ty-dollar
bill that was to have been the price of his undoing, and looked at it.
He would take it back that very day to Mr. Carter and confess that he
had not fulfilled the contract the newspaper owner had tried to force
upon him. A smile parted his lips. It was as he turned to leave the room
that he encountered Donald Hall.

The expression of the lad's face gave him a start; there was shame,
regret, suffering in it.

"What's the matter, Don?" Paul asked.

The boy tried to speak but no words came.

"You're not sick, old chap?"

"No. Why?"

"You look so darn queer. Anything I can do for you?"

"N--o. No, I guess not. I just waited to see if you were coming along."

"Yes, I'm coming right now," returned Paul briskly. "We'll both have to
be hopping, or we'll be late. So long! See you later."

The boys passed out into the corridor together and there fled in
opposite directions.

But Donald's face haunted Paul through the rest of the morning. What
could be the matter with the boy?

CHAPTER XVI

AN AMAZING MIRACLE

At the close of the session that day Paul walked with reluctant feet
toward the office of the _Echo_.

It was with the greatest difficulty that he had shaken off the fellows
one by one,--Melville, Roger Bell, Donald Hall, Billie Ransom, and the
other boys; he had even evaded Converse who, having heard the good news,
came jubilantly toward him with the words:

"1920 is all right! She never was yellow, and I knew she wouldn't change
color at this late date."

Paul smiled and passed on. Yes, he had done the square thing; he knew it
perfectly well. Nor did he regret his action. On the contrary he was
more light-hearted than he had been for a long time. Nevertheless he did
not exactly fancy the coming interview with Mr. Carter.

He had called up the _Echo_, and by a bit of good fortune had managed
not only to get into touch with the editorial office but to reach the
publisher himself. If the business at hand were important, Mr. Carter
would see him. It was important, Paul said. Then he might come
promptly at four o'clock and the magnate would give him half an hour.

It was almost four now. The hands of the clock were moving toward the
dreaded moment only too fast.

Soon, the boy reflected with a little shiver up his spine, he would be
in the bare little sanctum of the great man, facing those piercing eyes
and handing back the fifty-dollar bill that had lain in his pocket for
so many wee