t was off early to keep a business
engagement and during his absence Paul was to go to the circus.
Accordingly the lad hurried his dressing and was ready to join his host
for breakfast promptly at eight.

A league baseball game followed after lunch and with a morning and an
afternoon so crammed with pleasure Paul would have felt amply repaid for
the trip had no evening's entertainment followed. The evening,
however, turned out to be the best part of the day; at least, when Paul
tumbled into bed that night, wearied out by his many good times, he
asserted that the crowning event of his holiday had given him more
interesting things to think about.

It was not until nine o'clock Saturday evening that they could go to the
newspaper office.

"Before that hour," explained Mr. Wright, "there will be very little for
us to see. The compositors, of course, will previously have been busy
setting type; but you can get an idea how that is done in a very short
time. What I want you to see are the giant presses when they are running
to their full capacity. To get out the Sunday edition of the paper the
entire plant is in operation."

Therefore the two travelers loitered long at dinner and at nine o'clock
presented themselves at the magic spot where they were to meet one of
Mr. Wright's friends who was to show them through the various
departments of the press plant.

When they reached this Eldorado, however, Paul was disappointed.

The manager's office seemed very quiet. A dim light burned and a few men
moved in and out of the adjacent rooms. Now and then a telephone
jangled, or a reporter, perched on the arm of a chair or on the corner
of a desk, took out a yellow sheet of paper and ran his eye over its
contents. But there was none of the bustle and rush that the lad had
pictured. But before Paul had had time to become really downhearted, the
door of an inner office opened and a man came forward to meet them.

"Ah, Wright, I'm glad to see you!" he called, extending his hand.

"I'm glad to see you too, Hawley. I expect we're making you a deal of
trouble and that you wish us at the bottom of the Dead Sea."

"Not a bit of it!"

"That's mighty nice of you," laughed Mr. Wright. "I give you my word, I
appreciate it. This is my young friend Paul Cameron, the editor-in-chief
of the Burmingham _March Hare_."

If Mr. Hawley were ignorant of the _March Hare's_ existence or
speculated at all as to what that unique publication might be