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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0fcd2d4 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65861 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65861) diff --git a/old/65861-0.txt b/old/65861-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 2d6061d..0000000 --- a/old/65861-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1123 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Mischievous Typesetter, by Noel -Loomis - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Mischievous Typesetter - -Author: Noel Loomis - -Release Date: July 18, 2021 [eBook #65861] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISCHIEVOUS -TYPESETTER *** - - - - - - THE MISCHIEVOUS TYPESETTER - - By Noel Loomis - - They say that man is the master of any machine - he can devise. But whoever coined the phrase didn't - know about this linotype--with a mind of its own.... - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy - July 1952 - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -The judge reared back. High-Pockets waited. "In my opinion," his -honor began a little ambiguously, "a linotype operator is very near -the bottom of the scale of humanity. There is only one person who -stands beneath him. That is the poet." The judge's eyes turned full on -High-Pockets, all seven gangling feet of him. "You," the judge said -ominously, "are both." - -High-Pockets waited in dread. He had a premonition that this wasn't -even going to be a nice jail sentence where he could meditate and -reflect on his strange power over linotypes. This was going to be the -workhouse. The situation was desperate indeed. - -"You profess to be a barnstormer and a student of mechanical nature." -The judge smiled sarcastically. "I can offer you an unusual opportunity -for research. As an old proofreader, I occasionally help out on the -_Daily News_, and it has come to my attention that there is a linotype -on the _News_ known as No. 7 that recently has begun to misbehave. -Without apparent reason, it has become almost useless." - -High-Pockets cringed with the impact of the knowledge that His -Honor had once been a proofreader. The traditional enmity between -proofreaders and operators, High-Pockets perceived, was about to be -judicially resolved. So he cringed. He was very sad. - -"Suppose you go up there and try your wizardry on No. 7." His Honor -suggested. "In the meantime, thirty days suspended sentence. If you're -back here before your time is up, it will be sixty days. And if there -is drunkenness connected with it," he said, looking disdainfully at -High-Pockets' red nose, "it will be ninety. Is that clear?" - -"Yes, your honor." High-Pockets mumbled, but he was thinking of other -things. He had been sentenced to work at his trade. That meant contact -with proofreaders, and High-Pockets bristled. But the bristling -subsided rapidly, as High-Pockets, simulating a grateful smile from -long habit, realized with a sickly feeling that for perhaps the first -time in his long career, a proofreader had had the complete and final -word, and High-Pockets did not dare to answer back.... - -They spotted High-Pockets coming across the composing-room of the -_Daily News_ when they saw a red nose following an eccentric orbit up -among the fluorescent lights. High-Pockets didn't exactly duck the -lights. When he came face to face with one, his incredibly tall knees -limbered up and he sort of weaved under it. - -The union chairman met him with a handshake. "High-Pockets Jones," he -said, grinning, "Dean of Barnstormers and Wizard of the Linotype. I -know you from your picture. Can you really make a linotype stand up on -its hind legs and talk?" - -"Well," High-Pockets said in a modest, booming voice, "I will admit -that's one of my more difficult stunts." - - * * * * * - -The chairman guffawed, and they steered High-Pockets to the slip-board. -"I can put you on a week's stretch." - -High-Pockets stopped as if he had walked into a brick wall. "No!" he -boomed. "Can't do it! Haven't worked five days straight in twenty -years." - -"But look, High-Pockets. Look at it this way. You're an old-time -barnstormer, aren't you?" - -High-Pockets winced. - -"Well," the chairman said diplomatically, "there's not as much call for -barnstormers as there used to be, but--" he said it quickly--"here's a -new field. It needs a good barnstormer as much as they ever did." - -High-Pockets listened intently. - -"This poor guy has to sit on No. 7. That's the linotype nobody can do -anything with. The poor devil had to lay off because she pretty nearly -drove him crazy. Now you are the guy who can make a linotype behave." -His voice was persuasive. "Won't you help this guy out for a few -nights?" - -For twenty years it had been High-Pockets' unbroken rule not to hire -out for more than a day at a time. "Short-term contracts," he insisted. -But now--well, the world was changed. Maybe this was to be the future -of barnstorming--taming machines instead of foremen. If so, it meant he -still had a place in the world. And to fulfill that destiny he would -even accept a whole week's work. He took off his rain-wrinkled coat -with a sigh. - -He was waiting for time to be called when Arturius Wickware, the -linotype machinist on the _News_, came up to him with short, mincing -steps and a scowl that undoubtedly was a habit. "Are you the guy that -has such wonderful control over a linotype?" he demanded. He wouldn't -give High-Pockets the satisfaction of looking up at him. He scowled at -High-Pockets' breast-bone. - -High-Pockets was solemn as he stared over Arturius' head. "I get along -well with them." He smiled gently then. "Somehow a linotype always -does what I want it to do." He looked down and saw the crowd around -him and decided he owed them an explanation. "My theory is that any -piece of machinery is electrified by some force that I call personal -electricity. I don't exactly know what that is but it seems to bind the -piece of machinery as a whole. I think maybe it's a negative charge, -and I think most men are charged positively with that same force, so -that men get along well with machines. Opposite poles attract, you -know." - -Arturius Wickware sputtered, but now High-Pockets had to go on. -"Sometimes a man comes along who happens to be negatively charged, and -he can't handle a piece of machinery at all. But now I--you see this -scar in the middle of my forehead--" he removed his faded hat, "I -was struck by lightning on a freight train out in Utah, and I think it -multiplied my 'personal' electricity potential a lot--maybe millions -of times--so machinery just _has_ to do what I want it to, because it -_wants_ to do it. You see?" - -There was an odd silence; then the chairman spoke. "Old No. 7 started -acting up when they built the first uranium pile south of town here, -but it really went bad when it was hit by lightning that followed down -the ventilation pipe two months ago." - -High-Pockets' blue eyes opened wide. "Maybe its negative field was -reversed by some stray rays from the pile, and then when the lightning -hit it, it intensified the field so that the machine is now strongly -positive. You know how it is," he said earnestly. "A body illuminated -by ultraviolet light becomes positively charged, and even a hot body -becomes positively charged by what they call thermionic emission. Well, -that's okay. A linotype is exactly like a woman. It has a soul--if you -know how to reach it." - -Old Arturius snorted so loudly the electric relay on No. 7 made contact -and the heating switch came on with a clatter. "You can work on No. 7 -tonight," he said acidly. "Let's see if _it's_ got a soul." He turned -on his heel and stamped back to his bench.... - -It never occurred to High-Pockets to doubt his success with No. 7. He -carefully hung his ten-year-old coat in an empty locker and made sure -the pint of bourbon was safely in the inside pocket of the coat. Then -he walked into the composing-room and over to No. 7, and stood for a -moment looking her over. He frowned. "It's almost as if she was laying -her ears back and getting ready to snarl at me," he said wonderingly. - -"She'll snarl," said Arturius at his back. "She'll _bite_, before the -night's over." - -High-Pockets tried to look amused. "I'll have her setting type by -herself before lunch time," he promised. - - * * * * * - -High-Pockets got the lowest chair in the composing-room, to bring his -arms down near the keyboard. His nose was still red and he weaved a -little in the chair, but he began to fold in his arms until his hands -were over the keyboard. - -The first take went smoothly. High-Pockets could feel a clash of -wills, but he was slow and careful. He set two more takes, and nothing -happened, so he began to relax. His third take was a short piece of -telegraph copy for the second edition. He put it in the copy holder and -then decided to get a drink of water. He ran into some friends and