rty to
send contributions back with a slip saying that the inclosed article
does not meet the needs of their paper, or else that there is no room
for it."

"Gee! Imagine my sending back an article that some parent had written."

"If you are going to be an editor that will be part of your business.
You will have to learn to discriminate between the articles that are
timely, well written, interesting, and in harmony with the principles
you have blocked out for your magazine."

"Do you suppose Mr. Carter has to do that?" asked Paul in an awed tone.

"Without question."

"Then no wonder he looks as if he would freeze the blood in your veins,"
ejaculated the boy. "It must make him almighty severe just to keep
reading stuff and sending back what he doesn't like, regardless of who
wrote it."

"He must keep up the standard of his paper, son. His subscribers pay
good money for it and they want what they pay for. Were an editor to
take pity on every poor soul who sent him an article his publication
would soon be filled with every sort of trash. He has to train himself
to be unprejudiced and give his readers only the best the market
affords. The personal element does not enter into the matter."

"I see. I hadn't thought of that side of it," Paul confessed slowly.

His father watched him in silence.

"I should not let this matter worry me," observed the older man
presently, "for I doubt if you have so many unsolicited manuscripts that
you will be troubled with returning a great number of them to their
owners. And if you find yourself overrun with them you can always call
in expert advice."

Paul brightened.

"I could ask somebody's opinion, couldn't I?" he declared.

"Of course. Or you could consult with your staff."

"My staff! Pooh! They wouldn't know any more about it than I did,"
chuckled Paul. "But you would, Dad, and so would Judge Damon. I shall
come straight to you if I get stuck."

"Two heads are often better than one," responded Mr. Cameron kindly.
"Bring your problem home, my boy, if you find it too big for you.
Together we'll thrash it out."

"You certainly are a trump, Dad!" cried Paul. "I guess between us all we
can make a go of the _March Hare_."

"I'm sure of it!" responded his father.

CHAPTER VI

A GAME OF CARDS

The first copy of the _March Hare_ came out amid great
excitement,--excitement that spread not only through the Burmingham High
School but into the home of almost every c