The “flush times” held bravely on. Something over two years before, Mr. Goodman and another journeyman printer, had borrowed forty dollars and set out from San Francisco to try their fortunes in the new city of Virginia. They found the Territorial¹ Enterprise, a poverty-stricken weekly journal, gasping² for breath and likely to die. They bought it, type, fixtures³, good-will and all, for a thousand dollars, on long time. The editorial sanctum, news-room, press-room, publication office, bed- chamber⁴, parlor⁵, and kitchen were all compressed into one apartment and it was a small one, too. The editors and printers slept on the floor, a Chinaman did their cooking, and the “imposing⁶-stone” was the general dinner table. But now things were changed. The paper was a great daily, printed by steam; there were five editors and twenty-three compositors; the subscription⁷ price was sixteen dollars a year; the advertising⁸ rates were exorbitant⁹, and the columns crowded. The paper was clearing from six to ten thousand dollars a month, and the “Enterprise Building” was finished and ready for occupation—a stately fireproof brick. Every day from five all the way up to eleven columns of “live” advertisements were left out or crowded into spasmodic and irregular “supplements.”