they -spent five minutes around the fountain before the foreman came by. - -High-Pockets went back to the machine. He sat down and got his arms -tucked in, then reached for a slug with his name on it and started -to put it in the stick. Then he frowned and rang the bell for the -machinist. - -"Somebody's playing tricks on me," he said. "Who's been working here?" - -"Nobody but you," Arturius said nastily. - -High-Pockets licked his lips. "I'd swear I didn't set this take." -But Arturius looked intensely satisfied and went away. Thoughtfully -High-Pockets took the type out of the stick and put his take slug on -it and went to the dump. When he sat down again he shook his head and -rubbed his eyes before he went to work. "No. 7 musta set that take -herself," he muttered, "but that's not according to union rules." He -said it without actually believing it. - -He got along all right until nearly lunch time. By then, he was dry -again, and he got a long take of the next day's editorial and stuck it -in the copy board, then went to the fountain, and finally decided to go -to the washroom and smoke a cigarette. - -When he got back to the machine he picked up a take slug and pulled -back the slug-stacker--and then he froze tight. - -High-Pockets looked a little scared. He licked his lips and took the -stick out of the machine. It was a long take, about ten inches of type. -He laid it across his knees and compared it with the copy. It checked. -He read it over upside down. Not a single error. - -"Well, _I_ didn't set it, anyway," he muttered. "I couldn't _possibly_ -set an okay proof, the way _I_ feel." - -Somewhat resignedly he took the type to the dump. - -The dump-man looked at him. "Turning 'em out pretty fast. Whatta you -think this is, a piecework town?" - -High-Pockets looked chastened, but said nothing. - -He went to the copy desk. There was nothing now but want ads. He got -a take and then he had a bright idea. He put the want ads on the copy -board and went for a drink of water. He was dry again, anyway. He took -plenty of time, and then came back and confidently picked up a take -slug. - -But he got a jolt when he looked at the stick. It was empty. - -High-Pockets nodded wisely. "So it doesn't like want ads any better -than anybody else," he said to himself. "Now, that's a dirty shame." - -He got all folded in and started to operate. But at the first letter he -touched, the keyboard belt broke. He called Arturius and had it fixed, -and tried again. The mats jammed up in the chute. - -He cleaned them out and then started carefully hitting one letter at a -time. But the very first one came to the starwheel, and rang the bell -again. "Star-wheel spring is loose," he said. "She won't bring the mats -down." - -Arturius looked at him with a scowl that bore the heavy responsibility -of the entire world, and then without a word sat down to fix it. He -stood by while High-Pockets tried again. The line finally was filled -and High-Pockets sent it in and started on the second line. - -"Wait a minute," said Arturius. "You didn't get a slug." He opened the -vise. "Short-line stop is out of adjustment," he growled. "What's the -matter with this machine, anyway?" - -High-Pockets looked worried. "Maybe she don't like want ads," he said. -"Maybe I better set this take somewhere else." - -Arturius grunted. High-Pockets went to No. 8. He set the want ads with -one eye on No. 7. He was quite sober now. - - * * * * * - -The copy-cutter wasn't looking when High-Pockets got back to the desk, -and High-Pockets did something he'd never done before in his life. He -"worked the hook"--instead of taking want ads, he very quietly took -a piece of minion, and then looked around guiltily to see if anybody -noticed. - -He wound his way back to No. 7 and got all set. Arturius was gone. -High-Pockets by now realized that he was up against worthy opposition. -If he _had_ reached No. 7's soul, he had stirred it the wrong way. From -now on he would be extremely careful. - -Things went all right until after the cast. The line went up to -transfer--and there it stuck. High-Pockets sighed and rang the -bell. Arturius came, but the scowl on his face was diluted with -self-satisfaction. - -He started to lock the spaceband lever, but when he touched the latch, -the spaceband lever went over with a crash and the line of mats spilled -out in the intermediate channel. - -High-Pockets sighed noisily and got up. Arturius was using some -uncomplimentary language, and the gleam of satisfaction was all in -High-Pockets' eyes now. - -They picked up the mats, and Arturius pulled out the clutch lever to -let the machine finish its revolution. But it stuck on ejection. The -clutch grabbed and chattered. He threw the clutch lever in and went -around behind. He backed the machine by hand and hammered with the -ejector lever. The slug wouldn't come out. - -He came back, looked at the knife, looked at the ejector blade, -examined the mouthpiece. "This mill is nuts," he said in his sourest -tone, and added some explanatory remarks that verged on redundancy. He -held up the ejector lug while High-Pockets pulled the clutch lever and -let the machine go on over. - -Arturius had to loosen the mold-cap to get the slug out. Then he stood -back for High-Pockets to sit down. But by this time High-Pockets had -awakened. He looked hard at the copy and whispered to himself, "Oh-oh, -no wonder. We've got society. Don't blame her." He told Arturius he had -to get a drink. When he came back, Arturius was gone, and very quietly -High-Pockets went over to No. 8 and set the type. - -His next take was a nice piece of telegraph on green copy paper. "She -ought to like this." High-Pockets thought, but his face had a wondering -look. - -He put the copy in the holder and got ready to massage the keyboard. -But he'd just got his arms folded up and his fingers stretched out when -the mats began to drop into the assembling elevator. They dropped with -perfect timing. The assembling elevator filled and High-Pockets' eyes -began to gleam. "She'll have to wait for me to send the line in," he -thought. But old No. 7 wouldn't be denied. The elevator went up, the -line went in, the elevator came down, and mats started dropping again. -High-Pockets got up and went to a window. He leaned out and breathed -the crisp night air. - -When he got back the take was finished. - -He got the second take of the same story and went back to the machine. -He put the take in the copy holder and then, out of habit, he looked at -the stick. It was already half full of type. He was almost afraid to -compare it with his copy, but he did. - -After he checked it, he got up and went to the locker room. Nobody else -was there. He pulled the pint bottle out of his coal pocket and without -hesitation violated another strict office rule--he took a good, long, -healthy drink of bourbon. - -He wiped his lips and came back. No. 7 was still running over. He -looked at the type. There was a guideline that said "Third Add--Nazi -Werewolves." High-Pockets turned on his heel and went back to the -locker room. This time he had two drinks, and when he finished he -weaved a little more. - -"Monkeying with souls," he muttered, "is dangerous business." - - * * * * * - -He was thankful the story had only three takes. First he thought he -would dump the third take in the metal pot, but when he picked it up it -was so hot that even he, with calloused finger-tips from handling hot -slugs for twenty years, couldn't hold it. So he dumped both takes and -turned off the motor, then went to lunch. - -That is, he borrowed a dollar from the chairman and started for the -restaurant. But he passed a saloon on the way, and decided he was more -in need of a drink. - -When he got back he had a little trouble with the fluorescent lights. -They weaved when he weaved, and it took some rather delicate navigation -to beat them to the punch. It was fortunate that the light tubes were -fixed securely in their sockets, and fortunate that the foreman had -gone into the office to check the time cards. - -When High-Pockets got back to the copy desk, he was pretty fuzzy around -the edges. He looked over his first take as soon as he got behind the -desk. Then he gave a relieved sigh. This was Editorial. No. 7 wouldn't -be so fussy--he hoped. - -He got four paragraphs through before he ran into trouble. Then some -mats jammed up at the top of the assembler entrance cover. High-Pockets -started to ring the bell, but decided not to. He could dig it out -himself. He'd had enough trouble with Arturius for one night. - -He opened the entrance cover, and a hundred mats fell down over -his arm and onto the keyboard with an ominous tinkle. Their weight -depressed some twenty keys, and the power drive immediately began to -function, and the mats from those twenty channels dropped in twenty -curving streams on the keyboard, which depressed still more keys and -made more mats drop, and in about two minutes No. 7 had poured fifteen -hundred mats into