“Hello, Editor,” he boomed. “Press broke again, Tom says. Huh, expected it to happen most anytime. Well, let’s see what’s the matter.”
He eased his bulk down under the press, dug into his tool kit for a flashlight and wormed his way into the machinery.
“Get me the long wrench,” he directed Tom.
The request complied with, there followed a number of thumps and whacks of steel against steel, a groan as Pearsall bumped his head in the crowded quarters, and finally a grunt of satisfaction.
The mechanic crawled from under the press, a smudge of ink across his forehead. He wiped his hands thoughtfully.
“Some day,” he ventured, “that old press is going to fall apart and I won’t be able to tease it back again.”
“What was the trouble?” asked Tom.
“Cross bar slipped out of place and dropped down so it caught and held the bed of the press from moving. Good thing you shut off the power or you might have snapped that rod. Then we’d have been out of luck until I could have made a new one.”
“How much will it be?” Tom asked.
The big mechanic grinned.