s Hollis's first visit to the _Kicker_ office; he had come to
work and there was much that he could do. He had found the _Kicker_
installed in a one story frame building, verging upon dilapidation,
unpainted, dingy. The appearance of its exterior had given Hollis a
queer sensation in the pit of the stomach. He was cheered a little by
the businesslike appearance of the interior. It was not what he had been
used to, but he felt that it would answer very well in this locality,
and--well, he planned to make improvements.

About twenty by forty, he estimated the size of the interior. Originally
there had been only one room. This had been divided into three sections
by partitions. An old, flat-topped desk sat near the front window, a
swivel chair before it. Along the wall above the desk were several rows
of shelving with paste-board boxes and paper piled neatly up. Calendars,
posters, and other specimens of the printer's art covered the walls. In
the next room was another desk. Piles of advertising electrotypes, empty
forms, and papers filled the corners. The composing room was in the
rear. Everything was in order here; type cases, stands, forms. There
were a proof press, some galley racks, a printing press, with a
forlorn-looking gasolene engine near it. A small cast-iron stove stood
in a corner with its door yawning open, its front bespattered with
tobacco juice. A dilapidated imposing stone ranged along the rear wall
near a door that opened into the sunlight. A man stood before one of the
type cases distributing type. He did not look up at Hollis's entrance.

"Hello!" greeted Hollis.

The man hesitated in his work and looked up. "Hello," he returned,
perfunctorily.

"I suppose your name is Potter?" Hollis inquired cordially. Judge Graney
had told him that if he succeeded in finding the compositor he would
have him at the _Kicker_ office this morning. Potter had gone to
work without further orders.

"Yes," said the man. He came forward.

"I am the new owner of the _Kicker_," Hollis informed him with a
smile.

"Jim Hollis's boy?" inquired Potter, straightening. At Hollis's nod he
stepped quickly forward and grasped the hand the latter offered him,
squeezing it tightly. "Of course you are Jim Hollis's boy!" he said,
finishing his inspection. "You are the living image of him!" He swept
his hand around toward the type case. "I am working, you see. Judge
Graney wrote me last week that you wanted me and I came as soon as