The High School Pitcher | Page 9

half-dollar. He had had much more money with him a
little while before, but that was to pay to some one else. This
half-dollar was wholly his own money, and, with the prospect it carried
of earning more, the High School boy was delighted. Pocket money
had never been plentiful with young Prescott. The new opportunity
filled him with jubilation.
It was not long, however, before a new thought struck him. He went
straight to his parents' bookstore, where he found his mother alone, Mr.
Prescott being out on business.
To his mother Dick quickly related his new good fortune. Mrs.
Prescott's face and words both expressed her pleasure.
"At first, mother, I didn't think of anything but pocket money," Dick
admitted. "Then my head got to work a bit. It has struck me that if I can
make a little money each week by writing for 'The Blade,' I can pay
you at least a bit of the money that you and Dad have to spend to keep
me going."
"I am glad you thought of that," replied Mrs. Prescott, patting her boy's
hand. "But we shan't look to you to do anything of the sort. Your father
and I are not rich, but we have managed all along to keep you going,
and I think we can do it for a while longer. Whatever money you can
earn, Richard, must be your own. We shall take none of it. But I trust
you will learn how to handle your own money wisely. That is one of
the most valuable lessons to be learned in life."
To his chums, when he saw them later in the afternoon, Dick said
nothing of Mr. Pollock's request. The young soph thought it better to
wait a while, and see how he got along at amateur reporting before he

let anyone else into the secret.
But late that afternoon Dick ran into a matter of interest and took it to
"The Blade" office.
"That's all right," nodded Mr. Pollock, after looking over Dick's "copy."
"Glad to see you have started in, my boy. Now, I won't pay you for this
on the nail. Wait until Saturday morning, cutting all that you have
printed out of the 'The Blade.' Paste all the items together, end on end,
and bring them to me. That is what reporters call a 'space string.' Bring
your 'string' to me every Saturday afternoon. We'll measure it up with
you and settle."
Dick hurried away, content. He even found that evening that he could
study with more interest, now that he found he had a financial place in
life.
In the morning Gridley read and laughed over Dick's item about the
High School hoax. But there was one man who saw it at his breakfast
table, and who went into a white heat of rage at once. That man was
Abner Cantwell, the principal.
He was still at white heat when he started for the High School; though,
warned by prudence, he tried to keep his temper down. Nevertheless,
there was fire in Mr. Cantwell's eyes when he rang the bell to bring the
student body to attention to begin the morning's work.

CHAPTER III
MR. CANTWELL THINKS TWICE---OR OFTENER
"Young ladies and young gentlemen," began the principal, "a very silly
hoax was perpetrated on me yesterday. I do not believe you will have
any difficulty in understanding what I mean. But the matter went
beyond this school room. An account of the hoax was published in the
morning paper, and that holds me up to severe ridicule. I trust that we

shall not have any repetition of such childish, so-called jokes. I do not
know yet what action I may or may not take in this matter, and can
promise nothing. I can and do promise, however, that if any more such
hoaxes are attempted I shall do all in my power to ferret out and
summarily punish the offenders!-----"
Here the principal's own sense of prudence warned him that he had
gone quite as far as was necessary or prudent. So he choked down his
rising words and called for the morning singing. Yet, as Mr. Cantwell
uttered his last words his glance fell very sternly on one particular
young member of the sophomore class. Dick Prescott.
"Prin. has it in for you, old fellow!" whispered Dave Darrin, as he and
Dick jostled on the way to a recitation. "But if he has---humph---it
won't be long before he finds out that you had some help. You shan't be
the scapegoat for all of Dick & Co."
"Don't say anything," Dick whispered back. "I'll find a way to take care
of myself. If any trouble is to come, I think I can take care of it.
Anyway, I won't have