book and send up to the composing-room; there were some letters to write
and others to answer; there were reporters' notes to string together and
telegrams to transcribe. And all the while a dropping fire of proofs
and revises and messages was kept up at them from without, which they
had to carry to their chief and deal with according to his orders.

Horace, being inexperienced, was only able to take up the simpler
portions of this miscellaneous work, but these kept him busy, "hammer
and tongs," with scarcely time to sneeze till well on in the afternoon.

The _Rocket_, unlike most evening papers, waited till the evening before
it appeared, and did not go to press till five o'clock. After that it
issued later editions once an hour till eight o'clock, and on special
occasions even as late as ten.

The great rush of the day, therefore, as Horace soon discovered, was
over at five o'clock, but between that hour and seven there was always
plenty to do in connection with the late editions and the following
day's work. At seven o'clock every one left except a sub-editor and one
of the clerks, and one or two compositors, to see after the eight
o'clock and any possible later edition.

"As soon as you get your hand in, young 'un, you'll have to take your
turn at late work. Booms and I take every other night now."

Horace could say nothing against this arrangement, though it meant more
separation from Reginald. At present, however, his hand not being in,
he had nothing to keep him after the seven o'clock bell, and he eagerly
escaped at its first sound to look for Reginald.

Not, however, till he had witnessed a strange sight.

About a quarter to seven Booms, whose early evening it was, showed signs
of uneasiness. He glanced sorrowfully once or twice at the clock, then
at Horace, then at Waterford. Then he got up and put his papers away.
Finally he mused on a washhand basin in a corner of the room, and said
dolefully,--

"I must dress, I think, Waterford."

"All serene," said Waterford, briskly, "the young 'un and I will finish
up here." Then nudging Horace, he added in a whisper, "He's going to
rig up now. Don't pretend to notice him, that's all."

Booms proceeded to divest himself of his office coat and waistcoat and
collar, and to roll up the sleeves of his flannel shirt, preparatory to
an energetic wash. He then opened a small box in a corner of the room,
from which he produced, first a clothes-brush, with