e press.

Bobby stood in the doorway some time. Finally the boy said something to
the man at the table. The latter looked up, then arose and came forward.

He was of immense frame, but gaunt and caved-in from much stooping and a
consumptive tendency. His massive bony shoulders hung forward; his head
was carried in advance. In character this head was like that of a Jove
condemned through centuries to long hours in a dark, unwholesome
atmosphere--the grand, square, bony structure, the thick, upstanding
hair, the bushy, steady eyebrows, the heavy beard. But the cheeks
beneath the beard were sunken; the eyes in the square-cut caverns were
kind and gentle--and very weary.

"I want to see if I can get some ink of you," requested Bobby, holding
out his little tin box.

Mr. Daggett took the box without replying; and, opening it, tested with
his finger the quality and colour of what it had contained.

"I guess so," said he.

He led the way to one of the shelves and opened a can as big as a
bucket. Bobby gasped.

"My!" he cried; "will you ever use all that?"

Mr. Daggett nodded, and, dipping a broad-bladed knife, brought up, on
merely its point, enough to fill Bobby's tin box.

"How much is it?" asked Bobby.

"Let's see, you're Jack Orde's little boy, aren't you?" asked Daggett.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, that's all right, then. It's nothing."

"Oh, thank you!" cried Bobby, overwhelmed. The man nodded his massive
head. "Please," ventured Bobby, hesitating, "please, would you mind if I
stay a little while and watch?"

"'Course not," assured Mr. Daggett. "Stay as long as you want."

He returned to his table and forgot the little boy. An hour later he
looked up. Bobby was still there standing in the middle of the floor,
staring with all his might. Mr. Daggett pulled together his great frame
and arose.

"Have you a printing press?" he asked Bobby.

"Yes, sir," replied Bobby--"it's only a little one--to print two lines,"
he added.

"Do you like printing?"

"Oh!" burst out Bobby enthusiastically, "it's more fun than anything!"

"I'd like to see some of your work," said Mr. Daggett a flash of
amusement flickering in his deep eyes.

Bobby felt in his pocket and gravely presented a card.

_"Mr. Robert Orde.
Job Printer."_

"Why," said Mr. Daggett, surprised, "this is pretty well done. I didn't
know you could make ready so well on those little presses."

"What's 'make ready'?" asked Bobby.

"Why, regulatin