it."

"What would you like most of all in the world to be?" inquired
the editor of "The Blade."

"A soldier!" replied young Prescott, with great promptness and
emphasis.

"Hm! The soldier's trade is rather dull these days," replied
the editor. "We're becoming a peaceful people, and the arbitrator's
word does the work that the sword used to do."

"This country has been in several wars," argued Dick, "and will
be in others yet to come. In times of peace a soldier's duty
is to fit himself for the war time that is to come. Oh, I believe
there's plenty, always, that an American soldier ought to be doing."

"Perhaps. But newspaper work is the next best thing to soldiering,
anyway. Prescott, my boy, the reporter of to-day is the descendant
of the old free-lance soldier of fortune. It takes a lot of nerve
to be a reporter, sometimes, and to do one's work just as it
should be done. The reporter's life is almost as full of adventure
as the soldier's. And there are no 'peace times' for the reporter.
He never knows when his style of 'war' will break out. But I
must get back to my work. Are you going to try to bring us in
good matter at a dollar a column?"

"Yes, I am, thank you," Dick replied, unhesitatingly, now.

"Good," nodded Mr. Pollock, opening one of the smaller drawers