"Very likely."
"Then I'll be prepared."
"You might tie him with a rope, Mr. Walton," said Maud, "and keep
firm hold."
"I will, if Oscar consents."
"I will see about it. But here is my father. Father, this is my
friend, Harry Walton."
"I am glad to see you, Mr. Walton," said Mr. Vincent. "Then you
belong to my profession?"
"I hope to, some time, sir; but I am only a printer as yet."
"You are yet to rise from the ranks. I know all about that. I was
once a compositor."
Harry looked at the editor with great respect. He was stout,
squarely built, with a massive head and a thoughtful expression. His
appearance was up to Harry's anticipations. He felt that he would be
prouder to be Mr. Vincent than any man in Boston, He could hardly
believe that this man, who controlled so influential an organ, and
was so honored in the community, was once a printer boy like himself.
"What paper are you connected with?" asked Mr. Vincent.
"The 'Centreville Gazette.'"
"I have seen it. It is quite a respectable paper."
"But how different," thought Harry, "from a great city daily!"
"Let us go out to dinner," said Mr. Vincent, consulting his watch.
"I have an engagement immediately afterward."
At table Harry sat between Maud and Oscar. If at first he felt a
little bashful, the feeling soon wore away. The dinner hour passed
very pleasantly.
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