d," protested Dan. "Where, in the whole town,
could a bunch of youngsters like us, get thirty-six dollars' worth
of real credit?"

"I can," declared Dick, coolly.

"You? Where? With your father?"

"No; Dad rarely takes in much in the way of pennies. I don't
suppose he has two dollars' worth of pennies on hand at any time.
But, fellows, you know that 'The Morning Blade' is a one cent
paper. Now, the publisher of 'The Blade' must bank a keg of pennies
every day in the week. I can see Mr. Pollock, the editor, this
afternoon, right after luncheon. He has probably sent most of
the pennies to bank today, but I'll ask him if he'll have to-morrow's
pennies saved for us."

"Say, if he'll only do that!" glowed Dan, his eyes flashing.

"He will," declared Dave Darrin. "Mr. Pollock will do anything,
within reason, that Dick asks."

"Now, fellows, if I can put this thing through, we can meet in
my room to-morrow afternoon at one o'clock. Pennies come in rolls
of fifty each, you know. We'll have to break up the rolls, and
make new ones, each containing fifteen pennies."

Dave Darrin stopped where he was, and began to laugh. Tom Reade
quickly joined in. The others were grinning.

"Oh, say, just for one look at Prin.'s face, if we can spring
that job on him!" chuckled Harry Hazelton.

"We can," announced Dick, gravely. "So go home and enjoy your
dinners, fellows. If you want to meet on the same old corner
on Main Street, at half-past two to-day, we'll go in a body to
'The Blade' office and learn what Mr. Pollock has to say about
our credit."

"_Your_ credit, you mean," corrected Dave.

After dinner Dick & Co. met as agreed. Arrived at "The Blade"
office it was decided that Dick Prescott should go in alone to
carry on the negotiation. He soon came out again, wearing a satisfied
smile and carrying a package under one arm.

"If I'm any good at guessing," suggested Dave, "you put the deal
over."

"Mr. Pollock agreed, all right," nodded Dick. "I have fourteen
dollars here. He'll let us have the rest to-morrow."

They hurried back to Dick's room, over the bookstore that was
run by Mr. and Mrs. Prescott.

"Whew, but this stuff is heavy," muttered Dick, dumping the package
on the table. "Mr. Pollock sent out to the pressroom and had
some paper cut of just the size that we shall need for wrappers."

"Did you tell Pollock what we are going to do?" asked Greg Holmes.

"Not exactly, but he guessed that s