He condersended to thro in sum type, and wen he got thru, him and a cuppel of our printers adjurned down stares to partake of a shampayne lunch. I guess he warn't used to drinkin lite wines, cos he's been sleepin under the paper-cutter all the afternoon, dreemin that he was bein nom-minated for Preserdent on the great anty-monoperlist ticket. Jest before dinner the edittur told me to tell the make-up man to kill Lawrence Rickard. Now, his store is ware my pa buys all his groseries, and his wife and ma's orful good chums, and b'long to the same sewin' sircle. Mr. Rickard alwus treeted me rite, and I didn't like to see a cupple of bludthursty villanes kill him without givin' him tim to say his prayers, so I called inter his store and told him he'd better skip out or lay lo, cos the edittur was orful mad at him, and had ordered a nuther feller to kill him. He sed he'd fix 'em. So rite after dinner a cupple of perlice cum up to the offis and arrested Mr. Gilley and the make-up man for conspiracy to murder, and they had to xplane it, and pay all the costs. I took a littel vacashun this afternoon, and went out fishin', cos I remembured wot pa says after he's kissed ma by telerfone, “Distance lends enchantment to the vue.” So I thot them two bad men wyld be more enchanted with me if I kep at a safe distance. I'm orful frade my jurnulistick carrieer's goin' to be broken off short, but I don't think they orter blamed me, cos the edittur shutd er told me to tell the make-up man to take out that local notis wot red: “Fresh vegetabels and grene truck received daily, at L. I. Rickard's Grocerie,” insted of makin' me tell him to kill Mr. Rickatrd, Well, if I can't be a jurnulist and make a fortune, I' kno wot I can be, I'll go to the offis in the mornin', and if there's eny music in the air, I'll resine and berry my hopes. Then I'll leese Dennis Ryan's old blind muel, wot's too week to kik, and go to peddlin' fish. The _Buster_ will bust 'fore they make enything outer this chickin; ain't that so, Mister Diry? CHAPTER VI. THE CLOWD SHEW's ITS SILVER LININ', AND GEORGIE DOES HISSELF PROUD.--THE RED-HEDDED OLD SNOOZER QUAKES BEFORE THE DEVIL.-- HE'S GOT THE GALL. To-day has ben a glorius day for me, cos it seems like I'd done sumthin wot was a onher to the perfesshun. Wen I went down to the offis I felt like my resignashun wuld be axceptabel, cos my servises could easyly be dispensed with. I left the door opin wen I went in so as I'd have a avenew of 'scape in case a mine 'xploded. Jest as I got in the press-room I hearn a muffelled voice say: “Georgie, my boy, is that you?” I answered: “Yes, sir.” Then I seen the edittur reclinin' in a recumbent posishun, under the big sillinder press, lookin'whither 'an a sheet, and tremblm' like he'd seen his grandpa's gost. I arst him wot was the matter, and he sez: