lade."

"A soldier!" replied young Prescott, with great promptness and
emphasis.

"Hm! The soldier's trade is rather dull these days," replied
the editor. "We're becoming a peaceful people, and the arbitrator's
word does the work that the sword used to do."

"This country has been in several wars," argued Dick, "and will
be in others yet to come. In times of peace a soldier's duty
is to fit himself for the war time that is to come. Oh, I believe
there's plenty, always, that an American soldier ought to be doing."

"Perhaps. But newspaper work is the next best thing to soldiering,
anyway. Prescott, my boy, the reporter of to-day is the descendant
of the old free-lance soldier of fortune. It takes a lot of nerve
to be a reporter, sometimes, and to do one's work just as it
should be done. The reporter's life is almost as full of adventure
as the soldier's. And there are no 'peace times' for the reporter.
He never knows when his style of 'war' will break out. But I
must get back to my work. Are you going to try to bring us in
good matter at a dollar a column?"

"Yes, I am, thank you," Dick replied, unhesitatingly, now.

"Good," nodded Mr. Pollock, opening one of the smaller drawers
over his desk. "Here's something you can put on and wear."

He held out to the boy an oblong little piece of metal, gold plated.

"It's a badge such as 'The Blade' reporters wear, and has the
paper's name on it," continued the editor. "You can pin it on
your vest."

"I guess I'd better leave that part out for a while," laughed
Dick, drawing back. "The fellows at school wouldn't do a thing
to me if they caught me wearing a reporter's badge."

"Oh, just as you please about that," nodded Mr. Pollock, tossing
the badge back into the drawer. "But don't forget to bring us
in something good, Prescott."

"I won't forget, Mr. Pollock."

As Dick went down the street, whistling blithely, he kept his
hand in his pocket on the half-dollar. He had had much more money
with him a little while before, but that was to pay to some one
else. This half-dollar was wholly his own money, and, with the
prospect it carried of earning more, the High School boy was delighted.
Pocket money had never been plentiful with young Prescott. The
new opportunity filled him with jubilation.

It was not long, however, before a new thought struck him. He
went straight to his parents' bookstore, where he found his mother
alone, Mr. Prescott being o