CHAPTER II DICK TAKES UP HIS PEN Dick had no sooner ventured out on the street after dinner than he encountered the news of Mrs. Cantwell's meeting with her husband. But Dick did not linger long to discuss the matter. His pockets now contained, in place of pennies, a few banknotes and many dimes, pennies and nickels, amounting in all to thirty-six dollars. He was headed for "The Blade" office to settle with Mr. Pollock. "I think I can tell you a little story now, that may be worth a paragraph or two," Dick announced after he had counted out the money and had turned it over to the editor. "You played a little joke on your new and not wholly popular principal, didn't you?" Mr. Pollock asked, his eyes twinkling. "Yes; has the thing reached you already?" "I don't know the whole story of the joke," Mr. Pollock replied, "but perhaps I can tell you one side of it that you don't know." Thereupon the editor described Mr. Cantwell's visit to the bank. "Now, I've got a still further side to the story," Dick continued, and repeated the story told by the freshmen of how Mrs. Cantwell also had carried the money to the bank, and then, still carrying it, had waited for her husband at the school gateway. Editor Pollock leaned back, laughing until the tears rolled down his cheeks. "I'm sorry for the good lady's discomfiture," explained the editor, presently. "But the whole story is very, very funny." "Now, I guess you know all the facts," finished Dick Prescott, rising. "Yes, but I haven't a single reporter about." Then, after a pause, "See here, Prescott, why couldn't you write this up for me?" "I?" repeated Dick, astonished. "I never wrote a line for publication in my life." "Everyone who does, has to make a start some time," replied Mr. Pollock. "And I believe you could write it up all right, too. See here, Prescott, just go over to that desk. There's a stack of copy paper there. Write it briefly and crisply, and, for delicacy's sake, leave out all that relates to Mrs. Cantwell. No use in dragging a woman into a hazing scrape." Dick went over to the desk, picking up a pen. For the fist three or four minutes he sat staring at the paper, the desk, the floor, the wall and the street door. But Mr. Pollock paid no heed to him. Then, finally, Dick began to write. As he wrote a grin came to his face. That grin broadened as he wrote on. At last he took the pages over to Mr. Pollock. "I don't suppose that's what you want," he said, his face very red, "but the main facts are all there." Laying down his own pen Mr. Pollock read rapidly but thoughtfully. The editor began to laugh again. Then he laid down the last sheet. "Prescott, that's well done. There's a good reporter lurking somewhere inside of you." Thrusting one hand down into a pocket Mr. Pollock brought out a half-dollar, which he tendered to Dick. "What am I to do with this?" asked the young sophomore. "Anything you please," replied the editor. "The money's for you."