Rumor, that mysterious disseminator of news whose tongues are legion, whispered that the Dry Bottom _Kicker_ was to come to life. Wherefore curiosity led many of Dry Bottom's citizens past the door of the _Kicker_ office to steal covert glances at the young man whose figure was bent over the desk inside. Many passed in silence after looking at the young man--he did not see them. Others commented gravely or humorously according to their whim--the young man did not hear them. Seated at the desk he gave his attention to the tasks before him--he was not concerned with rumor; the curiosity of Dry Bottom's citizens did not affect him. Seriously, methodically, steadily, he worked at his desk, while rumor wagged her tongues and curiosity lounged past the window. It was Hollis's first visit to the _Kicker_ office; he had come to work and there was much that he could do. He had found the _Kicker_ installed in a one story frame building, verging upon dilapidation, unpainted, dingy. The appearance of its exterior had given Hollis a queer sensation in the pit of the stomach. He was cheered a little by the businesslike appearance of the interior. It was not what he had been used to, but he felt that it would answer very well in this locality, and--well, he planned to make improvements. About twenty by forty, he estimated the size of the interior. Originally there had been only one room. This had been divided into three sections by partitions. An old, flat-topped desk sat near the front window, a swivel chair before it. Along the wall above the desk were several rows of shelving with paste-board boxes and paper piled neatly up. Calendars, posters, and other specimens of the printer's art covered the walls. In the next room was another desk. Piles of advertising electrotypes, empty forms, and papers filled the corners. The composing room was in the rear. Everything was in order here; type cases, stands, forms. There were a proof press, some galley racks, a printing press, with a forlorn-looking gasolene engine near it. A small cast-iron stove stood in a corner with its door yawning open, its front bespattered with tobacco juice. A dilapidated imposing stone ranged along the rear wall near a door that opened into the sunlight. A man stood before one of the type cases distributing type. He did not look up at Hollis's entrance. "Hello!" greeted Hollis. The man hesitated in his work and looked up. "Hello," he returned, perfunctorily. "I suppose your name is Potter?" Hollis inquired cordially. Judge Graney had told him that if he succeeded in finding the compositor he would have him at the _Kicker_ office this morning. Potter had gone to work without further orders. "Yes," said the man. He came forward. "I am the new owner of the _Kicker_," Hollis informed him with a smile.