assistants.

But to-day Mr. Carter was suddenly all amiability. He escorted Paul into
his sanctum, and after closing the door, tipped back in the leather
chair before his desk and in leisurely fashion drew out a cigar.

"How is your paper coming on, Paul?" he asked, as he blew a cloud of
smoke into the room and surveyed the boy through its blueness.

"Very well, Mr. Carter."

"Austin, our manager, tells me your circulation is increasing."

"Yes, sir. It's gone up steadily from the first."

"Humph!" mused Mr. Carter. "Funny thing, isn't it? It was quite a
clever move of yours to set the parents to writing. Everybody likes to
see himself in print; we're a vain lot of creatures. Of course, the
minute you published their articles they bought them. Could not resist
it!"

The lad laughed. Although he did not wholly agree with the editor it did
not seem necessary to tell him so.

"I guess you've found your enterprise a good deal of work," went on
Carter.

"Well, yes. It has taken more time than I expected," Paul admitted.

"You'll be glad to get rid of it when you graduate in June."

The man studied the boy furtively.

"Yes, I shall. It has been great fun; but it has been a good deal of
care."

"You're going to Harvard, I hear."

"Yes, sir. Harvard was Dad's college, and it's going to be mine."

"I haven't much use for colleges," growled Mr. Carter. "They turn out
nothing but a grist of extravagant snobs. I never went to college myself
and I have contrived to pull along and make my pile, thanks to nobody.
I've a big half mind to have Melville do the same. But his mother wants
him to go, and I suppose I shall have to give in and let him. It will be
interesting to see what he gets out of it."

Paul did not answer. He did not just know what reply to make.

"So you're set on college."

"Yes, sir, I am."

"What's your idea?"

"To know something."

The man's thin lips curled into a smile.

"And you expect to acquire that result at Harvard?"

"I hope so."

"Well, you may," remarked Mr. Carter, with a sceptical shrug of his
shoulders, "but I doubt it. You will probably fritter away your time and
your father's money in boat-racing, football, and fraternity dramatics;
that is what it usually amounts to."

"It has got to amount to more than that with me," Paul declared soberly.

"Why?"

"Because Dad is not rich, and hasn't the money to throw away."

A silence fell upon the room.

"I should think th