He knew the signs.

Dave would become abstracted, stand longer and oftener at the window overlooking the slow life of Newbern.

His mind would already be off and away.

Then on an afternoon he would tell Sam that he must see a man in Seattle, and if Sam had taken forethought there would be a new printer at the case next day.

The present sojourn of Dave's had been longer than any Sam Pickering could remember, for the reason, it seemed, that Dave had been interested in teaching his remaining son a good loose trade.
Directly after the apotheosis of Merle his brother had been taken to the _Advance_ office where, perched upon a high stool, his bare legs intricately entwined among its rungs, he had been taught the surface mysteries of typesetting.