Smith watched his press with undivided attention and it clattered away at full speed until the frail building shook with its powerful, steady motion.

Then suddenly it began to slow down.

The power was off, and the machine came to an abrupt stop.
Thursday stepped from the platform and looked at the index of the counter.
"Four hundred and sixty-three.

Twenty-two short, Miss Doyle," he announced.
"That'll do, Thursday." He came to her side, then, facing the sullen, glowering group of mill hands.
"Boys," said he, "it won't do you any good to interfere with us to-night.

The paper for to-morrow morning is already printed, and Ojoy Boglin isn't a big enough man to stop it, now or ever.