Hugh jumped up from his chair and clapped a cap on his head.

"It's now about four o'clock of a Friday afternoon," he remarked,
"and if we could only run across Jim Pettigrew, and he got interested
in our story, why it might not be too late to get the little write-up
arranged before they went to press tonight."

Thad was all animation.

"Fine! Let's rush around to the _Courier_ office and see Jim!" he
hastened to say. "I've an idea he's a sort of Jack-of-all-trades
there, writing up news, setting type in an emergency, and even helping
turn off the limited edition of about five hundred copies of the
paper that are run every week. So, as Friday night is the climax to
their week's work, we're likely to find Jim there with his coat off,
and on the job."

They soon arrived at the small building on a side street where the
local paper had its offices, and, indeed, every other thing connected
with it, for that matter.

"There's Jim sitting in the editor's chair," observed Thad, looking
through a dusty window.

"Must be Mr. Adoiphus Hanks, who owns and edits the _Courier_, is
out of town just at present. Say, that would just suit us to a
fraction, wouldn't it, Hugh?"

"It might make things easier for us," admitted the other; and then