n. He took the outstretched hand
of his defeated opponent, and the building rang again.

Banker Hammond pushed his way through the congratulating crowd and
smote the winner cordially on the shoulder.

"That was a great run, Dick, my boy. The old man was your mascot. Your
luck changed the moment he came in. Your father had his eye on you all
the time."

"What!" cried Dick, with a jump.

A flush came over his pale face as he caught his father's eye, although
the old man's glance was kindly enough.

"I'm very proud of you, my son," said his father, when at last he
reached him. "It takes skill and pluck and nerve to win a contest like
that. I'm off now; I want to tell your mother about it."

"Wait a moment, father, and we'll walk home together," said Dick.

THE BROMLEY GIBBERTS STORY.

The room in which John Shorely edited the _Weekly Sponge_ was not
luxuriously furnished, but it was comfortable. A few pictures decorated
the walls, mostly black and white drawings by artists who were so
unfortunate as to be compelled to work for the _Sponge_ on the
cheap. Magazines and papers were littered all about, chiefly American
in their origin, for Shorely had been brought up in the editorial
school which teaches that it is cheaper to steal from a foreign
publication than waste good money on original contributions. You
clipped out the story; changed New York to London; Boston or
Philadelphia to Manchester or Liverpool, and there you were.

Shorely's theory was that the public was a fool, and didn't know the
difference. Some of the greatest journalistic successes in London
proved the fact, he claimed, yet the _Sponge_ frequently bought
stories from well-known authors, and bragged greatly about it.

Shorely's table was littered with manuscripts, but the attention of the
great editor was not upon them. He sat in his wooden armchair, with his
gaze on the fire and a frown on his brow. The _Sponge_ was not
going well, and he feared he would have to adopt some of the many prize
schemes that were such a help to pure literature elsewhere, or offer a
thousand pounds insurance, tied up in such a way that it would look
lavishly generous to the constant reader, and yet be impossible to
collect if a disaster really occurred.

In the midst of his meditations a clerk entered and announced--"Mr.
Bromley Gibberts."

"Tell him I'm busy just now--tell him I'm engaged," said the editor,
while the perplexed frown deepened on his brow.