When he got back to the machine he picked up a take slug and pulled back the slug-stacker—and then he froze tight.
High-Pockets looked a little scared. He licked his lips and took the stick out of the machine. It was a long take, about ten inches of type. He laid it across his knees and compared it with the copy. It checked. He read it over upside down. Not a single error.
"Well, I didn't set it, anyway," he muttered. "I couldn't possibly set an okay proof, the way I feel."
Somewhat resignedly he took the type to the dump.
The dump-man looked at him. "Turning 'em out pretty fast. Whatta you think this is, a piecework town?"
High-Pockets looked chastened, but said nothing.
He went to the copy desk. There was nothing now but want ads. He got a take and then he had a bright idea. He put the want ads on the copy board and went for a drink of water. He was dry again, anyway. He took plenty of time, and then came back and confidently picked up a take slug.
But he got a jolt when he looked at the stick. It was empty.
High-Pockets nodded wisely. "So it doesn't like want ads any better than anybody else," he said to himself. "Now, that's a dirty shame."
He got all folded in and started to operate. But at the first letter he touched, the keyboard belt broke. He called Arturius and had it fixed, and tried again. The mats jammed up in the chute.