ut I guess Prescott always has his head squarely
on his shoulders. He does, in school athletics, anyway. Len
Spencer is the man for this job, so of course Len had to be laid
up with a cold and fever that would make it murder to send him
out tonight."

Horse and buggy were soon at the door. Dick sprang in, picking
up the reins. Dave leaped in at the other side. The horse started
away at a steady trot.

"I hope those boys have brains enough not to go right past the
story," mused Bradley, gazing after the buggy before he went back
to his desk. "But I guess Prescott always has his head squarely
on his shoulders. He does, in school athletics, anyway. Len
Spencer is the man for this job, so of course Len had to be laid
up with a cold and fever that would make it murder to send him
out to-night."

"Dick," muttered Dave excitedly, "you've simply got to make good.
This isn't simply a little paragraph to be scribbled. It's a
mystery and is going to be the sensation of the day. This is
the kind of story that full-fledged reporters on the great dailies
have to handle."

"Yes," laughed Dick, "and those reporters never get flurried.
I'm not going to allow myself any excitement, either."

"No, but you want to get the story---all of it."

"Of course I do," Prescott agreed quietly.

"If you do this in bang-up shape," Dave went on enthusiastically,
"it's likely to be the making of you!"

"How?" queried Dick, turning around to his chum.

"Why, success on a big story would fairly launch you in journalism.
It would provide your career as soon as you're through High School."

"I don't want a career at the end of the High School course,"
Dick returned. "I'm going further, and try to fare better in
life."

"Wouldn't you like to be a newspaper man for good?" demanded Dave.

"Not on a small-fry paper, anyway" replied Prescott. "Why, Bradley
is news editor, and has been in the business for years. He gets
about thirty dollars a week. I don't believe Pollock, who has
charge of the paper, gets more than forty-five. That isn't return
enough for a man who is putting in his whole life at the business."

"Thirty dollars has the sound of pretty large money," mused Dave.
"As for forty-five, if that's what Mr. Pollock gets, look at the
comfort he lives in at his club; and he's a real estate owner, too."

"Yes," Dick admitted. "But that's because Pollock follows two
callings. He's an editor and a dealer in real estate. A