"You mean somebody else would publish it?" "Yes." "As it is now?" "Practically. They would give it a more professional touch, no doubt." "Do you think for a second that in the hands of a cut and dried publisher it would be the same?" asked Converse hotly. "Do you imagine people would send in articles to it as they do now?" "I don't see why not." "They wouldn't--not on your life! Why, the reason that everybody has pitched in and written for us was precisely because the thing was not professional, and they knew they would be free of criticism. The columns have become a sort of town forum, my father said. Do you think you could get the same people to speak out under different conditions? Judge Damon, for instance, has repeatedly refused to write for the professional press. He could get a fat sum for such editorials as he writes for us if he wanted to sell them. Father said so. Besides, what's to become of 1921 if you sell out the _March Hare_? We couldn't run a rival paper. If the _Hare_ continued, of course people would take a thing that was already established and that they knew about, especially as it had been so bully. It would end us so far as a school magazine was concerned." Paul offered no reply. "I'd call it a darn mean trick if you put such a deal over," persisted Converse indignantly, "and I guess everybody else would. I suppose you would have the legal right to sell out if you wanted to; but it has been tacitly understood from the first that the paper was started for the good of the school and would be handed down to your successors." "I don't see why everybody should jump at that conclusion." "Because it is the natural, square thing to do. Anybody would tell you so." "I don't need to take a popular vote to settle my affairs," returned Paul haughtily. "You may have to in this case," called Converse, turning on his heel. The incident left Paul nettled and disturbed, and in consequence the Latin recitation that followed went badly; so did his chemistry exam. The instant recess came he signalled to his closest literary associates and beckoning them into an empty classroom, banged the door. "See here, you chaps," he began, "I've something to put up to you. We have had an offer to sell the _March Hare_. How does the proposition strike you?" The boys regarded their leader blankly. "You mean to--to--sell it out for money?" inquired one of the group stupidly. Paul laughed. "What else could we sell it out for, fat-head?" he returned good-humoredly. "But--to sell it out for cash, as it stands--you mean that?" "Righto!" "Somebody wants to buy it?" "Yes." "Gee!" "We certainly are some little editors," chuckled Melville Carter. "Who is the bidder, Kip?" "Yes, Kip, who wants it?" came breathlessly from one and another of the group. It was evident they had no inkling who the prospective purchaser was. "Mr. Carter." "Carter--of the _Echo_?" "My father?" gasped Melville, dumfounded.