From the time that he was first able to spell and connect one word with another, Herbert was fascinated by the sight of a printed page. If he saw a circular or a fragment of newspaper on the sidewalk he was impelled to pick it up and read its contents. The weekly paper was a rare treat to him and he perused its columns from the first page to the last, until he knew the contents almost by heart. The sight of a book of fiction or adventure or biography was one of the greatest joys on earth to him, and he eagerly devoured everything of that kind that came in his way. Early in his school-days he had written little essays which after being read in secret, many times, were finally consigned to the flames as being unworthy of publicity.
The town, among its other places and things of interest, possessed a weekly newspaper known as the Cleverly Banner. Herbert never passed the office of this newspaper without being filled with a wild desire to be on the inside instead of the outside of the building. Frequently he stood looking in the window watching the old-fashioned press as it slowly ground out the regular weekly edition. Once or twice he had occasion to call at the office of the Banner with reference to some printing that was being done there, and on such occasions he was thrown into transports of delight. The smell of the ink, the sound of the presses, and the sight of the freshly printed pages sent him into an ecstacy that was almost heavenly in its pleasure.
When he decided to quit farming his eye and heart unconsciously turned towards the little newspaper office. One morning he heard that an apprentice was needed there, he hastened to make application for the position. The building occupied by the Banner set back on a little lot facing the main street of the town. It was a two story and a half dwelling, and an old faded wooden sign over the doorway announced the name of the paper and informed the residents that “Job printing of all kinds could be furnished on short notice.” The building itself was half rotted away from age and want of paint. One editor and one owner after another had succeeded to the Banner; but it had never occurred to any of them that it would be a good stroke of business policy to repair or at least paint the exterior of the building.
The first floor of the Banner office was taken up with a little counter where such business as was transacted with the public might be cared for. The remainder of the room was occupied by a very large old-fashioned printing press. It worked very slowly, and as a consequence had to go steadily two or three days a week in order to turn out the edition of the paper. The second floor, which resembled a hay loft more than a place of business, was utilized as the editorial and composing room. An old-fashioned stove in the centre of the room threw out a heat that made the apartment decidedly uncomfortable at times. A big, sleek cat dozing placidly beneath this stove was one of the permanent fixtures of the room.
It was quite early in the morning when Herbert called at the Banner office, and he did not find anyone on the first floor. He rapped on the counter to attract attention, and presently a voice from upstairs called out in clear, loud tones:
“Come upstairs.”
He climbed up the rude stairway slowly, and finally emerged into the editorial and composing room. An elderly man sat in an old-fashioned armchair in front of a little desk with its top sloping very much like the desks used in some schools. He was writing rapidly and pausing every now and then to dip his pen into a big ink-pot which stood by his side. Visitors to the Banner office were well acquainted with that enormous ink-stand. It had been used by the various editors from the time of the foundation of the Banner and went back so far that its origin must finally have been lost in the mists of antiquity. When the industrious writer had finished a sentence or a paragraph to his satisfaction he wheeled about in his chair and expectorated a mouthful of tobacco juice into an ample cuspidor which stood on the other side of the desk. He had a shock of snow white hair, very much in disorder, caused no doubt from his habit of running his fingers through his hair when in search of a fugitive thought. He was in his shirt sleeves, which was his usual habit, for he always protested that it was not possible for a man to do his best work harnessed up in a coat and vest. Such was Noah Brooks, the editor of the Cleverly Banner, and one of the characters of the town. He looked up from his work as Herbert entered, and said:
“Hello there, young man! What can I do for you?”
“I want you to give me a job,” said Herbert simply.
This reply seemed to amaze the editor, for he laid down his pen, pushed back his chair, and placing his feet on the desk before him, looked at Herbert with a good-natured smile. It seemed almost a minute before he spoke. When he did it was to say: