the head of the stairs.

"Mr. Bradley, of 'The Blade,' wants to talk with you over the 'phone.
In a hurry, too, he says.

"I'll be right there, Dad. Coming, Dave?"

Darrin nodding, the two chums ran down the stairs to the bookstore.
Dick caught up the transmitter and answered.

"That you, Dick?" sounded the impatient voice of News Editor Bradley.

"This is Dick Prescott, Mr. Bradley."

"Then, for goodness' sake, can you hustle up here?"

"Of course I can."

"Ask your father if you can take up a late night job for me.
Then come on the jump. My men are all out, and everything is
at odds and ends in the way of news. I can't get a single man,
and I wish I had three at this minute."

"Dave Darrin is here. Can I bring him along?"

"Yes; he's not a reporter---but he may be able to help. Hustle."

"I'll be walking in through the doorway," laughed Dick, "by the
time you've hung your transmitter up. Good-bye." Ting-a-ling-ling!
"Now, Dave, get your father on the jump, and ask his leave to
go out on a late night story with me."

Fortunately there was no delay about this. Dave received the
permission from home promptly enough. The two youngsters set
out on a run.

What healthy boy of sixteen doesn't love to prowl late a night?
It is twenty-fold more fascinating when there's a mystery on
tap, and a newspaper behind all the curiosity.

The longing of these sturdy chums for mystery and adventure was
swiftly to be gratified---perhaps more so than they could have
wished!

News Editor Bradley was waiting for them in the doorway of "The
Blade" office, a frown on the journalistic face.

CHAPTER II

THE START OF THE DODGE MYSTERY

"This is the way it always goes," jerked out Bradley, as the two
High School boys hurried into the office after him.

"One of my men is sick, and the other two are somewhere---where,
I can't find out."

"All" his men sounded large enough; as a matter of fact, the only
reporters "The Blade" employed were three young men on salary,
and Dick Prescott, mainly as gleaner of school news. Dick didn't
receive any salary, but was paid a dollar a column.

"What's happening, anyway?" Dick asked coolly.

"You know Theodore Dodge?" demanded Mr. Bradley.

"I know him when I see him; he never talks with me," Prescott
replied.

"Theodore Dodge is the father of a fellow in our senior class
at High School," Dave put in, adding under his breath, "and the
son is one of our football