Emerging from Donovan's drug store Henry encountered the ponderous person of old Boice--six feet an inch and a half, head sunk a little between the shoulders, thick yellowish-white whiskers waving down over a black bow tie and a spotted, roundly protruding vest, a heavy old watch chain with insignia of a fraternal order hanging as a charm; inscrutable, washed-out blue eyes in a deeply lined but nearly expressionless face. Henry stopped short; stared at his employer. Mr Boice did not stop. But as he moved deliberately by, his faded eyes took in every detail of Henry's not unremarkable personal appearance. Henry was thinking: 'Old crook. Wish I had a paper of my own here and I'd get back at him. Run him out of town, that's what!' And after he had nodded and rushed by, his colouring mounting: 'Like to know why I should work my head off just to make money for _him_. No sense in that!' Henry came moodily into the _Voice_ office, dropped down at his inkstained, littered table behind the railing, and sighed twice. He picked up a pencil and fell to outlining ink spots. The sighs were directed at Humphrey, who sat bent over his desk, cob pipe in mouth, writing very rapidly. 'He's got wonderful concentration,' thought Henry, his mind wandering a brief moment from his unhappy self. Humphrey spoke without looking up. 'Don't let that Business Men's Picnic get away from you, Hen. Really ought to be getting it in type now. Two compositors loafing out there.' Henry sighed again; let his pencil fall on the table; gazed heavily, helplessly at the wall... 'Old man say anything to you about the “Library Notes”?' Humphrey glanced up and removed his pipe. His swarthy long face wrinkled thoughtfully. 'Yes. Just now. He's going to have Miss Wombast send 'em in direct every month.' 'And I don't have 'em any more.' Humphrey considered this fact. 'It doesn't amount to very much, Hen.' 'Oh, no--works out about sixty cents to a dollar. It ain't that altogether--it's the principle. I'm getting tired of it!' The press-room door was ajar, Humphrey reached out and closed it. Henry raised his voice; got out of his chair and sat on the edge of the table. His eyes brightened sharply. Emotion crept into his voice and shook it a little. 'Do you know what's he done to me--that old doubleface? Took me in here two years ago at eight a week with a promise of nine if I suited. Well, I did suit. But did I get the nine? Not until I'd rowed and begged for seven months. A year of that, a lot more work--You know! “Club Notes,” this library stuff, “Real Estate Happenings,” “Along Simpson Street,” reading proof--' Humphrey slowly nodded as he smoked.