ity of Hempfield--she could not do it. There is
only a genius here and there who can fill the high and difficult
position of country editor.

The responsibility, therefore, fell upon the Captain, who for so many
years had been the titular and ornamental editor of the _Star_. It was
the Captain who wrote the editorials, the obituaries, and the
"write-ups," who attended the political conventions, and was always much
in demand for speeches at the Fourth of July celebrations.

But, strangely enough, although the _Star_ editorials sparkled with
undimmed lustre, although the obituaries were even longer and more
wonderful than ever before--so long as to crowd out some of the items
about Johnny Gorman's pigs and Mrs. Hopkins's visits to her sister,
although the fine old Captain worked harder than ever, the light of the
luminary of Hempfield grew steadily dimmer. Fergus saw it early and it
distressed his Scotch soul. Anthy felt it, and soon the whole town knew
of the decay of the once thrifty institution in the little old
printing-office back from the street. Brother Kendrick, of that
nefarious rag, the Sterling _Democrat_, even dared to respond to one of
the Captain's most powerful and pungent editorials with a witticism in
which he referred to the _Weakly Star_ of Hempfield, and printed
"Weakly" in capital letters that no one might miss his joke.

It was at this low stage in the orbit of the _Star_ that I came first to
the printing-office, trying to discover the man who could shout "Fudge"
with such fine enthusiasm--and found myself, quite irresistibly,
hitching my wagon to the _Star_.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER IV

ENTER MR. ED SMITH

It is only with difficulty thus far in my narrative that I have kept
Norton Carr out of it. When you come to know him you will understand
why. He is inseparably bound up with every memory I have of the
printing-office. The other day, when I was describing my first visit to
the establishment of Doane & Doane, I kept seeing the figure of Nort
bending over the gasoline engine. I kept hearing him whistle in the
infectious low monotone he had, and when I spoke of the printing press I
all but called it "Old Harry" (Nort christened the ancient Hoe press,
Old Harry, which every one adopted as being an appropriate name). I even
half expected to have him break out in my pages with one of his absurd
remarks, when I knew well enough that he had no business to be in the
story at all. He hadn't