The Arkansaw traveler., 1888-03-17
VOL. l2. NO. 17.
THE OLD OFFICE.

The other day I went into a little
 printing office at Hobsville, Ky.
 Years ago I went into that office to learn the printers trade. did not do this with any hope of becoming a Horace Greeley, but because the type was set in the shade. had come from a farm, and brought with me long
 standing dread of the sun. thought that all work performed in the shade was mere play; and, like my neighbors in the country, believed that, from rust of a passive condition, all town people were lazy. went to town
 knowing that all my old friends would
 issue advance proof sheets of their cen sure and denounce me as lazy even be-
 fore I should have time to rest myself after 1 got to the shade, but this did not worry me, for, to tell the truth, was lazy. Am now, for that matter
 The printing office was on the top floor of the only three story building in town. My first duty was to carry
 green cord word up the stairs. 1 felt proud of my position, knowing that I was advancing toward an editorial career, and, staggering under green chunk that would have made steer sway backed, I pictured the time when, sitting in my "sanctum," could, with determined hand, write "Uncle Billy
 Potter was in town yesterday" "Dave Spreens is out again after severe at-
 tack of fux," and other glowing sen-
 tences. I carried up two cords and a half of wood the first day, and at night
 I felt sort of emotional pride in the fact that my work was finished but the next morning, before breakfast, 8 farmer drove up in front of the office and threw off another cord and half of wood. Some of it was green syca- more, and it seemed to me that an or dinary chunk of it would weigh 8 ton. carried it up stairs, and at evening, thoroughly worn out with my days work, had sat down to steal few puffs from a cob pipe when one of the boys came up and said that the editor wanted to see me. A thrill, like the juicy sting of ripe peach, shot through my system. knew that the time for my first promotion had came and I hurried to the editor. His countenance did not beam in compli- ment upon me when I entered the door, but without the least sign of emotion he told me that a load of old rails had just ar- rived, and that to guard against theft, the rails must be cut up that night and safely housed upstairs. I had caught the thrilling perfume of a rose as I was bounding up the stairs the sickening odor of dog -fennel came to me as I went down. The moon was shining when went to work. The old axe, whose edge was familiar with the stones of the square, rebounded from the rails with angry jumps. The drug clerk, the dry goods man and the driver of the "city" express wag- on, sat on boxes not far away, and be- tween their loud bursts of laughter I could catch the droning recital of an old joke. Around the square the store doors slammed, one by one, and the lights went out like red eyes closed in the last stiffened wink of death. I hacked on. The last train came in, and knock kneed negro, carrying the carpet-b bag of commercial tfM4eler, passed on his way to the hotel, and that midnight gloom, that gloom which finds its most impenetrable depth on the square of coun- try town, hovered like a vulture, setting in sullen incubation on the eggs of night. I hacked on. A freight train rushed past and jared the town, the town COW lowed dolefully as she turned down an alley, and an old SOW, whose back bore the marks of many 8 scald and burn, lifted frail gate from its hinges, went into a yard and grunted with satisfaction as she