The High School Boys Training Hike | Page 6

possibilities of such pranks.
At last, however, Dick and Mr. Luce returned to the car followed by the other passengers. The conductor gave the go-ahead signal, and the motor-man started in to try to make up some of the time lost from his schedule.
Dick, as soon as he reached Gridley, went up to Greg Holmes' house, where he knew his chums would be waiting to learn the result of his Tottenville trip.
That evening Sub-master Luce chanced to take a stroll up Main Street. As the offices of the "Morning Blade" were lighted up, Mr. Luce stepped inside, seeking Editor Pollock in the editorial room.
"Is Prescott about?" asked Mr. Luce, for Dick, as our readers know, earned many a dollar as a "space-writer"; that is, he was paid so much a column for furnishing and writing up local news.
"Dick went out about ten minutes ago," replied Mr. Pollock.
"Was he here long?"
"About fifteen minutes."
"By the way, Mr. Pollock," the sub-master went on, "what do you think of Dick's latest feat?"
"Which one?"
"His fine work over on the Tottenville road this afternoon?"
"I haven't heard of it," replied Mr. Pollock, opening his eyes.
"Come to think of it," rejoined John Luce, "and knowing young Prescott as I do, I don't suppose you have heard of it---not from Prescott, at all events."
Then the sub-master told the story of the burning load of hay in a way that made the "Blade's" editor reach hastily for pencil and paper that he might take notes.
"That's just the kind of story that Dick Prescott never could be depended upon to bring in here---if he was the central character in it," observed the editor quietly.
Despite the failure of Dick to bring in this particular story, however, the "Blade," the next morning, printed more than a column from the data furnished by Mr. Luce.
Dick, however, didn't hear of it---in Gridley. It was Harry Hazelton, who, at four o'clock, mounted a horse he had hired for the trip and rode over to Tottenville, where the camp wagon was obtained from Mr. Newbegin Titmouse. Hazelton wasted no time on the road, but drove as fast as the horse could comfortably travel.
It was but a few minutes after six o'clock, that August morning, when Dick Prescott and his five chums, collectively famous as Dick & Co., drove out of Gridley.
Harry Hazelton was now the driver, the other five high school boys walking briskly just ahead of the wagon.
Mr. Titmouse's special vehicle carried all that Dick & Co. would need in the near future, and the six boys were setting out on what was destined to be their most famous vacation jaunt.
CHAPTER III
THE PEDDLER AND THE LAWYER'S HALF
Just before leaving Gridley, Greg Holmes had bought a copy of the "Blade" from a newsboy.
Three miles out, the chums enjoyed their first halt.
"Ten minutes' rest under this tree," Dick announced, for already the August morning sun was beating down upon them.
Greg drew out his copy of the newspaper, unfolding it.
"Say!" he yelled suddenly.
"Stop that," commanded Tom Reade, "or you'll make the horse run away and wreck our outfit."
"But this paper says-----"
"Stop it," ordered Tom with a scowl. "I know what you're going to do. You'll read us some exciting stuff, and get us all worked up, and then in the last paragraph you'll stumble on the fact that some well-known Tottenville man was cured of all his ailments by Brown's Blood Bitters."
"Can you hold your tongue a minute?" demanded Greg ironically.
"Not when I see you headed that way," retorted Reade. "I've been fooled by the same style of exciting item, and I know how cheap it makes a fellow feel when he comes to the name of the Bitters, the Pills or the Sarsaparilla. Holmesy, I want to save your face for you with this crowd."
"Will you keep quiet, for a moment, and let the other fellows hear, even if you have to take a walk in order to save your own ears?" demanded Greg, with sarcasm. "This piece is about Dick Prescott, and he doesn't sign patent medicine test-----"
"Dick Prescott?" demanded Darrin. "Whoop! Let's have it!"
"It isn't a roast, is it?" demanded Danny Grin solemnly.
"No; it isn't," Greg went on. "Listen, while I read the headlines."
It was a four-line heading, beginning with "Dick Prescott's Fine Nerve."
"There! I was afraid it was a roast, after all," sighed Danny Grin.
"Take that fellow away and muzzle him," ordered Greg, then proceeded to read the other sections of the headlines.
By this time Greg had a very attentive audience. Even Tom Reade had ceased to scoff.
"Oh, bosh!" gasped Dick, when Greg was about one third of the way through the column article.
"Isn't it true?" demanded Dave.
"After a fashion," Dick admitted.
"Then hold off and be good while the rest of us hear about yesterday's doings."
So Dick stood by, his face growing redder and redder as