High-Pockets' lap. - -He did one thing before he rang the bell. He brushed the mats off the -copy holder and looked at the rest of the paragraph. It ended, "--and -the blame for Pearl Harbor thus lay at the door of the White House." - -High-Pockets got up, shedding mats by the hundreds. Arturius came, -looking as if he were about to detonate. Half the operators in the shop -were there to enjoy the fact that at least there was one man who wasn't -afraid to have trouble with No. 7. - -Somebody chuckled and said. "Get a basket," but High-Pockets knew it -wasn't meant for him and nobly disdained a reply. He was muttering to -himself, "I've heard these machines called a lot of things in my time, -but this is the first one I ever saw that could justifiably be called a -Republican." - -The machinist was verbose, a little on the vicariously obscene side. -High-Pockets helped him pick the mats off the floor, but it was almost -an hour before they got the machine going again. - -When they did, High-Pockets went back to look at the slip-board. He -studied it for a few minutes with a queer look on his face, then -started for the chairman. But halfway there, he changed his mind. No -machine had ever got the best of him before, and he'd been up against -some tough ones. He was a barnstormer, wasn't he? - -So he went back to the battle. But now there wasn't any copy, so he -wandered around with that queer look on his face, and finally wound up -in the locker room where he decided he might as well kill the pint. He -smoked a cigarette and stuck his head out of the window into the fresh -air. - - * * * * * - -When the pint was thoroughly defunct he returned. The machine was quiet -again, but the stick was half full. He didn't even look at it. There -wasn't any copy, but he took the type to the dump. - -The next take was copy for "Good Morning, Glory," the paper's star -columnist. That seemed to go very well. No. 7 perhaps couldn't quite -make out what was happening. Well, that was nothing. Most columnists -were like that. - -Then again there wasn't any copy. A young fellow came down from the -newsroom and spoke to the copy-cutter. "There'll be a story down for -the eleven-fifteen edition," he said. "'Two Women Murdered.' About a -column." - -The copy-cutter looked at the clock. "It's eleven o'clock now," he -said. "Where is it?" - -"Just starting to write it upstairs. We'll get it down as fast as we -can." - -The copy-cutter grumbled. "Better have a make-over, then. We won't have -time to handle it." - -But High-Pockets knew better. He poked his head over the desk and -sneaked a look at No. 7. She was grinding away. High-Pockets went back -to the dump and looked at the guideline of his stickful without copy. -It said, "Two Women Murdered." - -But nobody would ever give out a long take like that so near closing -time. He looked again. He should have known. The half-a-stickful was -divided into thirds, carefully guided "First Add" and "Second Add", and -at the bottom of the last add was a turned slug and a line, "More to -Come." - -The copy tube swished, and a carrier thumped in the box. "Here," the -copy-cutter said, "here's a precede on that atomic bomb explosion. You -might as well set that while we're waiting." - -"Okay," said High-Pockets, and in the now hazy recesses of his mind -he made a mighty resolution: he would set this take himself; No. 7 be -damned. - -He went straight to the machine. Mats were dropping, but High-Pockets -just raised his eyebrows and reached up and turned off the power. That -would stop her. - -He got his copy all fixed and his arms folded in, and then he unfolded -one arm and turned on the power while his right hand hovered over the -keyboard. Apparently No. 7 didn't quite know what to make of this -new attack, and he was able to get several lines through before she -figured it out. Then she seemed to sit back and get her breath, and -High-Pockets, with a wide grin on his face, manipulated the keyboard -fast enough to keep the machine hung so she wouldn't get a chance on -her own hook. - -But eventually he had a pileup of mats and had to miss a line. He was -crestfallen. But strangely enough, she didn't start in when he got the -assembling elevator clear. He watched her out of the corner of his eye -while he gingerly assembled the line, but nothing happened. He sent -that line in and watched it go through without any disturbance, then he -sat back a moment and he and the machine sized each other up. Still no -mats dropped of their own volition. High-Pockets grinned. Maybe he was -beginning to sober up. - -He set a line and sent it in, watching. It justified and the pot came -forward to cast. "Hmp," said High-Pockets. "Who said she's human? -Sub-human, I call it." - -Something happened when he said that. The second justification lever -went up with a bang that shook the whole machine, and High-Pockets -reached for the clutch lever with his left hand. - -But he was so long he had to grab something with his right hand to -balance, and just then the line delivery came back with a snap and -smashed his right thumb. - -"Ouch!" said High-Pockets, and jumped up and then he swore and shook -his hand. - -A minute later he sat down again with a determined gleam in his eyes. -He tightened the vise-locking screws and leaned over to look at the -line, down in the jaws, to be sure the mats were in alignment before he -pulled the clutch. And just then the right hand locking stud came loose -with a snap and spun clockwise, and the cross-handle cracked him on the -chin. - -High-Pockets took it like a man. He didn't even swear this time. He -got out of his chair. "I _will_ see if that line is all right," he -muttered. "If I don't--" - - * * * * * - -He tightened the screw, then he got his head in under the intermediate -bar to look. And at that moment a gust of air blew a cloud of graphite -out of the intermediate channel and filled his right eye. He was nearly -blinded, but he didn't ask for help. Very quietly he wound his way to -the washroom. He cleaned his face and worked the graphite out of his -eye as well as he could, and then, with a determined look on his face, -went back. - -Arturius reached the machine about the same time he did, "What did you -leave her on the cast for?" he barked. - -High-Pockets didn't answer. - -Arturius indulged in some choice blasphemy with its direction divided -equally between High-Pockets and No. 7. High-Pockets felt sorry for -Arturius. He went to the locker room and determined to his satisfaction -that the pint was still dead, then he came back. The boy had left some -proofs on his machine. High-Pockets picked them up to scan them. Then -he swore vigorously. "Proofreaders!" he sputtered. "Comma chasers! Look -at this!" he invited the world. "Put a hyphen in the word _good-will_. -Marked a double _e_ in _employe_. Changed _thous-and_ to _thou-sand_!" -He clenched his fists and raised them far above his head. "Give me -strength!" he groaned. "Give me strength! On top of everything else, -the proofreaders have to go nuts too." - -He started for the proof room, clutching the proofs in one hand. His -long arms swung as he weaved among the lights. He went in the door of -the proof room and stood there a moment. His head was above the lights -and for a moment he couldn't see very clearly, but he demanded in his -booming voice: "Who signed these proofs 'R. M. S.'?" - -There was a stir in the proofroom, and then a man at the far end of the -table got to his feet. "I did," he said in thunderous voice. - -High-Pockets didn't back down. "What the hell do you think this -is--1910?" he demanded, waving the proofs. "This is a newspaper, isn't -it, not a dictionary?" - -"Is it indeed?" said the man ominously, and High-Pockets thought he had -heard that voice before. He stared toward the man and his eyes began -to focus and then he saw who it was. A gulp started in High-Pockets' -adam's-apple and traveled visibly down the full length of his body to -the floor. