"Johnny Thompson, you nut!" growled the policeman. "Didn't you never
view that map of his before?"

"Yes, but Johnny Thompson's dead."

"All right, have it your own way."

"What's the charge?"

"Conspiracy. Now beat it."

The youth started on a run for the nearest telephone. He had hit upon a
first page story. A half-hour later every newsboy in the downtown
district was shouting himself hoarse, and the words he shouted were
these:

"All about Johnny Thompson. Johnny Thompson, featherweight champion.
Alive! Arrested for conspiracy! Extry!"

The theatre crowds were thronging the streets, and the newsies reaped a
rich harvest. Among those in the throng was Mazie Mortimer, Johnny
Thompson's one-time pal. She had gone to the theatre alone. When Johnny
was in Chicago, she had gone with him, but now no one seemed to quite
take his place.

As she hastened to the elevated station the shouts of the newsboys
struck her ears. At first she heard only those two electrifying words,
"Johnny Thompson." Then she listened and heard it all.