n his mind when
he reached "The Blade" office. He turned in the news story he
bad been sent for. As he did so the news editor looked up to
remark:

"We have plenty of room to spare in the paper to-night, Prescott."

"Yes? Well?"

"Can't you give us a few paragraphs of real High School news?
Something about the state of athletics there?"

"Why, yes, of course," the young sophomore nodded.

Returning to the desk where he had been sitting, Dick ran off
a few paragraphs on the outlook of the coming High School baseball
season.

"Did you write that High School baseball stuff in this morning's
paper, Dick?" asked Tom Reade, the next day.

"Yes."

"You said that the indications are that Ripley will be the crack
pitcher this season, and that he is plainly going to be far ahead
of all the other box candidates."

"That's correct, isn't it?" challenged Dick.

"It looks so, of course," Tom admitted. "But why did you give
Ripley such a boost? He's no friend of yours, or ours."

"Newspapers are published for the purpose of giving information,"
Dick explained. "If a newspaper's writers all wrote just to please
themselves and their friends, how many people do you suppose would
buy the daily papers? Fred Ripley is the most prominent box candidate
we have. He towers away over the rest of us. That was why I
so stated it in 'The Blade.'"

"And I guess that's the only right way to do things when you're
writing for the papers," agreed Darrin.

"It's a pity you can't print some other things about Ripley that
you know to be true," grumbled Hazelton.

"True," agreed Dick, thoughtfully. "I'm only a green, amateur
reporter, but I've already learned that a reporter soon knows
more than he can print."

Prescott was thinking of the meeting he had witnessed, the night
before, between Fred and Tip.

After sleeping on the question for the night, Dick had decided
that he would say nothing of the matter, for the present, either
to the elder or the younger Ripley.

"If Fred found out that I knew all about it, he'd be sure that
I was biding my time," was what Dick had concluded. "He'd be
sure that I was only waiting for the best chance to expose him.
On the other hand, if I cautioned his father, there'd be an awful
row at the Ripley home. Either way, Fred Ripley would go to pieces.
He'd lose what little nerve he ever had. After that he'd be
no good at pitching. He'd go plumb to pieces. That might leave
me the chanc