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. His eyes became -glazed like those of a man walking in his sleep. - -"Your honor," he said, at last, struggling to force words from -his larynx and looking like a man in a very blue funk, "there are -extenuating circumstances." - -Then he seemed to awaken. He looked around him. Through the glass -windows of the proof room he saw a makeup man pushing a turtle to -the stereotype room, and this seemed to give him a little grip on -reality. He turned back with a certain air of assurance, as if he was -about to take things decisively into his own hands. But he looked -into His Honor's stern countenance and that assurance wilted visibly. -High-Pockets retreated in confusion. - -Maybe No. 7 sympathized with him. At least she allowed him to correct -the proofs without any trouble. High-Pockets even began to feel that -there was some feeling of friendliness flowing between them. - -He was working on his next take when he felt a presence behind him. He -revolved in his chair, and he very nearly fell over when he once again -faced His Honor, the Judge. His Honor had a long piece of pasted copy -in one hand and was waving a proof in the other. "So," His Honor said -malevolently, "you're the poet." - -"What are you talking about?" - -"This." His Honor waved the proof under High-Pockets' nose. "You set -this verse. It isn't in the copy at all." - -High-Pockets felt uneasy. "Let's see." He read aloud: - - "'Tis dawn in the woods. A gentleman slumbers - Beneath the protection of wild cucumbers. - The woodpeckers woodpeck, the rattlesnakes rattle, - And all the cockroaches prepare to do battle." - - * * * * * - -High-Pockets gulped. He handed the proof back to His Honor: he revolved -again and folded himself into the chair. He started to set type. Then -he remembered. "Your Honor," he said, "I had nothing to do with it. No. -7 did it." - -His Honor, goaded by High-Pockets' temporary amnesia which looked very -much like disrespect, exploded. "A machine! A machine did this?" - -High-Pockets sent in the line and started another. - -"Are you imputing intelligence to a machine?" His Honor demanded, and -No. 7 seemed to hesitate for an instant. "No machine on earth could -compose such awful poetry as this," His Honor thundered. - -No. 7 was casting. For no reason at all the plunger stuck in the bottom -of the well and No. 7's clutch chattered and shook the entire machine -before High-Pockets shut off the power. High-Pockets revolved and -looked at the judge and raised his eyebrows, then rang the bell. - -This time the machinist was entirely speechless. High-Pockets pointed -to the plunger. Arturius worked on it but couldn't get it loose. He got -a Crescent wrench. "Get hold of the first-elevator cam," he said, "and -back her up while I twist the plunger." - -His Honor stood by, waiting to take up the battle with High-Pockets. - -High-Pockets got hold of the cam with a sardonic set to his lips. He -yanked hard. No. 7 would find out who was boss. - -But when he pulled, the screw holding the end of the second elevator -starting spring came loose and the spring shot the screw into -High-Pockets' ribs with the force of a bullet. High-Pockets merely -grunted. - -"Wait, I'll take the drive clutch," Arturius said, as if he was -beginning to be concerned. - -High-Pockets shut off the power, and Arturius took hold of the clutch, -one hand on each end, and turned forward. - -The plunger started to lift. It came halfway up, and then the machine -suddenly rolled backward again, with the heavy plunger spring helping -it. The clutch spun like a top. - -Arturius backed away holding the fingers of one hand. - -"Get hurt?" - -Arturius bit his lip. "No," he said, "but pull that plunger pin before -I try it again." - -High-Pockets pulled the pin, and Arturius got No. 7 off the cast. Then -he went around to the front, took the controlling lever, and started to -pull it out to finish the machine's revolution. - -He saw a loose mat on the vise and reached for it with his left hand. -At that instant his hand slipped off the controlling lever, and the -first elevator head came down with a crash. - -But Arturius' fingers were not there. He backed off and did the most -thoroughly human thing he'd done in years. He thumbed his nose at No. -7. The judge looked skeptical. - -"Look out!" High-Pockets yelled. "She's backing!" - -His long arms moved with astonishing speed. He practically snatched the -judge up from the place where he stood and set him down again two feet -away. And just in time, for a stream of silvery, molten metal rose in -a wide arc from the vise-jaws of No. 7 and came down exactly where His -Honor's bald head had been. About three pounds of it descended to the -floor and lay there hardening and smoking like an over-done pancake. - -[Illustration: It all happened in the space of a few seconds. They had -been about to set the machine in operation again when suddenly there -was the sound of an angry rumble and a stream of molten lead poured -forth.] - -Sweat popped out on the judge's bald head. His Honor's eyes were -bulging. "She squirted hot lead at me!" he said accusingly. -"Maliciously and with malice aforethought." He pulled out a -handkerchief to wipe his bald head. His hands were steady. "If that -lead had fallen on me," he said plaintively, "it would have baked my -skull. Why did she try to do that to me?" - -"You made fun of her poetry," High-Pockets pointed out. With a certain -amount of pleasure he reflected that His Honor could hardly allege -contempt, under the circumstances. - -But his honor looked at High-Pockets with a new light in his eyes. "You -may have saved my life," he said thoughtfully. - -Arturius Wickware looked desperate. "It can't squirt," he said. "The -plunger pin isn't in." - -High-Pockets pointed to the metal on the floor. "It did," he said. - - * * * * * - -Arturius looked at No. 7 dourly and shut off the motor. "Please take -No. 8," he begged High-Pockets. It was the first time he had said -"please" in thirty years. - -High-Pockets was staring at the proof like a man in a trance. - -Suddenly he made half a dozen long strides to the machinist's bench. He -laid hands on a twelve-pound sledge-hammer. He came back with it over -his shoulder, and before the horrified Arturius could utter a word, -High-Pockets had gone to the rear of No. 7 and swung the sledge in one -devastating left-handed blow that sheared through the ninth and tenth -cams. Then he stepped to the right and crashed the hammer down on the -pot-pump cam. - -He stepped back, breathing hard, the hammer over his shoulder. Pieces -of cast iron tinkled to the floor. "Well," boomed High-Pockets, "I -guess I fixed it, didn't I?" - -There was no answer. High-Pockets looked around. Arturius had quietly -fainted. The judge looked horrified. - -They revived Arturius by the simple expedient of putting a screwdriver -in his big hand. He opened his eyes and stared at High-Pockets and -shook his head slowly, incredulously. - -High-Pockets helped him up. "Don't worry," he said. - -Arturius sputtered and almost detonated. "Don't worry!" he snorted. -"Five hundred dollars worth of cams busted up and he says, 'Don't -worry!'" - -"It won't cost that much," said High-Pockets. "I'll help you piece the -cams together. You can get them welded." - -"No," said Arturius. "I'll get new ones." - -"It won't work," said High-Pockets. - -"What won't work?" - -"I did that to chastise the machine. If it wants to be so independent, -it will have to endure the penalties as well as enjoy the privileges. -If you put in new cams, it will think it's smart and go right ahead -raising hell. But if you have the old ones welded and put back in, the -welds, like scars, will remind No. 7 that she's supposed to be a lady. -As long as they are there, No. 7 will behave. I guarantee it." - -The judge wiped his bald head again. "I do believe you've got something -there, Mr. Jones. If a machine assumes the right of self-determination, -what would be more natural than to treat it as you would treat any -other self-determining creature?" - -High-Pockets heaved a tremendous sigh of relief. He saw now that his -stay in the city would not be terminated as a guest in the workhouse. -High-Pockets was very happy indeed. - -"How can you be sure?" Arturius demanded. - -"I'll show you," said High-Pockets. "Turn on the motor." - -Arturius did. A strange thing happened. No. 7 began to turn. She pulled -herself off of the cast. Somehow she broke loose the hardened metal on -her vise-jaws. It dropped to the floor in one big piece. She came to a -normal stop and stood there obediently. - -"That's utterly impossible!" Arturius shouted. "It can't even turn -over--with those cams broken out." - -"She's chastened," High-Pockets said gently. "All you have to do from -now on is to be firm." - -The judge came closer. "Mr. Jones," he said, "I am beginning to believe -that even a linotype operator has a place in this modern world. Suppose -we all three go out and have a drink." - -High-Pockets turned off the motor. "I heard you the first time, -Your Honor, and I am happy to report that there are no extenuating -circumstances. 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If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Mischievous Typesetter</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Noel Loomis</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 18, 2021 [eBook #65861]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISCHIEVOUS TYPESETTER ***</div> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>THE MISCHIEVOUS TYPESETTER</h1> - -<h2>By Noel Loomis</h2> - -<p>They say that man is the master of any machine<br /> -he can devise. But whoever coined the phrase didn't<br /> -know about this linotype—with a mind of its own....