ached, it's such a rich joke. That Jim will kill me yet with his
wonderful write-ups."

Hugh was apparently also highly amused, but he did not lose sight of
the main facts in the case, as his next remark proved.

"Remember we settled it that we'd be around to look Jim up about
half-past eight, instead of nine o'clock this morning. Thad, it's
getting near that time now, so perhaps we'd better be moving. Jim
might feel like starting a bit early, so as to give him more time
later on for his regular duties. You see, being left in sole charge
of the office while Mr. Hanks is away makes him responsible for even
the job printing."

Thad was only too glad for an excuse for an earlier start.

"If we have to do any loafing," he went on to say, philosophically,
"we can put in the time at the _Courier_ office, just as well as
anywhere else. I always did want to mosey around that place, and
while Mr. Hanks is away, perhaps I'll have a chance to handle a few
type, and watch the regular comp work like lightning. The smell of
printers' ink seems to draw me, Hugh, to tell you the honest truth."

Although Thad possibly did not know it at the time, that fascination
has been responsible for many a noted editor's career, as the lure
of printers' ink, when it gets a firm hold on any one, can seldom
be shaken off in after years. Once a newspaper man and it becomes
a lifetime pursuit. But then, of course, Thad might be only imagining
such things, and the dim future hold out other possibilities for a
career that would be far removed from an editor's chair.