John Bsrry lockw “Gee! I’d almost forgotten about the John,” commented Clyde. “Guess I’ll call you Jack for a change.” “If you do,” answered Barry, “I’ll call you Fletcher――no, Fletch. That sounds like a side of bacon. Say, what’s the matter with that B? Looks as if it felt it was more important than the other letters!” “Gee! I don’t know! It always does that. Maybe that thingumbob is bent. I’ll have to get Whitwell to look at it. Well, don’t get a swelled head over that newspaper stuff, youngster. See you to-morrow.” Barry didn’t allow the article to increase the size of his cranium, but he did clip it very carefully and put it away with other and similar treasures. Also he showed it first to Peaches, and Peaches began calling him “Ace” and pretending a new and impressive deference. But even Peaches couldn’t explain why Higgins had been allowed to get that paragraph past the censor! They were still discussing the matter that evening in Barry’s room when footsteps came along the hall and Toby, as ever disdaining to knock, burst enthusiastically in on them, one hand extended before him and his eyes glowing behind his enormous spectacles. “Say, fellows, look here, will you? Say, look at this for a beauty! He was outside the window and didn’t say ‘Boo!’ when I picked him off. Lookut!” Toby thrust the prize under Barry’s eyes and Peaches got up to look, too. It was a medium-sized moth, its upper wings of pale yellow with black tracery and its lower ones of pinky red――they, too, marked with black. It certainly was a beautiful thing, and both Barry and Peaches admired it in a fashion to satisfy its captor. Peaches wanted to know the name of it, but Toby shook his head. “Golly! I don’t know,” he answered regretfully. “I’ve never seen one like it before. I’m going to look it up at the library to-morrow. Ain’t it a corker?” “Wonderful, Toby,” assented Peaches. “Is he dead?” “No, I guess he’s just kind of chilled.” Toby touched the moth gently and it stirred in lazy protest, stretching its upper wings a little wider. Then, as if to make the protest more emphatic, it fluttered out of Toby’s palm and settled on the blue blotting-pad on the desk. “Don’t touch him!” warned Toby in agonized tones. “You might tear his wings.” He reached a stealthy finger down and tried to persuade the moth to crawl upon it, but the invitation was refused. There was a sudden fluttering of pale yellow-and-red wings and the moth careened agitatedly about their heads, dipped swiftly, and mysteriously disappeared. “Well, where the dickens――!” exclaimed Peaches. “He went into that drawer!” declared Toby. “There he is! I see him!” Barry drew the top drawer of the desk farther out and Toby, peering excitedly in, made a grab among the papers and various articles there, but missed the moth. “Better take the drawer out,” suggested Peaches. “Although, for my part, I hope he gets away from you!”