</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy<br /> -July 1952<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>The judge reared back. High-Pockets waited. "In my opinion," his -honor began a little ambiguously, "a linotype operator is very near -the bottom of the scale of humanity. There is only one person who -stands beneath him. That is the poet." The judge's eyes turned full on -High-Pockets, all seven gangling feet of him. "You," the judge said -ominously, "are both."</p> - -<p>High-Pockets waited in dread. He had a premonition that this wasn't -even going to be a nice jail sentence where he could meditate and -reflect on his strange power over linotypes. This was going to be the -workhouse. The situation was desperate indeed.</p> - -<p>"You profess to be a barnstormer and a student of mechanical nature." -The judge smiled sarcastically. "I can offer you an unusual opportunity -for research. As an old proofreader, I occasionally help out on the -<i>Daily News</i>, and it has come to my attention that there is a linotype -on the <i>News</i> known as No. 7 that recently has begun to misbehave. -Without apparent reason, it has become almost useless."</p> - -<p>High-Pockets cringed with the impact of the knowledge that His -Honor had once been a proofreader. The traditional enmity between -proofreaders and operators, High-Pockets perceived, was about to be -judicially resolved. So he cringed. He was very sad.</p> - -<p>"Suppose you go up there and try your wizardry on No. 7." His Honor -suggested. "In the meantime, thirty days suspended sentence. If you're -back here before your time is up, it will be sixty days. And if there -is drunkenness connected with it," he said, looking disdainfully at -High-Pockets' red nose, "it will be ninety. Is that clear?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, your honor." High-Pockets mumbled, but he was thinking of other -things. He had been sentenced to work at his trade. That meant contact -with proofreaders, and High-Pockets bristled. But the bristling -subsided rapidly, as High-Pockets, simulating a grateful smile from -long habit, realized with a sickly feeling that for perhaps the first -time in his long career, a proofreader had had the complete and final -word, and High-Pockets did not dare to answer back....</p> - -<p>They spotted High-Pockets coming across the composing-room of the -<i>Daily News</i> when they saw a red nose following an eccentric orbit up -among the fluorescent lights. High-Pockets didn't exactly duck the -lights. When he came face to face with one, his incredibly tall knees -limbered up and he sort of weaved under it.</p> - -<p>The union chairman met him with a handshake. "High-Pockets Jones," he -said, grinning, "Dean of Barnstormers and Wizard of the Linotype. I -know you from your picture. Can you really make a linotype stand up on -its hind legs and talk?"</p> - -<p>"Well," High-Pockets said in a modest, booming voice, "I will admit -that's one of my more difficult stunts."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The chairman guffawed, and they steered High-Pockets to the slip-board. -"I can put you on a week's stretch."</p> - -<p>High-Pockets stopped as if he had walked into a brick wall. "No!" he -boomed. "Can't do it! Haven't worked five days straight in twenty -years."</p> - -<p>"But look, High-Pockets. Look at it this way. You're an old-time -barnstormer, aren't you?"</p> - -<p>High-Pockets winced.</p> - -<p>"Well," the chairman said diplomatically, "there's not as much call for -barnstormers as there used to be, but—" he said it quickly—"here's a -new field. It needs a good barnstormer as much as they ever did."</p> - -<p>High-Pockets listened intently.</p> - -<p>"This poor guy has to sit on No. 7. That's the linotype nobody can do -anything with. The poor devil had to lay off because she pretty nearly -drove him crazy. Now you are the guy who can make a linotype behave." -His voice was persuasive. "Won't you help this guy out for a few -nights?"</p> - -<p>For twenty years it had been High-Pockets' unbroken rule not to hire -out for more than a day at a time. "Short-term contracts," he insisted. -But now—well, the world was changed. Maybe this was to be the future -of barnstorming—taming machines instead of foremen. If so, it meant he -still had a place in the world. And to fulfill that destiny he would -even accept a whole week's work. He took off his rain-wrinkled coat -with a sigh.</p> - -<p>He was waiting for time to be called when Arturius Wickware, the -linotype machinist on the <i>News</i>, came up to him with short, mincing -steps and a scowl that undoubtedly was a habit. "Are you the guy that -has such wonderful control over a linotype?" he demanded. He wouldn't -give High-Pockets the satisfaction of looking up at him. He scowled at -High-Pockets' breast-bone.</p> - -<p>High-Pockets was solemn as he stared over Arturius' head. "I get along -well with them." He smiled gently then. "Somehow a linotype always -does what I want it to do." He looked down and saw the crowd around -him and decided he owed them an explanation. "My theory is that any -piece of machinery is electrified by some force that I call personal -electricity. I don't exactly know what that is but it seems to bind the -piece of machinery as a whole. I think maybe it's a negative charge, -and I think most men are charged positively with that same force, so -that men get along well with machines. Opposite poles attract, you -know."</p> - -<p>Arturius Wickware sputtered, but now High-Pockets had to go on. -"Sometimes a man comes along who happens to be negatively charged, and -he can't handle a piece of machinery at all. But now I—you see this -scar in the middle of my forehead—" he removed his faded hat, "I -was struck by lightning on a freight train out in Utah, and I think it -multiplied my 'personal' electricity potential a lot—maybe millions -of times—so machinery just <i>has</i> to do what I want it to, because it -<i>wants</i> to do it. You see?"</p> - -<p>There was an odd silence; then the chairman spoke. "Old No. 7 started -acting up when they built the first uranium pile south of town here, -but it really went bad when it was hit by lightning that followed down -the ventilation pipe two months ago."</p> - -<p>High-Pockets' blue eyes opened wide. "Maybe its negative field was -reversed by some stray rays from the pile, and then when the lightning -hit it, it intensified the field so that the machine is now strongly -positive. You know how it is," he said earnestly. "A body illuminated -by ultraviolet light becomes positively charged, and even a hot body -becomes positively charged by what they call thermionic emission. Well, -that's okay. A linotype is exactly like a woman. It has a soul—if you -know how to reach it."</p> - -<p>Old Arturius snorted so loudly the electric relay on No. 7 made contact -and the heating switch came on with a clatter. "You can work on No. 7 -tonight," he said acidly. "Let's see if <i>it's</i> got a soul." He turned -on his heel and stamped back to his bench....</p> - -<p>It never occurred to High-Pockets to doubt his success with No. 7. He -carefully hung his ten-year-old coat in an empty locker and made sure -the pint of bourbon was safely in the inside pocket of the coat. Then -he walked into the composing-room and over to No. 7, and stood for a -moment looking her over. He frowned. "It's almost as if she was laying -her ears back and getting ready to snarl at me," he said wonderingly.</p> - -<p>"She'll snarl," said Arturius at his back. "She'll <i>bite</i>, before the -night's over."</p> - -<p>High-Pockets tried to look amused. "I'll have her setting type by -herself before lunch time," he promised.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>High-Pockets got the lowest chair in the composing-room, to bring his -arms down near the keyboard. His nose was still red and he weaved a -little in the chair, but he began to fold in his arms until his hands -were over the keyboard.</p> - -<p>The first take went smoothly. High-Pockets could feel a clash of -wills, but he was slow and careful. He set two more takes, and nothing -happened, so he began to relax. His third take was a short piece of -telegraph copy for the second edition. He put it in the copy holder and -then decided to get a drink of water. He ran into some friends and they -spent five minutes around the fountain before the foreman came by.</p> - -<p>High-Pockets went back to the machine. He sat down and got his arms -tucked in, then reached for a slug with his name on it and started -to put it in the stick. Then he frowned and rang the bell for the -machinist.</p> - -<p>"Somebody's playing tricks on me," he said. "Who's been working here?"</p> - -<p>"Nobody but you," Arturius said nastily.</p> - -<p>High-Pockets licked his lips. "I'd swear I didn't set this take." -But Arturius looked intensely satisfied and went away. Thoughtfully -High-Pockets took the type out of the stick and put his take slug on -it and went to the dump. When he sat down again he shook his head and -rubbed his eyes before he went to work. "No. 7 musta set that take -herself," he muttered, "but that's not according to union rules." He -said it without actually believing it.