"I don't intend to run the office on any such principles," said Ned. "The boy that meddles with anything will be invited to leave."
"Then you'll make them all angry, and there won't be any good-will to it," said I. "I've heard Father say that the good-will of the Vindicator office was worth more than all the type and presses. He says the Vindicator lives on its good-will."
"That may be all very nice for the Vindicator," said Ned; "but this office will have to live on hard work."
"But we must be polite to the boys that patronize the establishment," said I.
"Oh, yes; be polite to them, of course," said Ned. "But tell them they've got to keep out of our way when the press is running."
Whether the press ever would have run, or even crawled, without Phaeton to manage it, is doubtful. But he now joined in the enterprise, and very soon organized the concern. As Ned had predicted, he hired a man who was a carriage-maker by trade, but had a genius for odd jobs, to make us a press. In those days, the small iron presses which are now manufactured in great numbers, and sold to boys throughout the country, had not been heard of. Ours was a pretty good one, made partly of wood and partly of iron, with a powerful knee-joint, which gave a good impression. The money to pay for it came from Aunt Mercy via Ned.
There was a small, unused building in our yard, about fifteen feet square, sometimes called the "wash-house," and sometimes "the summer-kitchen," now abandoned and almost empty. Phaeton, looking about for a place for the proposed printing-office, fixed upon this as the very thing that was wanted. He said it could not have been better if it had been built on purpose.
After some negotiation with my parents, their consent was obtained, and Phaeton and Ned took me into partnership, I furnishing the building, and they furnishing the press and type. We agreed that the name of the firm should be Rogers & Co. On the gable of the office we erected a short flag-staff, cut to the form of a printer's "shooting-stick," and whenever the boys saw the Stars and Stripes floating from it, they knew the office was open for business.
"This font of Tuscan," said Ned to Phaeton, as we were putting the office in order, "is not going to be so useless as you suppose, even if the Es are all gone."
"How so?" said Phaeton.