I-XVI

Gordon had intended to avoid the vicinity
of the Courthouse on the day of the sale of
his home, but an intangible attraction held
him in its neighborhood. He sat by the door to the
office of the _Greenstream_Bugle_, diagonally across
the street. Within, the week's edition was going to
press; a burly young individual was turning the
cylinders by hand, while the editor and owner dexterously
removed the printed sheets from the press.
The office was indescribably grimy, the rude ceiling
was hung with dusty cobwebs, the windows obscured
by a grey film. A small footpress stood to the left
of the entrance, on the right were ranged typesetter's
cases with high, precarious stools, a handpress for
proof and a table to hold the leaded forms. These,
with the larger press, an air-tight sheet iron stove
and some nondescript chairs, completed the office
furnishings. Over all hung the smell of mingled
grease, ink, and damp paper, flat and penetrating.

Without, the sun shone ardently; it cast a rich
pattern of light and shade on the Courthouse lawn

[[82]]

p081 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p082w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p083

v?