Pete cleaned the tablet with half the turpentine and benzine in the bottle and began afresh. This time came out in watery lines:
Pete Downs
centreville,
Illinois
U. S.
"Why, what's the matter now?"
"Forgotten enough leads and a capital," replied Dick. "What is the use in trying alone; go in with some boy who knows, and you'll get on."
"Perhaps. But I'll clear up first."
His mother had provided him with overalls for just such occasions; but Pete was confident that printing was neater work than carpentering and had avoided thinking of them. The ink was so imbedded in one corner of the tablet and so scanty in another, that he tried to even the amount, and then wash off the whole. Soon his finger-tips were coal black and sticky; to remove this difficulty, he put finger by finger into the turpentine, rendering that muddy and spreading five distinct streaks on the back of his right hand. Then he poured benzine into the left hand to rub on the back of the right hand. This operation sent ink and benzine up his coat-sleeve, and all ten fingers became so useless that in order to use them more freely he rubbed off their contents on his—jacket. Seeing what he had done, his increasing fears brought tears; to check which, he stuck his fingers into his eyes; which hurting, sent more tears mingling with ink down his cheeks, just at the moment that his mother appeared and that Dick's instinct led him to disappear out of the window or door, he never knew which.
"My son, for shame!" said she; "how could you forget the overalls?"
"Oh! I don't know—wish I hadn't. I am going to take a partner and then it won't happen again."
He cried, and was so funny-looking that there was nothing for his mother to do but to laugh and advise speedy partnership.
"What boy would you have," asked he. "Dick has been here tormenting me, I don't want him. I might try Shel; it need not be for life, you know. He had a press last year and has got used to it."