That Thursday evening Dick and Stanley went over to Goss to call on Blash and Sid. It was raining great guns and an easterly gale was howling around the corner as they set forth and, in violation of a school ordinance, cut across over the turf and under the dripping branches of the bare lindens. Both Blash and Sid were home and hailed the arrival of visitors with loud acclaim. Blash pulled the “larder,” as he called it, from under the window-seat and produced sweet crackers and the remains of a pineapple cheese and Sid disappeared down the corridor and presently returned with three bottles of some sweetly sickish concoction called Raspberry Squash. It was a quarter of an hour later, after the last bit of cheese had disappeared that Dick, idly prospecting among a pile of magazines and papers--many of them moving picture monthlies--happened on something that brought an exclamation of surprise to his lips. The others, busy in talk, neither heard nor noted and Dick drew from concealment a copy of the Leonardville _Sentinel_, opened with the third page uppermost. “Leonardville is Proud of Him,” read Dick. He didn’t go on, for he remembered the rest of it perfectly. Instead, he laid the paper down and thoughtfully stared across at Blash, who was too enthralled in the conversation to heed. Dick kept silence for a good five minutes. Then, to the astonishment of the others, he broke in rudely and abruptly. “How did you know about my brother Stuart, Blash?” he demanded. “Eh? What’s that?” Blash looked across startledly, striving to accommodate his mind to the sudden change of subject. “And where we lived?” pursued Dick. “Oh! Well, what was it you asked?” Blash floundered badly, his gaze falling on the paper under Dick’s hand and a slow grin curving the corners of his mouth. “I asked how you knew my brother’s name and where he lived,” explained Dick calmly; “and where we lived.” Blash looked at Dick for an instant and then shrugged. “I didn’t, Dick,” he answered. “That part was supplied by the editor man, I suppose. All I did was to write a nice little press notice and mail it to the paper. I didn’t know whether they’d use it, but they did, and they sent me a copy of it. Honest, now, don’t you think journalism is my line? Dana or Bennett or any of those top-notchers got anything on me, Dick?” Stanley was staring wide-eyed. “D-do you mean that _you_ wrote that thing about Dick in the Leonardville paper?” he gasped. “Most of it,” replied Blash modestly. “Of course, as I’m telling you, I couldn’t supply the--the intimate details.” “Well, I’ll be jiggered!” “Same here,” laughed Sid. “Blash, you’re as crazy a loon as they make!”