subscribe to the
_March Hare_ but had promised to get one or more outside subscriptions.

Paul, descending from the speaker's desk, was the center of an admiring
and eager group of students.

"I say, Kip, where are you going to get the paper printed?" questioned
Donald Hall.

"I don't know yet," replied Paul jauntily.

"We'll have to see how much money we are going to have."

"Why don't you get Mel Carter's father to do it? He publishes the
_Echo_, and Mel is our business manager. That ought to give us some
pull."

Paul started.

"I never thought of asking Mr. Carter," he returned slowly. "I don't
believe Melville did, either. He's kind of a grouch. Still, he couldn't
do more than refuse. Of course the _Echo_ is pretty highbrow. Mr. Carter
might feel we were beneath his notice."

"No matter," was Donald's cheerful answer. "I guess we could live
through it if he did sit on us. Besides, maybe he wouldn't. Perhaps he'd
enjoy fostering young genius. You said you were going to make the paper
worth while and something more than an athletic journal."

"Yes, I am," retorted Paul promptly. "We've got to make it tally up with
what the subscribers pay for it. I mean to put in politics, poetry,
philosophy, and every other sort of dope," he concluded with a smile.

"You certainly are the one and only great editor-in-chief!" chuckled
Donald. Then he added hastily: "There's Melville now. Why don't you
buttonhole him about his father?"

"I will," cried Paul, hurrying across the corridor to waylay his chum.

"Hi, Cart!"

Melville came to a stop.

"Say, what's the matter with your father printing the _March Hare_ for
us?"

"What!" The lad was almost speechless with astonishment.

"I say," repeated Paul earnestly, "what's the matter with your father
printing the _March Hare_? He prints the _Echo_. Don't you believe he'd
print our paper too?"

Melville was plainly disconcerted.

"I--I--don't know," he managed to stammer uneasily. "You see, the _Echo_
office is such a darn busy place. My father is driven most to death.
Besides, we couldn't pay much. It wouldn't be worth the bother to the
_Echo_."

"Maybe not," said Paul. "But don't you think if your father knew we were
trying to run a decent paper he might like to help us out? Who knows but
some of us may become distinguished journalists when we grow up? There
may be real geniuses in our midst--celebrities."

"Great Scott, Paul, but you have got a wily tongue! Yo