urance.

"My father's firm has never advertised," declared Dave Chandler. "I'll
put it up to Pater when I get home."

"My uncle will help us out; I bet he will," promised Oscar Hamilton.
"Robey and Hamilton, you know."

"The more the merrier," responded Paul gayly. "Just call me up this
evening and tell me what luck you've had."

"Sure, old fellow! We'll do that!" came from the boys as they dispersed.

The remainder of the morning Paul mingled fragments of chemistry and
Greek with visions of the _March Hare_, and the moment school was out he
dashed home to complete his studying and get it out of the way that he
might be free to go to see Judge Damon directly after dinner.

Despite the dignity of his profession the judge was a much less
formidable person to face than Mr. Arthur Presby Carter. He was a
simple, kindly man, with an ingratiating smile and a keen sympathy with
human nature. He was, moreover, very fond of young people. He liked all
boys, seeming never to forget the fact that he himself had been one of
them not so many years ago.

Therefore, no sooner had Paul presented himself at the front door than
he was shown into the study where, before a bright fire blazing on the
hearth, the judge sat smoking.

"Come in, Paul," he called cordially. "Your father told me about this
undertaking of yours, and I hear I am to be one of your victims."

"I'm afraid you are, sir."

"Well, well! I suppose doing what we do not enjoy is good for our
characters," returned the judge mischievously. "If you boys propose to
do some serious writing of English and secure a little business
experience, certainly your aim is a worthy one and we older folks should
back you up. It's a far more sensible vent for your energy, to my mind,
than so much football."

"Oh, we're not going to give over our football, sir," asserted Paul with
prompt candor.

"No, indeed! Keep up your games by all means. But moderation is a jewel.
A little football goes a good way, while business training is never
amiss."

"We expect to get quite a bit of business training out of issuing our
paper," said Paul modestly.

"And in order to do it, you young rascals are going to rope me into your
schemes, are you?" demanded the judge.

"Mr. Carter is."

"It's the same thing--or rather it isn't the same thing, for what I
would not consent to do for Mr. Carter I am going to do for you boys."

Paul murmured his thanks.

"Tut, tut! Say no more about it," Jud