.

For a moment the group of men in the place regarded him without
recognition; then one reporter exclaimed:

"Why, it's Tows! Little Towsley of ours!" and gayly extended his hand
in greeting.

"Congratulations, young man!" cried another. "The hero of a snow-bank,
an adoption, a rescue! The staff is proud to welcome you back!"

A third whipped out pencil and pad and demanded:

"The facts. Straight. First-hand notes keep the right color. Make
another item for to-night."

But the boy had regained his speech and held up a protesting hand.

"Don't bother with that old stuff. The fellows said it had been in.
Has it?"

"Yes."

"Anybody else 'round--that don't belong to us?" asked the newsboy
cautiously, looking about the room for lurking strangers.

"Not a soul. What's up?"

"Got a good one. A regular ghosty one. Up to the house where I'm
livin' now."

"What's that? Don't swell so with pride, aristocrat!"

"Who's a-swelling? If you don't want it, never mind. I ain't suffering
to give it away. Don't know as Miss Lucy'd like it, any way."

It was rather late in the affair to think about that, however, and
Towsley put the possibility out of mind; or, with the true spirit of
newspaper enterprise, decided that private considerations should give
precedence to the public good. Yet what possible good the mysterious
ringing of an electric bell was to do the "public" it would be
difficult to say.

"Come, you rising young journalist! Give it out. Wouldn't go back on
your own paper, would you?"

Whereupon, Towsley related his modern ghost story, with such
embellishments as a very lively fancy could furnish; and the active
reporter took it down verbatim. After which he tossed his "copy" to
an office boy and put on his hat and top-coat.

"Come on, Tows. I'll go up with you and see the thing for myself."

"It's just as I said," remarked the lad, proudly.

"I'm not denying it. But if I can make two paragraphs go where one
would do, you're not the boy to hinder me, I suppose," answered the
other.

The cars had resumed their regular running, and the pair boarded one;
but when they left it at the corner of the Avenue where Miss Lucy
lived, the reporter looked about him and whistled.

"Well, I declare, boy! You're in clover. I wouldn't mind being adopted
myself. See that you introduce me properly to the lady. Mention her
name first, then present me. We want to do credit to our office, you
see."

Master Lionel Towsl