“But our room’s the best,” finished Bud, with an air of conscious pride. Larry was shown where the offices of the different editors were, so that he would know where to go if sent with messages to them. He was also taken to the composing room. There he stood for a while bewildered by the noise and seeming confusion. A score of typesetting machines were at work, clicking away while the men sat at the keyboards, which were almost like those of typewriters. Larry saw where the tubes with copy in them bounced from the air pipe into a box. From that they were taken to a table by a boy, whose face was liberally covered with printer’s ink. There a man rapidly numbered them with a blue pencil, and gave the sheets out to the compositors. “Sometimes you have to come up here for proofs of a story,” Bud explained. “Then go over to that man there,” pointing to a tall thin individual, “and repeat whatever Mr. Emberg or whoever sends you, says. You see there are several different kinds of type in the heads of a story and each story is called according to the kind of a head it has.” “I’m afraid I’ll never learn,” said Larry, who was beginning to feel confused. “Oh yes, you will. I’ll explain it all to you. You probably won’t have to go for proofs for several days. You’ll only have to carry copy.” They stayed up in the composing room for some time, and every second Larry wondered more and more how out of so much seeming confusion any order could ever come. Boys with long galleys, like narrow brass pans that corresponded in size to columns of the newspaper, and set full of type, were hurrying with them to a big machine where they were placed on a flat table, and a roller covered with ink passed over them. Then a boy placed a long narrow slip of paper on the inky type, passed another roller over it, and lifted off the paper. “That’s what they calling pulling or taking a proof,” said Bud. “But come on now, we’ll go back to the city room and rush copy. I guess there’s some by this time.” There was quite a bit, for a number of stories had been handed in by the reporters, had been looked over by Mr. Emberg, his assistant, or the copy readers, and were ready for the compositors. Peter had been kept busy running back and forth and was in no gentle humor. “I’ll fix you for this,” muttered Peter to Larry and Bud. “I’ll get even for running off and letting me do all the work. You jest wait an’ see wot I do!” He spoke in a low tone, for he did not want the city editor to hear. “Cut it out,” advised Bud with a grin. “I was sent to show Larry about the plant and you know it. Besides, if you try any of your tricks I know something I can do.” “What?” asked Peter. “Who was smoking cigarettes?” asked Bud in a whisper. “If you squeal on me I’ll--I’ll do you up brown,” threatened Peter. “It will take two like you,” boasted Bud. “Well, I can get somebody to help me,” sputtered Peter.