</p> - -<p>He got along all right until nearly lunch time. By then, he was dry -again, and he got a long take of the next day's editorial and stuck it -in the copy board, then went to the fountain, and finally decided to go -to the washroom and smoke a cigarette.</p> - -<p>When he got back to the machine he picked up a take slug and pulled -back the slug-stacker—and then he froze tight.</p> - -<p>High-Pockets looked a little scared. He licked his lips and took the -stick out of the machine. It was a long take, about ten inches of type. -He laid it across his knees and compared it with the copy. It checked. -He read it over upside down. Not a single error.</p> - -<p>"Well, <i>I</i> didn't set it, anyway," he muttered. "I couldn't <i>possibly</i> -set an okay proof, the way <i>I</i> feel."</p> - -<p>Somewhat resignedly he took the type to the dump.</p> - -<p>The dump-man looked at him. "Turning 'em out pretty fast. Whatta you -think this is, a piecework town?"</p> - -<p>High-Pockets looked chastened, but said nothing.</p> - -<p>He went to the copy desk. There was nothing now but want ads. He got -a take and then he had a bright idea. He put the want ads on the copy -board and went for a drink of water. He was dry again, anyway. He took -plenty of time, and then came back and confidently picked up a take -slug.</p> - -<p>But he got a jolt when he looked at the stick. It was empty.</p> - -<p>High-Pockets nodded wisely. "So it doesn't like want ads any better -than anybody else," he said to himself. "Now, that's a dirty shame."</p> - -<p>He got all folded in and started to operate. But at the first letter he -touched, the keyboard belt broke. He called Arturius and had it fixed, -and tried again. The mats jammed up in the chute.</p> - -<p>He cleaned them out and then started carefully hitting one letter at a -time. But the very first one came to the starwheel, and rang the bell -again. "Star-wheel spring is loose," he said. "She won't bring the mats -down."</p> - -<p>Arturius looked at him with a scowl that bore the heavy responsibility -of the entire world, and then without a word sat down to fix it. He -stood by while High-Pockets tried again. The line finally was filled -and High-Pockets sent it in and started on the second line.</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute," said Arturius. "You didn't get a slug." He opened the -vise. "Short-line stop is out of adjustment," he growled. "What's the -matter with this machine, anyway?"</p> - -<p>High-Pockets looked worried. "Maybe she don't like want ads," he said. -"Maybe I better set this take somewhere else."</p> - -<p>Arturius grunted. High-Pockets went to No. 8. He set the want ads with -one eye on No. 7. He was quite sober now.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The copy-cutter wasn't looking when High-Pockets got back to the desk, -and High-Pockets did something he'd never done before in his life. He -"worked the hook"—instead of taking want ads, he very quietly took -a piece of minion, and then looked around guiltily to see if anybody -noticed.</p> - -<p>He wound his way back to No. 7 and got all set. Arturius was gone. -High-Pockets by now realized that he was up against worthy opposition. -If he <i>had</i> reached No. 7's soul, he had stirred it the wrong way. From -now on he would be extremely careful.</p> - -<p>Things went all right until after the cast. The line went up to -transfer—and there it stuck. High-Pockets sighed and rang the -bell. Arturius came, but the scowl on his face was diluted with -self-satisfaction.</p> - -<p>He started to lock the spaceband lever, but when he touched the latch, -the spaceband lever went over with a crash and the line of mats spilled -out in the intermediate channel.</p> - -<p>High-Pockets sighed noisily and got up. Arturius was using some -uncomplimentary language, and the gleam of satisfaction was all in -High-Pockets' eyes now.</p> - -<p>They picked up the mats, and Arturius pulled out the clutch lever to -let the machine finish its revolution. But it stuck on ejection. The -clutch grabbed and chattered. He threw the clutch lever in and went -around behind. He backed the machine by hand and hammered with the -ejector lever. The slug wouldn't come out.</p> - -<p>He came back, looked at the knife, looked at the ejector blade, -examined the mouthpiece. "This mill is nuts," he said in his sourest -tone, and added some explanatory remarks that verged on redundancy. He -held up the ejector lug while High-Pockets pulled the clutch lever and -let the machine go on over.</p> - -<p>Arturius had to loosen the mold-cap to get the slug out. Then he stood -back for High-Pockets to sit down. But by this time High-Pockets had -awakened. He looked hard at the copy and whispered to himself, "Oh-oh, -no wonder. We've got society. Don't blame her." He told Arturius he had -to get a drink. When he came back, Arturius was gone, and very quietly -High-Pockets went over to No. 8 and set the type.</p> - -<p>His next take was a nice piece of telegraph on green copy paper. "She -ought to like this." High-Pockets thought, but his face had a wondering -look.</p> - -<p>He put the copy in the holder and got ready to massage the keyboard. -But he'd just got his arms folded up and his fingers stretched out when -the mats began to drop into the assembling elevator. They dropped with -perfect timing. The assembling elevator filled and High-Pockets' eyes -began to gleam. "She'll have to wait for me to send the line in," he -thought. But old No. 7 wouldn't be denied. The elevator went up, the -line went in, the elevator came down, and mats started dropping again. -High-Pockets got up and went to a window. He leaned out and breathed -the crisp night air.</p> - -<p>When he got back the take was finished.</p> - -<p>He got the second take of the same story and went back to the machine. -He put the take in the copy holder and then, out of habit, he looked at -the stick. It was already half full of type. He was almost afraid to -compare it with his copy, but he did.</p> - -<p>After he checked it, he got up and went to the locker room. Nobody else -was there. He pulled the pint bottle out of his coal pocket and without -hesitation violated another strict office rule—he took a good, long, -healthy drink of bourbon.</p> - -<p>He wiped his lips and came back. No. 7 was still running over. He -looked at the type. There was a guideline that said "Third Add—Nazi -Werewolves." High-Pockets turned on his heel and went back to the -locker room. This time he had two drinks, and when he finished he -weaved a little more.</p> - -<p>"Monkeying with souls," he muttered, "is dangerous business."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He was thankful the story had only three takes. First he thought he -would dump the third take in the metal pot, but when he picked it up it -was so hot that even he, with calloused finger-tips from handling hot -slugs for twenty years, couldn't hold it. So he dumped both takes and -turned off the motor, then went to lunch.</p> - -<p>That is, he borrowed a dollar from the chairman and started for the -restaurant. But he passed a saloon on the way, and decided he was more -in need of a drink.</p> - -<p>When he got back he had a little trouble with the fluorescent lights. -They weaved when he weaved, and it took some rather delicate navigation -to beat them to the punch. It was fortunate that the light tubes were -fixed securely in their sockets, and fortunate that the foreman had -gone into the office to check the time cards.</p> - -<p>When High-Pockets got back to the copy desk, he was pretty fuzzy around -the edges. He looked over his first take as soon as he got behind the -desk. Then he gave a relieved sigh. This was Editorial. No. 7 wouldn't -be so fussy—he hoped.</p> - -<p>He got four paragraphs through before he ran into trouble. Then some -mats jammed up at the top of the assembler entrance cover. High-Pockets -started to ring the bell, but decided not to. He could dig it out -himself. He'd had enough trouble with Arturius for one night.</p> - -<p>He opened the entrance cover, and a hundred mats fell down over -his arm and onto the keyboard with an ominous tinkle. Their weight -depressed some twenty keys, and the power drive immediately began to -function, and the mats from those twenty channels dropped in twenty -curving streams on the keyboard, which depressed still more keys and -made more mats drop, and in about two minutes No. 7 had poured fifteen -hundred mats into High-Pockets' lap.</p> - -<p>He did one thing before he rang the bell. He brushed the mats off the -copy holder and looked at the rest of the paragraph. It ended, "—and -the blame for Pearl Harbor thus lay at the door of the White House."</p> - -<p>High-Pockets got up, shedding mats by the hundreds. Arturius came, -looking as if he were about to detonate. Half the operators in the shop -were there to enjoy the fact that at least there was one man who wasn't -afraid to have trouble with No. 7.