“Now,” said “Magog,” mounting his box, and taking his composing-stick in his hand, “keep your eye on me, young fellow, and you’ll know all about it.”
And he proceeded to “set-up” a paragraph for the newspaper from a manuscript in front of him at a speed which bewildered Reginald and baffled any attempt on his part to follow the movements of the operator’s hand among the boxes. He watched for several minutes in silence until Gedge, considering he had exhibited his agility sufficiently, halted in his work, and with a passing shade across his face turned to his companion and said,—
“I say, isn’t this a beastly place?”
There was something in his voice and manner which struck Reginald. It was unlike a common workman, and still more unlike a boy of Gedge’s size and age.
“It is beastly,” he said.
“I’m awfully sorry for you, you know,” continued Gedge, in a half-whisper, and going on with his work at the same time, “because I guess it’s not what you’re used to.”
“I’m not used to it,” said Reginald.
“Nor was I when I came. My old screw of an uncle took it into his head to apprentice me here because he’d been an apprentice once, and didn’t see why I should start higher up the ladder than he did. Are you an apprentice?”
“No, not that I know of,” said Reginald, not knowing exactly what he was.
“Lucky beggar! I’m booked here for nobody knows how much longer. I’d have cut it long ago if I could. I say, what’s your name?”