
This plan seemed good to him, as he remembered how he had been applauded that amateur night, but he was doomed to disappointment, for, on inquiring of a man, he learned there were no theatres open in Rudford.
“Well, that’s the end of that,” mused our hero. “I’ll try a few more places for a job, though it’s most closing time. I wonder where I’ll sleep to-night? Running away isn’t as nice and easy as I thought it was.”
His search for work was unavailing. He walked along the street, feeling quite blue and lonesome, when something happened that caused a great change in his plans. This was the sight of a small type-written notice tacked on a bulletin board outside of a red brick building. The building, Jack decided, as soon as he had looked at it, was a police station.
The notice which so startled him was one offering a reward for his capture. Before he realized the danger of it, Jack had come to a halt, and was reading the statement.