Excitement ran high that morning. What Caesar did in Gaul, what Cyrus and the Silician Queen had to say to one another was of far less import to the agitated students than what the Class of 1920 did that day in Burmingham. Nevertheless the recitations dragged on somehow and by and by the geometries, Roman histories, and the peregrinations of Cyrus were tucked into the desks, and the staff of the _March Hare_ got together for a hurried business meeting in the corridor. The boys were enthusiastic that Paul had found a printer. "Hurrah for you, Kipper!" they shouted. "Good work, old man!" "Leave it to Kip!" they cried in chorus. "You'll have to get the ads.," announced Paul. "I've secured one. I leave the rest of them to you." "Right-o! We'll 'tend to them," piped Donald Hall with assurance. "My father's firm has never advertised," declared Dave Chandler. "I'll put it up to Pater when I get home." "My uncle will help us out; I bet he will," promised Oscar Hamilton. "Robey and Hamilton, you know." "The more the merrier," responded Paul gayly. "Just call me up this evening and tell me what luck you've had." "Sure, old fellow! We'll do that!" came from the boys as they dispersed. The remainder of the morning Paul mingled fragments of chemistry and Greek with visions of the _March Hare_, and the moment school was out he dashed home to complete his studying and get it out of the way that he might be free to go to see Judge Damon directly after dinner. Despite the dignity of his profession the judge was a much less formidable person to face than Mr. Arthur Presby Carter. He was a simple, kindly man, with an ingratiating smile and a keen sympathy with human nature. He was, moreover, very fond of young people. He liked all boys, seeming never to forget the fact that he himself had been one of them not so many years ago. Therefore, no sooner had Paul presented himself at the front door than he was shown into the study where, before a bright fire blazing on the hearth, the judge sat smoking. "Come in, Paul," he called cordially. "Your father told me about this undertaking of yours, and I hear I am to be one of your victims." "I'm afraid you are, sir." "Well, well! I suppose doing what we do not enjoy is good for our characters," returned the judge mischievously. "If you boys propose to do some serious writing of English and secure a little business experience, certainly your aim is a worthy one and we older folks should back you up. It's a far more sensible vent for your energy, to my mind, than so much football." "Oh, we're not going to give over our football, sir," asserted Paul with prompt candor. "No, indeed! Keep up your games by all means. But moderation is a jewel. A little football goes a good way, while business training is never amiss." "We expect to get quite a bit of business training out of issuing our paper," said Paul modestly.