“Fifty-five. I will not pay more.”
“All right! I’m your huckleberry.”
Chick’s eyes snapped, and a flush came into his cheeks. Here was a steady job facing him on his own terms. He did not doubt his ability to handle it. He felt that the employment would be congenial. He accepted the place without question. There was more discussion concerning the nature of the duties which the new employee was to perform, his hours of labor, and the day on which he should begin work. But these matters were easily settled, and when Chick rose to go the bargain was complete. He felt now that he had taken his proper place in the army of workers. He had what he had long wanted, a regular job. Moreover, the nature of his task, that of assisting in the preparation and publication of a weekly journal, was such as to justify him in assuming an air of importance commensurate with the character of his duties.
When he reached the head of the stairs on his way out a thought came to him and he turned back.
“I want it understood,” he said to Donatello, “that, so long as I’m helpin’ to git out this paper, they mustn’t be no jumpin’ on the National Guard, nor on Company E. I won’t stand for it.”
“And if it should be so that there is?” Donatello’s voice was smooth and musical.
“I’ll resign my position,” declared Chick.
“Very well! That bridge we will cross when we have reached it.”
The next day General Chick was added to the working staff of The Disinherited.
On a day late in April, Hal received a note from Donatello asking him to call that evening at the printing-room of The Disinherited. It was not an unusual request, nor was it the first time that Hal had visited the quarters of the social radical.