The Sedalia weekly bazoo. [volume] (Sedalia, Mo.) 187?-1904, 1884-09-30
THE OLD PRINTER.
Money Told by Bob Bur-
dette.


boy. Long before anyone now in tn,
Office had "sit" in the news room
business Office or sanctum, and befor,
the old man had begun to look out a
the world through spectacles, and hi
figure was as straight as it was tall
the typos and reporters used to hear {
great deal of talk about buying a lo
and building a house on the hill
where he could have patch of gar
den. And by and by he was going t.
quit sticking type and get into some.
hing that would let him stay home
nights and get acquainted with his
family. And the suit of clothes he
bought in the fall lasted long way
into the next summer, and then they
came out again in the winter, and the
old man rushed more than he ever
did again while that dream of home
was inspiring him.
II is an old story, this struggle of a
printer to get home; any one of
these restless mariners of the land,
drifting from port to port and back
again, lured by the ignisfatuus of 80
many cents more a thousand and q
price and q half after two o'clock, and
big bills with four or five nights work.
Never wandering jour printer got a
chance to stand at the old mans case
while he was saving money for q
house and lot, and the subs looked at
him with the despairing glances of
starvation. But it is hard uphill
work .or printer to buy a home.
His pay is easily reduced and hardly
raised; long strike means the road
for him, and If he has a family and
can't tramp, he breaks his heart, puts
dust on bis head, and goes out of the
union and YEARLY works for the
buss's rates.
So the old man worked bravely on,
as many printer has worked before
and sInce his time, and the little
plant in the bank began to grow
brighter as the old clothes grew shah
bier.
And the boy growing into his tenth
year used to be seen in the office after
school, standing at his fathers elbow,
learning in very ire ular, boyish,
unapprenticed fashion, with cataract
of 9ues lions. to stick type. The old
man never intended the boy should
be printer. And he was so proud of
him and of his standing at school /;
and once the boy wrote a ten-lipe &C.
count of a boy falling down stairs,
and a goOd-natured reporter sent it 10
just as it came, although it Was dull |
day and the scribe wanted awfully to |
make it column and put on a hang
ing head And the old man sent |
marked copies of that paper to every
soul he knew in this world.
But one day an unbidden guest |
came home from school with the boy
and sat down by the htarth stone in
the old mans rented home. And the
long days of fever and doctors bills
drew out nearly all that little bank
home account, and one black day the
old mans case was empty and the
business office told the undertaken
that all BIZ bills would be paid there,
and he mustn't take any money from
the old man.
And pale, and quiet, and sad look
ing, old and worn, was the printer who
came next day and took his place at
the case. The types didn't click very
fast in that alley for days after that.
And sometimes the printers face
would be lying on the boxes in his
folded arms. and how pathetic looked
the halfflled stick i'm the clasped
hands, the composing rule fallen out
of place, and the pied type and leads
all tumbling together.
More than one printer. going by
his way to empty his stick in the
galley, was long time bending down
to fiud the take his one followed aud
more than one, looking across at the
heart-brokeD picture OF sorrow, leaned
close down TO his copy to read fair
writing that Was never blurred when
it came off the hook, and grlmed bis
eyes with an unsteady hand. saying
something about the dust or the glare
Of the light.
And then about FIVE years after
that, the boys mother, weary of the
long pilgrimage, lay down to rest in a
cool arbor, rooted with waving
grass and blue violets. and awoke to
kiss her boy.