had heard us singing when we
were at the Advertiser office. Todd is an old fellow-apprentice of
mine,--and he is now, or rather was that night, chief pressman in the
Argus office. I like the Argus people,--it was there that I was South
American Editor, now many years ago,--and they befriend me to this hour.
Todd hailed me, and once more I stopped. "What sent you out from your
warm steam-boiler?" "Steam-boiler, indeed," said Todd. "Two rivets
loose,--steam-room full of steam,--police frightened,--neighborhood in a
row,--and we had to put out the fire. She would have run a week without
hurting a fly,--only a little puff in the street sometimes. But there we
are, Ingham. We shall lose the early mail as it stands. Seventy-eight
tokens to be worked now." They always talked largely of their edition at
the Argus. Saw it with many eyes, perhaps; but this time, I am sure,
Todd spoke true. I caught his idea at once. In younger and more muscular
times, Todd and I had worked the Adams press by that fly-wheel for full
five minutes at a time, as a test of strength; and in my mind's eye, I
saw that he was printing his paper at this moment with relays of
grinding stevedores. He said it was so. "But think of it to-night," said
he. "It is Christmas eve, and not an Irishman to be hired, though one
paid him ingots. Not a man can stand the grind ten minutes." I knew that
very well from old experience, and I thanked him inwardly for not
saying "the demnition grind," with Mantihni. "We cannot run the press
half the time," said he; "and the men we have are giving out now. We
shall lose all our carrier delivery." "Todd," said I, "is this a night
to be talking of ingots, or hiring, or losing, or gaining? When will you
learn that Love rules the court, the camp, and the Argus office." And I
wrote on the back of a letter to Campbell: "Come to the Argus office,
No. 2 Dassett's Alley, with seven men not afraid to work"; and I gave it
to John and Sam, bade Howland take the boys to Campbell's house,--walked
down with Todd to his office,--challenged him to take five minutes at
the wheel, in memory of old times,--made the tired relays laugh as they
saw us take hold; and then,--when I had cooled off, and put on my
Cardigan,--met Campbell, with his seven sons of Anak, tumbling down the
stairs, wondering what round of mercy the parson had found for them this
time. I started home, knowing I should now have my Argus with my coffee.

III.

And so I walked