"The University headquarters are in Bolton's furniture store," explained Wat. "My--my baby died last night, and I went there for her little coffin." He choked and walked over to the gate. After a moment he turned back. "Barks was there. When he found why I came, he walked out with me. He put his arm around my shoulder. He--he was telling me that he buried his youngest, a few weeks ago. And now, while I am tied here, and the time is so short, Ellis is gone. And I'll be ruined!" He leaned heavily on the rickety gate. Bill wiped his snub nose, openly, but Jap straightened up. The fire of battle was in his eyes. "Come inside," he cried valiantly. "Ellis is gone, but the office is here. Come on, Bill. We have great things to do." All night long the two boys labored. After the story was in type, they printed it on the Washington press. It was Bill's suggestion that brought forth a can of vermilion, to lend color to the heart story. Wat was in and out all night, but there was no "in and out" for the boys. At daybreak they flung the last handbill upon the stack of bills and sank exhausted upon them. Wat carried a mail pouch full of them to the stage that started on its daily trip to Faber, at seven o'clock, and the pathetic story saved the day for Legislator Harlow. "Boys, I will never forget it," he declared. Ellis saw one of the badly spelled, ink-smeared agonies on Saturday evening, and took the next stage for home, wrathful enough to thrash both boys. They had adorned the bill with the cut that Ellis had had made for Johnson, the tombstone cutter, a weeping angel drooping its long wings over a stately head-stone. A rooster and two prancing stallions at the bottom presaged victory for the vilified Wat. It was midnight when Ellis slammed the door open. The two boys were asleep in the midst of the litter of torn, ink-gaumed and otherwise spoiled copies of that hideous handbill. The last pull on the lever of the press had let it fly back too quickly, and it had flapped its handle loose and lay wrecked on the floor. The office had the appearance of a battleground. The ink was blood, and the press and scattered type, casualties. He stirred the boys with an angry kick. Jap sat up and peered through the ink over his eyes at his angry employer. "We fixed him solid," he declared jubilantly. "There can't nothing beat Wat now. We opened the eyes of the county." "You surely did," groaned Ellis. "When the Press Association add to their Hall of Fame, they will shroud me in the folds of that dad-blamed bit of art!" CHAPTER V Jap came running into the office, early in January, his freckled face aglow, his red hair standing wildly erect. "Golly Haggins!" he exploded, "I got a letter from Wat. He's up at the Legislator and he writes--he writes this!" He fairly lunged the letter at Ellis. Ellis read, scowling: "My dear young Friend,--