The first trouble came an hour later. One of the High-Pocketses--I couldn't tell which one--came into the office. "The foreman sent me up to get some work," he said in his booming voice. I frowned. What was going on back there? I went back, High-Pockets Jones was working on his own machine. High-Pockets Jones was also working on Bill Smith's machine. I looked up quickly. High-Pockets Jones was also standing beside me. He smiled. "Catching, isn't it?" I swallowed, but I knew they were playing tricks. High-Pockets Jones had walked into the cabinet a second time, and his double had worked the controls and produced a third. Well, this could get confusing, but I stayed calm. "You're a floor-man, too, aren't you?" "Yes, sir." "Okay. You go back to the Monotype room and get a bunch of slugs and leads and saw them up to fill the cases. They're getting pretty low." "Yes, sir." He turned and went away. When I got back to the office I thought I'd just turn on the lucite and see what they might be up to next. I had an uneasy feeling. Sure enough, a High-Pockets Jones was stepping out of the second compartment of the cabinet. I gulped and quickly checked the others. This was the fourth one. I went back to raise hell, but High-Pockets--well, one of them--was quite calm about it. "Two men can do it faster than one," he said. I licked my lips and beat my brains, but I didn't know the answer. I went back to think it over. I had just decided to laugh it off when three High-Pockets Joneses came into the office. "We need something to do," they said, all in that great booming voice that seemed to come from the ceiling. "See the foreman. Tell him to give you all the standing type that needs to be distributed." They left. I breathed a sigh of relief and sent out for a padlock to put on the cabinet. * * * * * An hour later, with a nice, shiny new padlock, I went back to the composing-room. But I very nearly fainted when I saw the activity going on back there. The composing-room was filled with High-Pockets Joneses. Two still were at the linecasting machines, and a whole crew of others were running around the floor. "Where's the foreman?" I barked. High-Pockets Jones--one of them--came to attention. "He went home. He was quite discouraged; he told us to throw in all the standing type we could find." It didn't look good. I had the feeling that High-Pockets was laughing at me--this High-Pockets, anyway. That reminded me. I gathered up all the High-Pocketses in the composing-room and lined them up. There were nine--exactly nine--every one of them over seven feet tall and thin as a sidestick, every one of them with a gentle, booming voice. I wanted to tell the original High-Pockets to gather them all up and put them back together, but I didn't know how to find the original. Well, they couldn't get me down. I fooled them. I told them all to take the rest of the day off--at full pay.