“And they don’t care a cent whether I see a proof of my article or not,” he said to himself. “In fact I don’t believe they will show me a proof at all, for it’s not necessary. They’re just keeping me here so that I won’t take the news to any of the other papers. They’re after a ‘beat,’ and I think they’ve got one.” Rap-tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-atap-atap-atap, atap. It was a heavy pounding somewhere overhead; and Dick knew what that meant, too. The printers were “planing down a form”--leveling the type with a mallet and smooth block of wood. That is one of the last operations before the presses begin to move, and a sure sign that the paper will soon be out. But the gray-bearded editor worked away at his proofs, and still Dick was left to himself. Presently there came up through the floor a noise that sounded like suppressed shrieks, followed in a few seconds by a rumble and jar that shook the building. The belts had taken hold, and the presses were at work, three stories below, far under the sidewalk. At 2.10 A.M., a boy rushed in with an armful of fresh papers, and handed one to each of the fifteen or twenty men who still remained in the room. Dick had no need even to open the paper to see his article, for there it was in the place of honor, the first column of the first page, with a big head over it, and the first third of a column double-leaded to make it look larger. He was almost frightened when he turned the paper over and found that he had written a column and a quarter. “That is a good thing of yours, Mr. Sumner,” the spectacled editor said; and Dick felt himself growing red when fifteen or twenty pairs of eyes were turned toward him. “You evidently know a piece of news when you see it, and you have handled the subject well. Let me have your name and address, please; there may be more news in Russellville.” While Dick was writing his address on a piece of paper the other morning papers were brought in by a boy and laid upon the spectacled editor’s desk. He picked out the three or four leading ones and hastily looked them over. “We’ve done them!” he exclaimed; and he turned about and beamed smiles over everybody present. “No one else has a word about Governor Wright’s accident. Your first article in the Transport is a straight out-and-out beat, Mr. Sumner.” He turned to his desk again and hastily wrote a few words with his blue pencil. “Hand this to the cashier on your way out,” he said, giving Dick a small slip of paper; “and come to us when you have more news. Good night, Mr. Sumner.” Pride, excitement, fatigue were all helping to make Dick feel that the night’s work was not quite real. He had stepped upon the magic carpet and it had carried him to enchanted regions far away from Russellville and the Record office. On the first landing he stopped under the light and read what the spectacled editor had written upon the slip of paper:--