t. All is, I want six articles on The League of Nations.
He's an authority on international law and the best man I know to handle
the subject. He hasn't, however, much more use for me than your father
has, and thus far has politely refused every offer I've made him."

"Carl Damon is on our _March Hare_ literary staff," ventured Paul.

"There you are!" declared Mr. Carter triumphantly. "Set him at his
father's heels and tell him to bring me the six articles I'm after. Then
you boys flax round and get me ten new firms to advertise in the _Echo_
and I'll sign a contract with you to print your _March Hare_ in good
shape."

The lips of the elder man curled humorously.

Paul rose.

"It's mighty good of you, sir," he murmured.

"Don't thank me, youngster, until you've landed your bargain," protested
Mr. Carter with shame-faced haste. "Remember I said that when you had
fulfilled my conditions _then_ I would print your _March Hare_; I shan't
do it until then."

"But I am sure we can fulfill them."

"You seem very certain of it."

"I feel so."

"Humph! Have you ever tried to get an ad?"

"No, sir."

"Or asked your father why he didn't take the _Echo_?"

"No."

"Or tried to worm an article out of Judge Damon?"

Paul shook his head.

"Then you've some fun ahead of you," remarked Mr. Carter, rising. "I'd
wait to do my crowing if I were you."

With a grim laugh and a gesture of farewell he swept the boy from the
room.

CHAPTER III

MR. CAMERON TAKES A HAND IN THE GAME

As Paul walked down the steps of the Carter mansion he felt, as did
David Copperfield in the presence of the waiter, very young indeed. Had
Mr. Carter simply been making game of him? And was the business world
actually such a network of schemes and complexities?

And how did it happen that the printing of a newspaper was such a
difficult and expensive undertaking? Why should it be?

Paper and ink were common enough commodities surely. All that had to be
done was to print, and if a press were at hand it must be the easiest
thing in the world to do that. Why did people make such a fuss over
printing a paper?

Thoughtfully he walked home and turned in at his own door.

He was in a very sober frame of mind, unwontedly sober for him; so
sober, in fact, that his father, whom he encountered in the hall,
exclaimed:

"Goodness me, son, you look as if your last friend on earth had
perished. What's the matter?"

The boy smiled faintly.