THE MISCHIEVOUS TYPESETTER
By Noel Loomis
They say that man is the master of any machine
he can devise. But whoever coined the phrase didn't
know about this linotype—with a mind of its own....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
July 1952
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The judge reared back. High-Pockets waited. "In my opinion," his honor began a little ambiguously, "a linotype operator is very near the bottom of the scale of humanity. There is only one person who stands beneath him. That is the poet." The judge's eyes turned full on High-Pockets, all seven gangling feet of him. "You," the judge said ominously, "are both."
High-Pockets waited in dread. He had a premonition that this wasn't even going to be a nice jail sentence where he could meditate and reflect on his strange power over linotypes. This was going to be the workhouse. The situation was desperate indeed.
"You profess to be a barnstormer and a student of mechanical nature." The judge smiled sarcastically. "I can offer you an unusual opportunity for research. As an old proofreader, I occasionally help out on the Daily News, and it has come to my attention that there is a linotype on the News known as No. 7 that recently has begun to misbehave. Without apparent reason, it has become almost useless."
High-Pockets cringed with the impact of the knowledge that His Honor had once been a proofreader. The traditional enmity between proofreaders and operators, High-Pockets perceived, was about to be judicially resolved. So he cringed. He was very sad.
"Suppose you go up there and try your wizardry on No. 7." His Honor suggested. "In the meantime, thirty days suspended sentence. If you're back here before your time is up, it will be sixty days. And if there is drunkenness connected with it," he said, looking disdainfully at High-Pockets' red nose, "it will be ninety. Is that clear?"