Memory lifted a curtain and Pud saw himself, with Tim close by, in the job-print room at the back of the _Courant_ office in Millville. It was extremely hot and the sun made golden squares on the old green shades that were pulled partly down at the open windows. Before him, and before Tim, was a pile of printed circulars, and between them were long white boxes into which they pushed envelopes containing the circulars that, with the aid of wooden rulers, they had first thrice folded. This was the price they had had to pay for the trip in the _Kismet_. The circulars, recently from the press, still smudged if you touched the print with your hand, and from them, nauseatingly strong in the hot room, came the odor of printer’s ink! And it was printer’s ink that Pud smelled now. Again he felt of the package, lifted an end of it experimentally, and decided that here, too, were circulars, and, so deciding, lost further interest. Just so long as he didn’t have to fold the pesky things and thrust them into obdurate envelopes they meant nothing in his life. Nothing, at least, unless, searching for them, Lank found a fifteen-year-old boy, clad only in a cotton union-suit, instead! Perhaps ten minutes had passed, perhaps twenty, when Pud realized that the launch was running more slowly. A light flickered past above the bank and faint sounds reached him; a dog barked far off, another answered from startlingly close; a rooster crowed in a tentative, half-hearted way; a man’s voice shouted from nearby; the discordant strains of a concertina grew louder. More lights peeked under the edge of the canvas, the launch’s engine stopped abruptly, the sound of laughter took its place amongst the medley of noise and there was a slight bump and a rasping sound as the launch sidled up to a landing. Pud’s heart began to do double-time again, he pushed the bundle farther into the open and made himself smaller than ever. Lank was stepping ashore with the bow line now, and now he jumped back again, close to Pud’s place of concealment. Pud waited in an agony of suspense. The man didn’t pass on, nor did he fumble along the edge of the canvas. Finally, or so Pud’s straining ears told him, there was a sound that might have been ‘Humph!’ and the feet moved on past Pud’s head. Then the launch tilted a bit, steps sounded on a plank and Pud knew that he was once more alone! He lay still several long moments and then, pushing the bundle softly out of his way, he slowly thrust his head forth and peered about him. There was enough light from the stars and from the cabins that clustered closely along both sides of the stream to show him that, save for himself, the launch was empty. He scrambled out from under the dusty folds of the tent and looked cautiously over the edge of the boat. It was a strange scene that met his eyes.