Just, however, as their patience was getting exhausted, and Reginald was making up his mind to shake the dust of the place from his feet, a boy appeared and offered to escort them to the composing-room.
They followed him up several flights of a rickety staircase, and down some labyrinthine passages to a large room where some forty or fifty men were busy setting up type.

At the far end of this room, at a small table, crowded with "proofs," sat a red-faced individual whom the boy pointed out as "Duffy." "Well, now, what do _you_ want ?" asked he, as the brothers approached.
"The manager said we were to ask for Mr Durfy," said Reginald.
"I wish to goodness he'd keep you down there; he knows I'm crowded out with boys.

He always serves me that way, and I'll tell him so one of these days." This last speech, though apparently addressed to the boys, was really a soliloquy on Mr Durfy's part; but for all that it failed to enchant his audience.

They had not, in their most sanguine moments, expected much, but this was even rather less than they had counted on.
Mr Durfy mused for some time, then, turning to Reginald, he said,-- "Do you know your letters ?" Here was a question to put to the captain of the fifth at Wilderham! "I believe I do," said Reginald, with a touch of scorn in his voice which was quite lost on the practical Mr Durfy.
"What do you mean by believe?
Do you, or do you not ?" "Of course I do." "Then why couldn't you say so at once?
Take this bit of copy and set it up at that case there.

And you, young fellow, take these proofs to the sub-editor's room, and say I've not had the last sheet of the copy of the railway accident yet, and I'm standing for it.