</p> - -<p>Somebody chuckled and said. "Get a basket," but High-Pockets knew it -wasn't meant for him and nobly disdained a reply. He was muttering to -himself, "I've heard these machines called a lot of things in my time, -but this is the first one I ever saw that could justifiably be called a -Republican."</p> - -<p>The machinist was verbose, a little on the vicariously obscene side. -High-Pockets helped him pick the mats off the floor, but it was almost -an hour before they got the machine going again.</p> - -<p>When they did, High-Pockets went back to look at the slip-board. He -studied it for a few minutes with a queer look on his face, then -started for the chairman. But halfway there, he changed his mind. No -machine had ever got the best of him before, and he'd been up against -some tough ones. He was a barnstormer, wasn't he?</p> - -<p>So he went back to the battle. But now there wasn't any copy, so he -wandered around with that queer look on his face, and finally wound up -in the locker room where he decided he might as well kill the pint. He -smoked a cigarette and stuck his head out of the window into the fresh -air.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When the pint was thoroughly defunct he returned. The machine was quiet -again, but the stick was half full. He didn't even look at it. There -wasn't any copy, but he took the type to the dump.</p> - -<p>The next take was copy for "Good Morning, Glory," the paper's star -columnist. That seemed to go very well. No. 7 perhaps couldn't quite -make out what was happening. Well, that was nothing. Most columnists -were like that.</p> - -<p>Then again there wasn't any copy. A young fellow came down from the -newsroom and spoke to the copy-cutter. "There'll be a story down for -the eleven-fifteen edition," he said. "'Two Women Murdered.' About a -column."</p> - -<p>The copy-cutter looked at the clock. "It's eleven o'clock now," he -said. "Where is it?"</p> - -<p>"Just starting to write it upstairs. We'll get it down as fast as we -can."</p> - -<p>The copy-cutter grumbled. "Better have a make-over, then. We won't have -time to handle it."</p> - -<p>But High-Pockets knew better. He poked his head over the desk and -sneaked a look at No. 7. She was grinding away. High-Pockets went back -to the dump and looked at the guideline of his stickful without copy. -It said, "Two Women Murdered."</p> - -<p>But nobody would ever give out a long take like that so near closing -time. He looked again. He should have known. The half-a-stickful was -divided into thirds, carefully guided "First Add" and "Second Add", and -at the bottom of the last add was a turned slug and a line, "More to -Come."</p> - -<p>The copy tube swished, and a carrier thumped in the box. "Here," the -copy-cutter said, "here's a precede on that atomic bomb explosion. You -might as well set that while we're waiting."</p> - -<p>"Okay," said High-Pockets, and in the now hazy recesses of his mind -he made a mighty resolution: he would set this take himself; No. 7 be -damned.</p> - -<p>He went straight to the machine. Mats were dropping, but High-Pockets -just raised his eyebrows and reached up and turned off the power. That -would stop her.</p> - -<p>He got his copy all fixed and his arms folded in, and then he unfolded -one arm and turned on the power while his right hand hovered over the -keyboard. Apparently No. 7 didn't quite know what to make of this -new attack, and he was able to get several lines through before she -figured it out. Then she seemed to sit back and get her breath, and -High-Pockets, with a wide grin on his face, manipulated the keyboard -fast enough to keep the machine hung so she wouldn't get a chance on -her own hook.</p> - -<p>But eventually he had a pileup of mats and had to miss a line. He was -crestfallen. But strangely enough, she didn't start in when he got the -assembling elevator clear. He watched her out of the corner of his eye -while he gingerly assembled the line, but nothing happened. He sent -that line in and watched it go through without any disturbance, then he -sat back a moment and he and the machine sized each other up. Still no -mats dropped of their own volition. High-Pockets grinned. Maybe he was -beginning to sober up.</p> - -<p>He set a line and sent it in, watching. It justified and the pot came -forward to cast. "Hmp," said High-Pockets. "Who said she's human? -Sub-human, I call it."</p> - -<p>Something happened when he said that. The second justification lever -went up with a bang that shook the whole machine, and High-Pockets -reached for the clutch lever with his left hand.</p> - -<p>But he was so long he had to grab something with his right hand to -balance, and just then the line delivery came back with a snap and -smashed his right thumb.</p> - -<p>"Ouch!" said High-Pockets, and jumped up and then he swore and shook -his hand.</p> - -<p>A minute later he sat down again with a determined gleam in his eyes. -He tightened the vise-locking screws and leaned over to look at the -line, down in the jaws, to be sure the mats were in alignment before he -pulled the clutch. And just then the right hand locking stud came loose -with a snap and spun clockwise, and the cross-handle cracked him on the -chin.</p> - -<p>High-Pockets took it like a man. He didn't even swear this time. He -got out of his chair. "I <i>will</i> see if that line is all right," he -muttered. "If I don't—"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He tightened the screw, then he got his head in under the intermediate -bar to look. And at that moment a gust of air blew a cloud of graphite -out of the intermediate channel and filled his right eye. He was nearly -blinded, but he didn't ask for help. Very quietly he wound his way to -the washroom. He cleaned his face and worked the graphite out of his -eye as well as he could, and then, with a determined look on his face, -went back.</p> - -<p>Arturius reached the machine about the same time he did, "What did you -leave her on the cast for?" he barked.</p> - -<p>High-Pockets didn't answer.</p> - -<p>Arturius indulged in some choice blasphemy with its direction divided -equally between High-Pockets and No. 7. High-Pockets felt sorry for -Arturius. He went to the locker room and determined to his satisfaction -that the pint was still dead, then he came back. The boy had left some -proofs on his machine. High-Pockets picked them up to scan them. Then -he swore vigorously. "Proofreaders!" he sputtered. "Comma chasers! Look -at this!" he invited the world. "Put a hyphen in the word <i>good-will</i>. -Marked a double <i>e</i> in <i>employe</i>. Changed <i>thous-and</i> to <i>thou-sand</i>!" -He clenched his fists and raised them far above his head. "Give me -strength!" he groaned. "Give me strength! On top of everything else, -the proofreaders have to go nuts too."</p> - -<p>He started for the proof room, clutching the proofs in one hand. His -long arms swung as he weaved among the lights. He went in the door of -the proof room and stood there a moment. His head was above the lights -and for a moment he couldn't see very clearly, but he demanded in his -booming voice: "Who signed these proofs 'R. M. S.'?"</p> - -<p>There was a stir in the proofroom, and then a man at the far end of the -table got to his feet. "I did," he said in thunderous voice.</p> - -<p>High-Pockets didn't back down. "What the hell do you think this -is—1910?" he demanded, waving the proofs. "This is a newspaper, isn't -it, not a dictionary?"</p> - -<p>"Is it indeed?" said the man ominously, and High-Pockets thought he had -heard that voice before. He stared toward the man and his eyes began -to focus and then he saw who it was. A gulp started in High-Pockets' -adam's-apple and traveled visibly down the full length of his body to -the floor. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. His eyes became -glazed like those of a man walking in his sleep.</p> - -<p>"Your honor," he said, at last, struggling to force words from -his larynx and looking like a man in a very blue funk, "there are -extenuating circumstances."</p> - -<p>Then he seemed to awaken. He looked around him. Through the glass -windows of the proof room he saw a makeup man pushing a turtle to -the stereotype room, and this seemed to give him a little grip on -reality. He turned back with a certain air of assurance, as if he was -about to take things decisively into his own hands. But he looked -into His Honor's stern countenance and that assurance wilted visibly. -High-Pockets retreated in confusion.</p> - -<p>Maybe No. 7 sympathized with him. At least she allowed him to correct -the proofs without any trouble. High-Pockets even began to feel that -there was some feeling of friendliness flowing between them.</p> - -<p>He was working on his next take when he felt a presence behind him. He -revolved in his chair, and he very nearly fell over when he once again -faced His Honor, the Judge. His Honor had a long piece of pasted copy -in one hand and was waving a proof in the other. "So," His Honor said -malevolently, "you're the poet."