“Of course not.  Len would be delighted at not having anything more to do.”

“Then let me go and report the meetings for you, on space.”

“My boy, a reporter would starve on that kind of space work.  Why, after you put in the whole evening there, you might come to the office only to learn that we didn’t consider any of the Board’s doings worth space to tell about them.”

“Will you let me attend a few of the meetings, and take my chances on the amount of space I can get out of it?”

“Go ahead, Prescott, if you can afford to waste your time in that fashion,” replied Mr. Pollock, almost pityingly.

“Thank you.  That’s what I wanted,” acknowledged Dick, and went out very well contented.

When it lacked a few minutes of eight, that evening, all the members of the Board of Education had arrived.  It was the same Board as in the year before.  All the members had been re-elected at the last city election, though some of them by small majorities.  Mr. Gadsby, one of the members who had won by only a slight margin over his opponent, stood with his back to a radiator, warming himself, when he saw the door open.

Mr. Gadsby nodded most genially to Mr. Cantwell, who entered.  The principal came straight over to this member, and they shook hands cordially.  Mr. Gadsby had been one of the members of the Board who had been most anxious about having Cantwell appointed principal; Cantwell was, in fact, a family connection of Mrs. Gadsby’s.

“Coming to make some report, or some suggestion, I take it, eh, Cantwell?” murmured Mr. Gadsby in a low voice.  “Most excellent idea, my dear fellow.  Keeps you in notice and shows that your heart is in the work.  Most excellent idea, really.”

“I have a report to make,” admitted Mr. Cantwell, in an equally low voice.  “I—–­I find it necessary to make a statement about the doings of a rather troublesome element in the school.  Suspension or expulsion may be necessary in order to give the best ideas of good discipline to many of the other students.  But I shall state the facts, and ask the Board to advise me as to just what I ought to do in the premises.”

“Ask the Board’s advice?  Most excellent idea, really,” murmured Mr. Gadsby.  “You can’t go wrong then.  But—–­er—–­what’s the nature of the trouble?  Who is the offen-----”

Mr. Gadsby was rubbing his hands, under his coat tails, as he felt the warmth from the steam radiator reach them.

“Why, the principal offender is named-----”

Here Mr. Cantwell paused, and looked rather astonished.

“Tell me, Mr. Gadsby, what is Prescott, of the sophomore class, doing here?”

The principal’s glance had just rested on Dick, who sat at a small side table, a little pile of copy paper on the table, a pencil in his hand.