“Whew!” Dick said to himself, “this is news. I shall have to stop off at Columbus and telegraph this.” His old news instinct was aroused in a moment. He had not done any telegraphing to the Transport for some time, for such matters as letters from Mexico and Porto Rico go always by mail, not by telegraph. But for a man of the prominence of the Rev. Joseph Cook to put down such a riot single-handed, that was genuine news and must reach the office at once. He continued the conversation with Mr. Cook and listened to some very interesting anecdotes, and talked with the conductor and several of the trainmen, and by the time they reached Columbus, not much before nine o’clock, he had well in mind the story that was soon to be written and telegraphed. The car was in such disorder, with its bloodstains, broken glass, and torn-out seats, that at Columbus it was taken out of the train and sent to the railroad hospital for repairs. The lecture committee had learned by telegraph of the lateness of the train, and they had held the audience in the Opera House till Mr. Cook arrived. A carriage was waiting at the station for the lecturer, and he was driven at breakneck speed to the Opera House with Dick sitting by his side. Dick soon had a seat at the reporter’s table, where he found every facility for writing, and where he immediately felt as much at home among the reporters of Columbus as though he had been in the Academy of Music in New York. But, like an experienced newspaper man, he told the other reporters nothing about the riot in the train. That was his own news, and too good to share with anybody. It was not a report of the lecture that Dick wrote while Mr. Cook was speaking; it was an account of Mr. Cook’s adventure. And before the lecture was finished he slipped out and carried to the telegraph office a column-long account of the one-sided battle. By the time that the last of it reached the Transport office he was aboard the midnight train for Cincinnati. “That’s a jolly beginning for a new trip!” he said to himself as he pulled the thick sleeping-car blankets over him. “If every day turns out as well I’ll be in luck.” CHAPTER XI. THE “HOODOOED” STEAMBOAT.