"Benzine will take it off," said Mr. Orde to his wife.
Bobby caught at the hint.
"Will benzine take off the ink?" he cried eagerly.
"It's supposed to," replied his father; "but in your case——"
"Can I have a little, in a bottle, and a toothbrush?" begged Bobby. He saw in a flash the solution of the ink problem.
"We'll see," said Mrs. Orde. "Come with me, now."
They disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. Mr. Orde examined the cards with some amusement.
"Well, sonny," said he to Bobby at lunch. "The printing doesn't seem to be a howling success. What are you going to do about it?"
"I don't know," replied Bobby; "but I'll fix it all right yet."
Bobby was busy with his birthday party all that afternoon, but next morning he was afoot even before the Catholic Church bell called him. The press occupied him until breakfast time, but he made small progress. His father's morning paper filled him with envy by reason of its clear impression. After breakfast he begged a tiny bottle of benzine and an old toothbrush from his mother, and went at it again for nearly an hour. The benzine worked like a charm. The type came out bright as new and the old ink dissolved readily from the platen and roller. Bobby took note that he should have cleared them the day before, as a night's neglect had left them sticky. With it all he seemed to have arrived at a dead wall. All his limited mechanical ingenuity was exhausted and still the letters printed either too deep or too light. About half-past nine he cleaned up and went down to the Ottawa.