“I’m in hopes that I have that exclusive,” Dick said. “I didn’t meet any of the other fellows while I was getting it.” “It’s the best part of the story,” Randall replied, “though the whole thing is remarkable. You don’t want to go home yet, do you? I mean to that hall-room cell of yours. A fellow always feels a little excited over a good subject like that, and wants somebody to talk to when it’s done. I know how it is. Come around to the Scribble Club with me for an hour or two and meet some good fellows.” “The Scribble Club?” Dick repeated. “I haven’t heard of that.” “No,” said Randall, “it’s not a big affair, like the Press Club; just a quiet little club, very sociable and homelike. All newspaper boys, of course.” Randall had described Dick’s condition exactly. He was excited, wrought up to the highest pitch by his work, and the idea of going alone to his little room and trying to sleep was very repugnant. He was glad to accept the invitation and make the acquaintance of the Scribble Club. The club room was an apartment of good size, up one flight, over a restaurant in Duane Street. Its founders had doubtless had in mind the convenience of the situation, for it was connected by an electric bell with the restaurant below, and a push of the button summoned a waiter to take orders for anything desired. The room was comfortably furnished with armchairs and one large and several small tables; the floor was carpeted, and files of the daily newspapers hung upon the walls. There were four young men in the room when Dick and Randall entered, all reporters engaged on various newspapers, and the entrance of Randall was the signal for a shout. “You’re just in time, Randall; we want to start a game of poker, and you’re the fifth man. The fellows don’t care to play four-handed.” “I don’t mind, if it’s a small limit,” Randall answered. “You can draw up a chair and watch us, Sumner. Gentlemen, this is Mr. Sumner, of the Transport.” “Oh, just the usual,” was the reply as all the men spoke to Dick. Several of them he had met before in reporting. “Five cents ante; quarter limit.” The five seated themselves around one of the small tables and began the game. Dick had never seen cards played for money before, and it shocked him; but he reflected that he had nothing to do with it, and could not prevent it if he would. He drew up his chair behind Randall and watched the play, and it was not long before he understood the principles of the game. After watching for some time he took from his pocket a letter from his mother that he had found in the office and opened it. It contained the first request for money that she had made. “I do not like to ask for your little savings, my dear boy,” she wrote, “and I know how expensive you find everything in the city. But I am down almost to the last cent of my quarterly income and have several bills to pay. I do not know how we will manage unless you can send me twenty dollars.”