hear the
rustle of the dry leaves as they dropped from the trees and blew idly
along the sidewalk. There was a tang of smoke in the air, and a blue
haze from smoldering bonfires veiled the fall atmosphere.

Aimlessly Paul lingered. No one was in sight. Then the metallic
shrillness of a bicycle bell broke the silence. He wheeled about.
Noiselessly threading his way down the village highway came a thick-set,
rosy-faced boy of sixteen or seventeen years of age.

"Hi, Carter!" called Paul. "Hold on! I want to see you."

Carter grinned; stopping his wheel by rising erect on its pedals, he
vaulted to the ground.

"What's up, Paul?"

Without introduction Paul plunged into his subject. He spoke earnestly
and with boyish eloquence.

"Say, Cart, what do you think of '20 starting a school paper?"

"A paper! Great hat, Kipper--what for?"

Kipper was Paul's nickname.

"Why, to read, man."

"Oh, don't talk of reading," was Melville Carter's spirited retort.
"Aren't we all red-eyed already with Latin and Roman history? Why add a
paper to our troubles?"

Paul did not reply.

"What do you want with a paper, Kipper?" persisted Melville.

"Why to print our life histories and obituaries in," he answered. "To
extol our friends and damn our enemies."

Carter laughed.

"Come off," returned he, affectionately knocking Paul's hat down over
his eyes.

"Stop your kidding, Cart. I'm serious."

"You really want a newspaper, Kip? _Another newspaper!_ Scott! I don't.
I never read the ones there are already."

"I don't mean a newspaper, Cart," explained Paul with a touch of
irritation. "I mean a zippy little monthly with all the school news in
it--hockey, football, class meetings, and all the things we'd like to
read. Not highbrow stuff."

"Oh! I get you, Kipper," replied young Carter, a gleam of interest
dawning in his face.

"That wouldn't be half bad. A school paper!" he paused thoughtfully.
"But the money, Kip--the money to back such a scheme? What about that?"

"We could take subscriptions."

"At how much a subscrip, oh promoter?"

"I don't know," Paul responded vaguely. "One--twenty-five per--"

"Per--_haps_," cut in Melville, "and perhaps not. Who do you think,
Kipper, is going to pay a perfectly good dollar and a quarter for the
privilege of seeing his name in print and reading all the things he knew
before?"

In spite of himself Paul chuckled.

"Maybe they wouldn't know them before."

"Football and hockey