By this time they had reached Fleet Street, and their attention was absorbed in finding the by-street in which was situated the scene of their coming labours. They found it at last, and with beating hearts saw before them a building surmounted by a board, bearing in characters of gold the legend, Rocket Newspaper Company, Limited.
The boys stood a moment outside, and the courage which had been slowly rising during the walk evaporated in an instant. Ugly and grimy as the building was, it seemed to them like some fairy castle before which they shrank into insignificance. A board inscribed, “Work-people’s Entrance,” with a hand on it pointing to a narrow side court, confronted them, and mechanically they turned that way. Reginald did for a moment hesitate as he passed the editor’s door, but it was no use. The two boys turned slowly into the court, where, amid the din of machinery, and a stifling smell of ink and rollers, they found the narrow passage which conducted them to their destination.
A man at a desk half way down the passage intercepted their progress.
“Now, then, young fellows, what is it?”
“We want to see the manager, please,” said Horace.
“No use to-day, my lad. No boys wanted; we’re full up.”
“We want to see the manager,” said Reginald, offended at the man’s tone, and not disposed to humour it.
“Tell you we want no boys; can’t you see the notice up outside?”
“Look here!” said Reginald, firing up, and heedless of his brother’s deprecating look; “we don’t want any of your cheek. Tell the manager we’re here, will you, and look sharp?”
The timekeeper stared at the boy in amazement for a moment, and then broke out with,—