"Is Prescott about?" asked Mr. Luce, for Dick, as our readers
know, earned many a dollar as a "space-writer"; that is, he was
paid so much a column for furnishing and writing up local news.

"Dick went out about ten minutes ago," replied Mr. Pollock.

"Was he here long?"

"About fifteen minutes."

"By the way, Mr. Pollock," the sub-master went on, "what do you
think of Dick's latest feat?"

"Which one?"

"His fine work over on the Tottenville road this afternoon?"

"I haven't heard of it," replied Mr. Pollock, opening his eyes.

"Come to think of it," rejoined John Luce, "and knowing young
Prescott as I do, I don't suppose you have heard of it---not from
Prescott, at all events."

Then the sub-master told the story of the burning load of hay
in a way that made the "Blade's" editor reach hastily for pencil
and paper that he might take notes.

"That's just the kind of story that Dick Prescott never could
be depended upon to bring in here---if he was the central character