"Wait a minute," said Arturius. "You didn't get a slug." He opened the vise. "Short-line stop is out of adjustment," he growled. "What's the matter with this machine, anyway?" High-Pockets looked worried. "Maybe she don't like want ads," he said. "Maybe I better set this take somewhere else." Arturius grunted. High-Pockets went to No. 8. He set the want ads with one eye on No. 7. He was quite sober now. * * * * * The copy-cutter wasn't looking when High-Pockets got back to the desk, and High-Pockets did something he'd never done before in his life. He "worked the hook"--instead of taking want ads, he very quietly took a piece of minion, and then looked around guiltily to see if anybody noticed. He wound his way back to No. 7 and got all set. Arturius was gone. High-Pockets by now realized that he was up against worthy opposition. If he _had_ reached No. 7's soul, he had stirred it the wrong way. From now on he would be extremely careful. Things went all right until after the cast. The line went up to transfer--and there it stuck. High-Pockets sighed and rang the bell. Arturius came, but the scowl on his face was diluted with self-satisfaction. He started to lock the spaceband lever, but when he touched the latch, the spaceband lever went over with a crash and the line of mats spilled out in the intermediate channel. High-Pockets sighed noisily and got up. Arturius was using some uncomplimentary language, and the gleam of satisfaction was all in High-Pockets' eyes now. They picked up the mats, and Arturius pulled out the clutch lever to let the machine finish its revolution. But it stuck on ejection. The clutch grabbed and chattered. He threw the clutch lever in and went around behind. He backed the machine by hand and hammered with the ejector lever. The slug wouldn't come out. He came back, looked at the knife, looked at the ejector blade, examined the mouthpiece. "This mill is nuts," he said in his sourest tone, and added some explanatory remarks that verged on redundancy. He held up the ejector lug while High-Pockets pulled the clutch lever and let the machine go on over. Arturius had to loosen the mold-cap to get the slug out. Then he stood back for High-Pockets to sit down. But by this time High-Pockets had awakened. He looked hard at the copy and whispered to himself, "Oh-oh, no wonder. We've got society. Don't blame her." He told Arturius he had to get a drink. When he came back, Arturius was gone, and very quietly High-Pockets went over to No. 8 and set the type. His next take was a nice piece of telegraph on green copy paper. "She ought to like this." High-Pockets thought, but his face had a wondering look.