sake, leave out all that relates to Mrs. Cantwell. No use in
dragging a woman into a hazing scrape."

Dick went over to the desk, picking up a pen. For the fist three
or four minutes he sat staring at the paper, the desk, the floor,
the wall and the street door. But Mr. Pollock paid no heed to
him. Then, finally, Dick began to write. As he wrote a grin
came to his face. That grin broadened as he wrote on. At last
he took the pages over to Mr. Pollock.

"I don't suppose that's what you want," he said, his face very
red, "but the main facts are all there."

Laying down his own pen Mr. Pollock read rapidly but thoughtfully.
The editor began to laugh again. Then he laid down the last
sheet.

"Prescott, that's well done. There's a good reporter lurking
somewhere inside of you."

Thrusting one hand down into a pocket Mr. Pollock brought out
a half-dollar, which he tendered to Dick.

"What am I to do with this?" asked the young sophomore.

"Anything you please," replied the editor. "The money's for you."

"For me?" gasped Dick.

"Yes, of course. Didn't you write this yarn for me? Of course