“I am in a different business.”

“You don’t say!  What is it?” asked Luke, with some curiosity.

“I’m in the office of the ‘Centreville Gazette.’  I’m going to learn the printing business.”

“You are?  Why, I’ve got a friend in the office,—­John Clapp.  He never told me about your being there.”

“He didn’t know I was coming.  I only went to work this afternoon.”

“So you are the printer’s devil?” said Luke, with a slight sneer.

“I believe so,” answered our hero, quietly.

“Do you get good pay?”

“Not much at first.  However, I can get along with what money I have, and what is due me.”

Luke Harrison understood the last allusion, and turned away abruptly.  He had no wish to pay up the money which he owed Harry, and for this reason was sorry to see him in the village.  He feared, if the conversation were continued, Harry would be asking for the money, and this would be disagreeable.

At this moment John Clapp entered the bar-room.  He nodded slightly to Harry, but walked up to Luke, and greeted him cordially.  There were many points of resemblance between them, and this drew them into habits of intimacy.

“Will you have something to drink, Harrison?” said Clapp.

“I don’t mind if I do,” answered Luke, with alacrity.

They walked up to the bar, and they were soon pledging each other in a fiery fluid which was not very likely to benefit either of them.  Meanwhile Harry gave directions about his trunk, and left the room.

“So you’ve got a new ‘devil’ in your office,” said Luke, after draining his glass.

“Yes.  He came this afternoon.  How did you hear?”

“He told me.”

“Do you know him?” asked Clapp, in some surprise.

“Yes.  I know him as well as I want to.”

“What sort of a fellow is he?”

“Oh, he’s a sneak—­one of your pious chaps, that ’wants to be an angel, and with the angels stand.’”

“Then he’s made a mistake in turning ‘devil,’” said Clapp.

“Good for you!” said Luke, laughing.  “You’re unusually brilliant to-night, Clapp.”

“So he’s a saint, is he?”

“He set up for one; but I don’t like his style myself.  He’s as mean as dirt.  Why I knew him several months, and he never offered to treat in all that time.  He’s as much afraid of spending a cent as if it were a dollar.”

“He won’t have many dollars to spend just at present.  He’s working for his board.”

“Oh, he’s got money saved up,” said Luke.  “Fellows like him hang on to a cent when they get it.  I once asked him to lend me a few dollars, just for a day or two, but he wouldn’t do it.  I hate such mean fellows.”

“So do I. Will you have a cigar?”

“I’ll treat this time,” said Luke, who thought it polite to take his turn in treating once to his companion’s four or five times.