After the sound of Charlotte’s and Emma’s retreating footsteps faded, Arthur’s smile fell away as Charlotte’s words echoed in his mind.
God, was Charlotte ever right. He’d better be careful.
***
On Sunday, Arthur showed up to Putnam Press fifty minutes late. He’d have been early had he not misplaced his favorite blue cravat. Or, well, knowing himself, he wouldn’t have been early, perhaps, but only afewminutes late instead, rather than fifty. Despite Arthur knowing full well that he shouldn’t have been entertaining the possibility that Mr. O’Connor might find himhalfas interesting as he found Mr. O’Connor, he still wanted to look his best for their meeting. And for that, Arthur had thought it best to wear his favorite silk cravat, one that both Emma and Charlottehad once said complemented his blue eyes. On the off chance that Mr. O’Connor possessed similar sexual and romantic proclivities as he, Arthur hoped that the man might find him handsome in it. Not that Mr. O’Connor thinking such a thing would or could lead to something. Probably.
Standing in front of the door, Arthur tested the knob to see if he would need to use his key, but it was unlocked. Stomach twisting and turning from nervous excitement, Arthur pulled it open with a fast tug. He found Mr. O’Connor sitting on a stool, looking both bored and irritated. Arthur flashed him a smile.
“Good morning!”
“I thought we said seven,” Mr. O’Connor said bluntly.
Clearly Mr. O’Connor was not the sort of man to mince words. Arthur was too busy finding it refreshing to be offended.
“I had some... business to take care of.” Arthur pulled off his black gloves and shoved them into the pockets of his overcoat, which he then worked to remove. “I’m finished with it now, though, so I’m free to learn whatever you can stand to teach me.”
“Alright, well, I wrote up some notes on our presses here,” Mr. O’Connor said, pointing to a small stack of papers in front of him. “I created a couple of diagrams as well. One of the Gordon Jobber and one of the Grasshopper.”
Arthur hung his overcoat and hat on a hook.
“Diagrams? Really?” He walked over to the workstation where Mr. O’Connor was sitting. His eyes widened when he saw the pictures—a rough but clear sketch of both machines with the major parts labeled, a legend at the bottom indicating the purpose of each—and he then immediately picked one of them up to study more closely. “It must have taken you hours to make these.”
“Only one and a half,” Mr. O’Connor said. “I thought that if you had these to reference, then maybe it would prevent us from having to meet a second time.”
Grimacing, Arthur set the paper back on top of the pile.
“Smart thinking,” he said, taking care to keep his voice neutral, though he was a touch hurt over Mr. O’Connor’s remark. He clasped his hands together. “Now, I not only want to know how the machines work, but what each one is used for, as well as its typical rate of output. I can imagine that sort of information being important when I meet with some of the folks who will be choosing the remaining exhibitors for the fair. It’ll be even more important if I’m tasked with showing these off myself at the World’s Columbian Exposition.”
Mr. O’Connor hopped off of his stool.
“You’d have to talk about them yourself? At the fair?”
“Oh, well, not thewholetime, or even most of the time, but from what the organizers have told me, there will be specific instances when exhibitors can offer a lecture, especially to, ehm, certain people. See, they’ll have private events for business owners and city officials. And even for some of the wealthier families in Chicago as well.”
Mr. O’Connor hummed. “Interesting.”
As Mr. O’Connor turned, Arthur caught him curling his lip, and his stomach roiled. Mr. O’Connor might have been mildly rude before, butthis? It was outright hostility. And Arthur couldn’t help but be sincerely bothered by that scornful facial expression of his.
“Have I upset you somehow, Mr. O’Connor?” Arthur asked as he followed.
“I’m fine,” Mr. O’Connor replied, though his voice was still tinged with ire.
Arthur’s heart sank. Clearly, the man was eager to move forward with the lesson.
Mr. O’Connor began, “Let’s start with the ink. Before making a print, the rollers must be coated, which is why we have the rotating platform.”
Arthur couldn’t let this lie.
“Excuse me, wait,” Arthur spluttered before pausing and letting out a huff. “Look, Mr. O’Connor, I’m not sure what was wrong with what I said regarding the fair, but I really am pleased that you offered to teach me how these presses operate. I would have asked Mr. Stevenson, but he isn’t familiar with the presses I have in my other—”
“I never offered,” Mr. O’Connor muttered.
Arthur reeled back. “Pardon?”
“I never offered to teach you,” Mr. O’Connor said. “You ordered me to. And nothing is wrong with what you said about the fair, exactly, but I think it’s... interesting.”
“Interesting?”
