noon
Bobby was smeared with more ink than the printing press . Scissors , pencils , paper , used cards and type were scattered everywhere . All the time his fingers were working his brain , too , was busy , searching back from the result to the cause , seeking the requisite modification . Mr. Orde , returning at noon , burst out laughing at the sight . `` Well , youngster , '' said he , `` how do you like being a printer ? '' `` Oh Bobby ! '' cried Mrs. Orde behind him .