“Working here with me.” “Printin’ the paper?” “Yes. Running the press. Washing the type. Sweeping the room. Going on the errand, peddling the paper. Oh, a what you call the general utility man. A man of all the work.” Chick threw a comprehensive glance around the room, as if to take in the situation. “You want a man?” he asked. “Yes.” “How much you want to pay?” “For the all-day job?” “No, for half a day. I got customers I can’t give up mornin’s.” “Well, let me see! I pay you forty cents for the half day.” “’Tain’t enough,” replied Chick promptly. “Fifty cents.” “That’s more like it; but you’ll have to stretch it a little furder.” “Fifty-five. I will not pay more.” “All right! I’m your huckleberry.” Chick’s eyes snapped, and a flush came into his cheeks. Here was a steady job facing him on his own terms. He did not doubt his ability to handle it. He felt that the employment would be congenial. He accepted the place without question. There was more discussion concerning the nature of the duties which the new employee was to perform, his hours of labor, and the day on which he should begin work. But these matters were easily settled, and when Chick rose to go the bargain was complete. He felt now that he had taken his proper place in the army of workers. He had what he had long wanted, a regular job. Moreover, the nature of his task, that of assisting in the preparation and publication of a weekly journal, was such as to justify him in assuming an air of importance commensurate with the character of his duties. When he reached the head of the stairs on his way out a thought came to him and he turned back. “I want it understood,” he said to Donatello, “that, so long as I’m helpin’ to git out this paper, they mustn’t be no jumpin’ on the National Guard, nor on Company E. I won’t stand for it.” “And if it should be so that there is?” Donatello’s voice was smooth and musical. “I’ll resign my position,” declared Chick. “Very well! That bridge we will cross when we have reached it.” The next day General Chick was added to the working staff of _The Disinherited_. On a day late in April, Hal received a note from Donatello asking him to call that evening at the printing-room of _The Disinherited_. It was not an unusual request, nor was it the first time that Hal had visited the quarters of the social radical. At the street door he found General Chick who was looking up and down the walk and apparently waiting for him. Chick had been for some months now in Donatello’s employ. He did miscellaneous work about the place, went on errands, washed type, delivered papers, put his hands to almost every task that a boy with a lop-shoulder and a crooked back could be expected to do. He was not overworked. Donatello treated him kindly, paid him living wages, and made a friend of him. All in all it was the best job Chick had ever had.