"These things always happen in the newspaper business，"remarked Miss Briggs，when appealed to."Can't you telegraph to New York for another pressman ？""Yes ；but he can't get here in time，"said Patsy."There's no Monday train to Chazy Junction，at all，and it would be Wednesday morning before a man could possibly arrive.To shut down the paper would ruin it，for everyone would thinkwe had failed in our attempt and it might take us weeks to regain public con？dence.""I know，"said Miss Briggs，composedly."A paper neverstops.Somehow or other it always keeps going—even if the world turns somersaultsa and stands on its head.You'll ？nd a way，I'm sure."But the bewildered girls had no such confidence.They drove back to the farm to consult with Uncle John and Arthur.
"Let's take a look at that press，my dears，"said Mr.
Merrick."I'm something of a mechanic myself，or was in my young days，and I may be able to work this thing until we can get a new pressman.""I'll help you，"said Arthur."Anyone who can run anautomobile ought to be able to manage a printing press."So they went to the of？ce，took off their coats and examined the press；but the big machine de？ed their combined intelligence.Uncle John turned on the power.The cylinder groaned，swung half around，and then the huge wooden "nippers"came down upon the table with a force that shatteredb them to kindling.At the crash Mr.Merrick involuntarily shut down the machine，and then they all stood around and looked gloomily at the smash—up and wondered if the damage was irreparable.
"Couldn't we print the paper on the job press ？"asked the little millionaire，turning to Fitzgerald.
"In sections，sir，"replied Fitz，grinning."Half a page ata time is all we can manage，but we might be able to match margins so the thing could be read.""We'll try it，"said Uncle John."Do your best，my man，andif you can help us out of this bog you shall be amply rewarded."Fitz looked grave.
"Never knew of such a thing being done，sir，"he remarked；"but that's no reason it's impossible.""'Twill be a horror of a make—up，"added Larry，who did not relish his part in the experiment.
Uncle John put on his coat and went into the front of？ce，followed by Arthur and the girls in dismala procession.
"A man to see the manager，"announced Miss Briggs，nodding toward a quiet ？gure seated on the "waiting bench."The man stood up and bowed.It was the young bookkeeper from the paper mill，who had so bravely defended the girls on Saturday night.Uncle John regarded him with a frown.
"I suppose Skeelty has sent you to apologize，"he said.
"No，sir；Skeelty is not in an apologeticb mood，"replied the man，smiling."He has ？red me.""What for ？""Interfering with his workmen.The boys didn't like what I did the other night and threatened to strike unless I was put in the discard.""And now ？"asked Uncle John，looking curiously at theman.
"I'm out of work and would like a job，sir.""What can you do？""Anything.""That means nothing at all.""I beg your pardon.Let me say that I'm not afraid to tackle anything.""Can you run a power printing press ？""Yes，sir.""Ever had any experience ？"The young man hesitated.
"I'm not sure，"he replied slowly；"but I think I have."This statement would not have been encouraging under ordinary circumstances，but in this emergency Uncle John accepted it.
"What is your name？"he asked.
Another moment's hesitation."Call me Smith，please.""First name ？"The man smiled."Thursday，"he said.
All his hearers seemed astonished at this peculiara name，but Mr.Merrick said abruptly："Follow me，Thursday Smith."The man obeyed，and the girls and Arthur trotted after them back to the pressroom.
"Our pressman has deserted us without warning，"explainedMr.Merrick."None of our other employees is able to run the thing.If you can master it so as to run off the paper tonight，the job is yours."Thursday Smith took off his jacket—a cheap khaki affair—and rolled up his sleeves.Then he carefully looked over the press and found the damaged nippers.Without a word he picked up a wrencha，released the stub ends of the broken ？ngers，gathered the pieces in his hand and asked："Where is there a carpenter shop？""Can you operate this press？"asked Mr.Merrick."Yes，sir.""The carpenter shop is a little shanty back of the hotel.You'll ？nd Lon Taft there."Smith walked away，and Mr.Merrick drew a long breathof relief.
"That's good luck，"he said."You may quit worrying，now，my dears.""Are you sure he's a good pressman，Uncle？""No；but he is sure.I've an idea he wouldn't attempt the thing，otherwise."Mr.Merrick returned to the farm，while Arthur drove Louise over to Huntingdon to gather items for the paper，and Patsy and Beth sat in the of？ce arranging copy.
In an hour Smith came back with new nippers，whichhe ？tted to the steel frame.Then he oiled the press，started itgoing a few revolutions，to test its condition，and handled the machinery so dexterouslya and with such evident confidence that Larry nodded to Fitz and muttered，"He'll do."McGaffey，knowing he was about to decampb，hadnot kept the press very clean；but Thursday Smith put in the afternoon and evening removing grease，polishing and rubbing，until the huge machine shone resplendentc.The girls went home at dinner time，but they sent Arthur to the of？ce at midnight to see if the new pressman was proving capable.The Tuesday morning Tribune greeted them at the breakfast table，and the presswork was remarkably clean and distinct.
