"This will be a scoop," says the copy-cutter.

The father of the chapel has written some handsome resolutions to make
the article longer.

"Come up here, all you fellows! Chapel meeting!"

The resolutions are passed with a mighty "Aye!" They are already in
type. A long subscription paper for the widow finds ready signers. No
one stands back.

The men wash their hands, standing like cattle at a manger.

"It's tough!" says Slug 1.

"You bet it's tough!" says Slug 10, the crossest old dog of the pack.

"They say he went broke at election," says Slug 50.

"If his widow could learn to distribute type she could do mighty well
over here. I'd give her 4,000 to throw in every day," says Slug 10.
"Oh, let go of that towel!"

The men return to their cases, put on their coats and wrap their white
throats. This pneumonia is a bad thing, anyhow.

Tramp, tramp, the small army goes down the long, iron stairways.

"Did you hear about Corkey?" they ask as they go. "Corkey had a heart