THE STEADFAST HEART
“Hello, Bub,” said Peter. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothin’,” said Angus.
“Um…. Hain’t got any of it. Anythin’ else do as well?”
Angus could imagine no possible reply to this, so he remained silent, sniffing in the odors of the shop as if they were frangipanni or frankincense. Peter regarded him briefly from time to time. Angus did not move. Presently Peter addressed him again.
“You must want somethin’. Everybody does. What did you come here for, anyhow?”
“Because,” said Angus simply, “I wanted to be here.”
“Come of your own free will and accord?”
“Yes-sir.”
“What made you want to come?”
“I—was walkin’ by—and the door was open—and I—”
“You smelled printers’ ink,” shouted Peter, recognizing a brother in the craft.
“Yes,” said Angus.
“Here,” said Peter, holding out the printer’s stick, “set while I dictate.”
Jake had taught him the case, taught by thorough methods known to the old printer, and Angus took the stick eagerly. Peter dictated slowly while Angus’ hand flew about the case
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