At any rate, Paul called at the office. After climbing a crazy flight of stairs on the outside of a little rheumatic looking frame building, he found the editor seated on a stool at a case of type, setting up some matter for his next week's issue. Boyton introduced himself.
"Well, I'll be doggoned, Paul," exclaimed the editor, jumping from the stool, "I'm almighty glad to see you," enthusiastically shaking his hand, "where in thunder are you swimming to now?"
"Oh, I'm just going up the river on a pleasure trip, with a friend of mine, on a little steamer."
"Is that so. Well, I'm glad to meet you any way. I'll make a note about it next week."
"Yes, we are having a little pleasure excursion; hunting, fishing, and all that sort of thing and we thought you might enjoy a trip with us a little way."
A cunning gleam shot through the editor's eagle eye, as he replied:
"Um, I guess you want me to pilot you up, don't you?"
"Well, yes. If you want to put it that way. You might assist our regular pilot if you felt so disposed. I can assure you a good time. Plenty of everything on board."
"I'll be doggoned if I wouldn't like to go up, Paul; but don't see how I can do it. In fact it's impossible. You see I couldn't get out my paper next week. Have to disappoint all my subscribers and you know that would hardly be right."
"We would have a good time," persisted Boyton, "you could take a little vacation, you know, and you might get some one to put out the paper for you."