“I beg your pardon, sir, but I heard you mention the _Chronicle_ just now. I would be much obliged if you could tell me where the office is.” The young man turned, looked Seth over and said, affably enough: “Certainly. But you’ll find it shut up. The book-keeper’s gone home.” Then he added, as by a happy afterthought: “If you want to pay a weekly subscription, though, I can take it, just as well as not.” “No,” answered Seth, “I’ve come to work on the _Chronicle_.” “Oh--printer? I guess some of the fellows are there still, throwing in their cases. If you like, I’ll show you.” Seth replied, with some embarrassment, “No, I’m not a printer. I’ve come to be--to be--an editor.” Tom’s manner changed in a twinkling from civility to extreme cordiality. “Oh--ho! you’re the new man from Thessaly, eh? Jack Fairchild’s brother! By Jove! How _are_ you, anyway? When did you get in? Where are you stopping?” “I’m not stopping anywhere--unless it be this stairway here,” Seth replied, pointing to his carpetbag with a smile, for his companion’s cheerfulness was infectious. “I came in half an hour ago, and I scarcely knew where to go, or what to do first. I gather that you are connected with the _Chronicle_.” “Well, I should remark!” said Tom, taking the bag up as he spoke. “Come along. We’ll have some supper down at Bismarck’s, and leave your grip there for the evening. We can call for it on our way home. You’ll stop with me to-night, you know. It ain’t a particularly fly place, but we’ll manage all right, I guess. And how’s Jack?” In the delight of finding so genial a colleague, one, too, who had known and worked with his brother, Seth’s heart rose, as they walked down the street again. He had been more than a little dismayed at the prospect of meeting these unknown writers whose genius radiated in the columns of the _Chronicle_, and in whose company he was henceforth to labor. Especially had he been nervous lest he should not speak with sufficient correctness, and should shock their fastidious ears with idioms insensibly acquired in the back-country. It was a great relief to find that this gentleman was so easy in his conversation, not to say colloquial. They stopped presently at a broad open door, flanked by wide windows, in which were displayed a variety of bright-tinted play bills, and two huge pictures of a goat confidently butting a small barrel. There was a steep pile of these little, dark-colored barrels on the sidewalk at the curb, from which came a curious smell of resin. As they entered, Seth discovered that this odor belonged to the whole place.