"It looked that way," argued Jap.
"A devil of a couple you are," declared Ellis wrathfully. "Can't either of you reason? Did you ever hear of any one soling a yearling calf? Ross Hawkins is an auctioneer, not a shoemaker."
The boys looked sheepishly at each other. Suddenly Bill flung himself on his stomach and howled in glee.
"Lordee! What if that had 'a' got in the paper!" he gasped.
"There would be two fine, large, lazy boys out of a job," Ellis said severely.
He threw aside the copy and lifted the type. Jap followed the movement with anxious eye. Another explosion hung, tense and imminent, in the air.
"Have you washed that type yet, Bill?" he asked, eager to placate Ellis.
It was the custom for the boy nearest the door to disappear when the time for washing a form was at hand.
"It was your job," protested Bill. "You promised to wash Wat Harlow's speech if I cleaned Kelly Joneses stock bill."
Ellis sat down wearily.