Donatello paused in his work and looked at his visitor inquiringly.
“I ain’t never be’n in a printin’ shop before,” said Chick, “and I kind o’ wanted to see what it looked like.”
“Well,” replied the man, “it is not so much on the looks. But here it is from which great ideas have gone forth in print.”
“Do you write ’em all?” asked the boy abruptly.
Donatello laughed a little. “I do not write all that which appears in my paper,” he replied. “But the editorial; yes, that I write.”
Chick drew from his pocket a copy of The Disinherited and pointed to the article which had disturbed him.
“Did you write that?” he demanded.
The editor laughed again. “Yes, that have I written. Do you like it? No?”
“No,” replied the boy. “I don’t like it. That’s what I’ve come for; to tell you I don’t like it. Them fellows ain’t no tools of nobody. They’re jest soldiers. They obey orders. If them strikers don’t want to get hurt, let ’em behave theirselves. That’s all they is to it.”