over his desk. "Here's something you can put on and wear."

He held out to the boy an oblong little piece of metal, gold plated.

"It's a badge such as 'The Blade' reporters wear, and has the
paper's name on it," continued the editor. "You can pin it on
your vest."

"I guess I'd better leave that part out for a while," laughed
Dick, drawing back. "The fellows at school wouldn't do a thing
to me if they caught me wearing a reporter's badge."

"Oh, just as you please about that," nodded Mr. Pollock, tossing
the badge back into the drawer. "But don't forget to bring us
in something good, Prescott."

"I won't forget, Mr. Pollock."

As Dick went down the street, whistling blithely, he kept his
hand in his pocket on the half-dollar. He had had much more money
with him a little while before, but that was to pay to some one
else. This half-dollar was wholly his own money, and, with the
prospect it carried of earning more, the High School boy was delighted.
Pocket money had never been plentiful with young Prescott. The
new opportunity filled him with jubilation.

It was not long, however, before a new thought struck him. He
went straight to his parents' bookstore, where he found his mother
alone, Mr. Prescott being out on business.