unless he was present.  Raphael replied that he had not seen the compositors come through the shop to get their dinners, and he hoped Gluck would not find it necessary to cut off their meal-times.  Gluck reassured him on this point; he said his men were so loyal that they preferred to bring their food with them rather than have the paper delayed.  Later on he casually mentioned that there was a back entrance.  He would not allow Raphael to talk to his workmen personally, arguing that it spoiled their discipline.  By eleven o’clock at night seven pages had been pulled and corrected:  but the eighth page was not forthcoming.  The Flag had to be machined, dried, folded, and a number of copies put into wrappers and posted by three in the morning.  The situation looked desperate.  At a quarter to twelve, Gluck explained that a column of matter already set up had been “pied” by a careless compositor.  It happened to be the column containing the latest news and Raphael had not even seen a proof of it.  Still, Gluck conjured him not to trouble further:  he would give his reader strict injunctions not to miss the slightest error.  Raphael had already seen and passed the first column of this page, let him leave it to Gluck to attend to this second column; all would be well without his remaining later, and he would receive a copy of the Flag by the first post.  The poor editor, whose head was splitting, weakly yielded; he just caught the midnight train to the West End and he went to bed feeling happy and hopeful.

At seven o’clock the next morning the whole Leon household was roused by a thunderous double rat-tat at the door.  Addie was even heard to scream.  A housemaid knocked at Raphael’s door and pushed a telegram under it.  Raphael jumped out of bed and read:  “Third of column more matter wanted.  Come at once.  Gluck.”

“How can that be?” he asked himself in consternation.  “If the latest news made a column when it was first set up before the accident, how can it make less now?”

He dashed up to Gluck’s office in a hansom and put the conundrum to him.

“You see we had no time to distribute the ‘pie,’ and we had no more type of that kind, so we had to reset it smaller,” answered Gluck glibly.  His eyes were blood-shot, his face was haggard.  The door of the private compartment stood open.

“Your men are not come yet, I suppose,” said Raphael.

“No,” said Gluck.  “They didn’t go away till two, poor fellows.  Is that the copy?” he asked, as Raphael handed him a couple of slips he had distractedly scribbled in the cab under the heading of “Talmudic Tales.”  “Thank you, it’s just about the size.  I shall have to set it myself.”

“But won’t we be terribly late?” said poor Raphael.

“We shall be out to-day,” responded Gluck cheerfully.  “We shall be in time for the Sabbath, and that’s the important thing.  Don’t you see they’re half-printed already?” He indicated a huge pile of sheets.  Raphael examined them with beating heart.  “We’ve only got to print ’em on the other side and the thing’s done,” said Gluck.