inutes
because her conductor forgot just when she was due and didn't want to
run in too soon. The _Democrat_ is just late naturally. It's part of its
function to be late. Makes it more eagerly sought after. We talk with
the foreman and make nuisances of ourselves generally, and presently old
man Ayers, who runs the paper, waddles in with another item to be set.
The compositors set down their sticks with a jerk and say, "Oh, my
land!" and the foreman goes and puts the item on the case with that air
of patient resignation which is a little more irritating than a swift
kick; and then Chet Frazier, if he's hanging around, which he usually
is, speaks up:

"For goodness' sakes, Ayers, let that item go and get to press," he
says. "Give it to me and I'll read it aloud down-stairs, your whole
subscription list's down there waiting."

But we have to wait just the same until the item is set up. Then the
foreman locks up the forms and bangs them on the face with his big
wooden plane, and he and the old man lug them out into the pressroom
while we all hold our breath--sometimes the form explodes on the way and
then we don't get the _Democrat_ for three days.

Pretty soon we hear the rattle-te-bang-te-clank-te-clicketty-clang of
the old press, and in five minutes more Editor Ayers comes out with an
armful of folded papers all fragrant with fresh black ink.

[Illustration: "She's out, boys," he says.]

"She's out, boys," he says. Then we grab copies and hurry to spread the
news of the birth of another _Democrat_. We open the sheet and look
carefully down the page where old man Ayers generally conceals his local
news. For a minute or two there is silence. Then somebody crams his
paper into his pocket. "Hmph, nothing in it," he says, and starts home.

He's right, too. Outside of the fact that it has another week of old man
Ayers's laborious and worried life in it, it is mighty bare. There isn't
enough news in it to cause a thrill in a sewing circle. But after supper
at home, when we look it over more carefully and the first hot flush of
anticipation has worn off, we do find a lot of information. We find that
Miss Ollie Mingle has gone to Paynesville for a two days' visit (aha,
that Paynesville young man's folks are going to look her over), and that
Mrs. Ackley is visiting her daughter in Ogallala, Neb. (Unless Ackley
straightens up, we don't expect her back.) Wimble Horn is erecting a new
porch and painting his house. (He must hav