on News Editor Bradley's
desk.

"I'm pretty sure you'll find it all right, Mr. Bradley," declared
Dick. "Now, I must get home, for I'm due in bed in half an hour."

"Training and newspaper work don't go well together," laughed
the news editor. "However, your football season will soon be
over. This time next year you'll be through with High School,
and I hope you'll be with us then altogether."

"I don't know about that, Mr. Bradley," smiled Dick, picking up
his hat and starting for the door. "But I do know that I like
newspaper work mighty well. When a fellow is writing for a paper
he seems to be alive all the time, and right up to the minute."

"That youngster may come to us for a while, after he gets out
of High School," called Mr. Pollock, across the room, after Prescott
had, gone out. "But he won't stay long on a small daily. A youngster
with all his hustle is sure to pull out, soon, for one of the
big city dailies. The country towns can't hold 'em."

Dick went briskly down the street, whistling blithely, as a boy
will do when he's healthy and his conscience is clear.

A block below another boy, betraying the hang-dog spirit only
too plainly, turned the corner into Main Street.

It was Phin Drayne, out for one of his night walks. Fearing that
he might be insulted, and get into a fight with some one, Drayne
had armed himself with one of his father's canes. The stick had
a crook for a handle.

Prescott caught a glimpse of the other boy's face; then he turned
away, hastening on.

"I'm not even worth looking at," muttered Phin to himself.

Just as Dick went past, Phin seized the cane by the ferule end,
and lunged out quickly.

The crook caught neatly around one of Dick's ankles just as the
foot was lifted.

Like a flash Prescott went down. One less nimble, and having
had less training, might have been in for a split kneecap. But
Dick was too much master of his body and its movements. He went
down to his hands, then touched lightly on his knees.

Phin laughed sneeringly as Dick sprang up, unhurt.

"Keep out of my way, after this---you less-than-nothing!" muttered
Dick between his teeth. "I don't want to have to even hit a thing
like you!"

"You'll show good judgment, Mr. Big-head, if you don't try it,"
jeered Drayne, menacing Dick with the cane.

The color came into Dick's face. Leaping forward, with all the
adroitness of the born tackler, he caught that cane, just as it
descended, a