</p> - -<p>"What are you talking about?"</p> - -<p>"This." His Honor waved the proof under High-Pockets' nose. "You set -this verse. It isn't in the copy at all."</p> - -<p>High-Pockets felt uneasy. "Let's see." He read aloud:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">"<i>'Tis dawn in the woods. A gentleman slumbers</i></div> - <div class="verse indent2"><i>Beneath the protection of wild cucumbers.</i></div> - <div class="verse"><i>The woodpeckers woodpeck, the rattlesnakes rattle,</i></div> - <div class="verse indent2"><i>And all the cockroaches prepare to do battle.</i>"</div> -</div></div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>High-Pockets gulped. He handed the proof back to His Honor: he revolved -again and folded himself into the chair. He started to set type. Then -he remembered. "Your Honor," he said, "I had nothing to do with it. No. -7 did it."</p> - -<p>His Honor, goaded by High-Pockets' temporary amnesia which looked very -much like disrespect, exploded. "A machine! A machine did this?"</p> - -<p>High-Pockets sent in the line and started another.</p> - -<p>"Are you imputing intelligence to a machine?" His Honor demanded, and -No. 7 seemed to hesitate for an instant. "No machine on earth could -compose such awful poetry as this," His Honor thundered.</p> - -<p>No. 7 was casting. For no reason at all the plunger stuck in the bottom -of the well and No. 7's clutch chattered and shook the entire machine -before High-Pockets shut off the power. High-Pockets revolved and -looked at the judge and raised his eyebrows, then rang the bell.</p> - -<p>This time the machinist was entirely speechless. High-Pockets pointed -to the plunger. Arturius worked on it but couldn't get it loose. He got -a Crescent wrench. "Get hold of the first-elevator cam," he said, "and -back her up while I twist the plunger."</p> - -<p>His Honor stood by, waiting to take up the battle with High-Pockets.</p> - -<p>High-Pockets got hold of the cam with a sardonic set to his lips. He -yanked hard. No. 7 would find out who was boss.</p> - -<p>But when he pulled, the screw holding the end of the second elevator -starting spring came loose and the spring shot the screw into -High-Pockets' ribs with the force of a bullet. High-Pockets merely -grunted.</p> - -<p>"Wait, I'll take the drive clutch," Arturius said, as if he was -beginning to be concerned.</p> - -<p>High-Pockets shut off the power, and Arturius took hold of the clutch, -one hand on each end, and turned forward.</p> - -<p>The plunger started to lift. It came halfway up, and then the machine -suddenly rolled backward again, with the heavy plunger spring helping -it. The clutch spun like a top.</p> - -<p>Arturius backed away holding the fingers of one hand.</p> - -<p>"Get hurt?"</p> - -<p>Arturius bit his lip. "No," he said, "but pull that plunger pin before -I try it again."</p> - -<p>High-Pockets pulled the pin, and Arturius got No. 7 off the cast. Then -he went around to the front, took the controlling lever, and started to -pull it out to finish the machine's revolution.</p> - -<p>He saw a loose mat on the vise and reached for it with his left hand. -At that instant his hand slipped off the controlling lever, and the -first elevator head came down with a crash.</p> - -<p>But Arturius' fingers were not there. He backed off and did the most -thoroughly human thing he'd done in years. He thumbed his nose at No. -7. The judge looked skeptical.</p> - -<p>"Look out!" High-Pockets yelled. "She's backing!"</p> - -<p>His long arms moved with astonishing speed. He practically snatched the -judge up from the place where he stood and set him down again two feet -away. And just in time, for a stream of silvery, molten metal rose in -a wide arc from the vise-jaws of No. 7 and came down exactly where His -Honor's bald head had been. About three pounds of it descended to the -floor and lay there hardening and smoking like an over-done pancake.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> - <div class="caption"> - <p>It all happened in the space of a few seconds. They had been about to set the machine in operation again when suddenly there was the sound of an angry rumble and a stream of molten lead poured forth.</p> - </div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Sweat popped out on the judge's bald head. His Honor's eyes were -bulging. "She squirted hot lead at me!" he said accusingly. -"Maliciously and with malice aforethought." He pulled out a -handkerchief to wipe his bald head. His hands were steady. "If that -lead had fallen on me," he said plaintively, "it would have baked my -skull. Why did she try to do that to me?"</p> - -<p>"You made fun of her poetry," High-Pockets pointed out. With a certain -amount of pleasure he reflected that His Honor could hardly allege -contempt, under the circumstances.</p> - -<p>But his honor looked at High-Pockets with a new light in his eyes. "You -may have saved my life," he said thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>Arturius Wickware looked desperate. "It can't squirt," he said. "The -plunger pin isn't in."</p> - -<p>High-Pockets pointed to the metal on the floor. "It did," he said.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Arturius looked at No. 7 dourly and shut off the motor. "Please take -No. 8," he begged High-Pockets. It was the first time he had said -"please" in thirty years.</p> - -<p>High-Pockets was staring at the proof like a man in a trance.</p> - -<p>Suddenly he made half a dozen long strides to the machinist's bench. He -laid hands on a twelve-pound sledge-hammer. He came back with it over -his shoulder, and before the horrified Arturius could utter a word, -High-Pockets had gone to the rear of No. 7 and swung the sledge in one -devastating left-handed blow that sheared through the ninth and tenth -cams. Then he stepped to the right and crashed the hammer down on the -pot-pump cam.</p> - -<p>He stepped back, breathing hard, the hammer over his shoulder. Pieces -of cast iron tinkled to the floor. "Well," boomed High-Pockets, "I -guess I fixed it, didn't I?"</p> - -<p>There was no answer. High-Pockets looked around. Arturius had quietly -fainted. The judge looked horrified.</p> - -<p>They revived Arturius by the simple expedient of putting a screwdriver -in his big hand. He opened his eyes and stared at High-Pockets and -shook his head slowly, incredulously.</p> - -<p>High-Pockets helped him up. "Don't worry," he said.</p> - -<p>Arturius sputtered and almost detonated. "Don't worry!" he snorted. -"Five hundred dollars worth of cams busted up and he says, 'Don't -worry!'"</p> - -<p>"It won't cost that much," said High-Pockets. "I'll help you piece the -cams together. You can get them welded."</p> - -<p>"No," said Arturius. "I'll get new ones."</p> - -<p>"It won't work," said High-Pockets.</p> - -<p>"What won't work?"</p> - -<p>"I did that to chastise the machine. If it wants to be so independent, -it will have to endure the penalties as well as enjoy the privileges. -If you put in new cams, it will think it's smart and go right ahead -raising hell. But if you have the old ones welded and put back in, the -welds, like scars, will remind No. 7 that she's supposed to be a lady. -As long as they are there, No. 7 will behave. I guarantee it."</p> - -<p>The judge wiped his bald head again. "I do believe you've got something -there, Mr. Jones. If a machine assumes the right of self-determination, -what would be more natural than to treat it as you would treat any -other self-determining creature?"</p> - -<p>High-Pockets heaved a tremendous sigh of relief. He saw now that his -stay in the city would not be terminated as a guest in the workhouse. -High-Pockets was very happy indeed.</p> - -<p>"How can you be sure?" Arturius demanded.</p> - -<p>"I'll show you," said High-Pockets. "Turn on the motor."</p> - -<p>Arturius did. A strange thing happened. No. 7 began to turn. She pulled -herself off of the cast. Somehow she broke loose the hardened metal on -her vise-jaws. It dropped to the floor in one big piece. She came to a -normal stop and stood there obediently.</p> - -<p>"That's utterly impossible!" Arturius shouted. "It can't even turn -over—with those cams broken out."</p> - -<p>"She's chastened," High-Pockets said gently. "All you have to do from -now on is to be firm."</p> - -<p>The judge came closer. "Mr. Jones," he said, "I am beginning to believe -that even a linotype operator has a place in this modern world. Suppose -we all three go out and have a drink."</p> - -<p>High-Pockets turned off the motor. "I heard you the first time, -Your Honor, and I am happy to report that there are no extenuating -circumstances. Shall we go?"</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISCHIEVOUS TYPESETTER ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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