“Oh—–­ah—–­Prescott, Richard Prescott?” inquired Mr. Gadsby.  “Some of us were a bit surprised this evening to learn that Prescott, though he will continue to attend High School, has also taken a position with ‘The Morning Blade.’  Among other things to which he will attend, after this, Cantwell, is the matter of school doings in this city.  He is to be the regular reporter of School Board meetings.  Rather a young man to wield the power of the press isn’t he?” Mr. Gladsby chuckled at his own joke.

“’Power of the press’?” murmured Mr. Cantwell, uncomfortably.  “Surely you don’t mean, Gadsby, that this mere boy, this High School student, is going to be taken here seriously as representing the undoubtedly great power of the press?”

“To some extent, yes,” admitted Mr. Gadsby. “‘The Blade,’ as you may know, is a good deal of a power in local politics.  Now, some of us—–­er—–­did not win our re-elections by any too large margins.  A little dangerous opposition to—–­er—–­some of us—–­would mean a few new faces around the table at Board meetings.  Mr. Pollock is—–­er—–­a most estimable citizen, and a useful man in the community.  Yet Mr. Pollock is—–­er—–­Cantwell—–­er—–­that is, a bit ‘touchy.’  No matter if Pollock’s reporter is a schoolboy, if we treated the boy with any lack of consideration, then Pollock would most certainly take umbrage at what he would choose to consider a slight upon himself, received through his representative.  So at these Board meetings, young Prescott will have to be treated with as much courtesy as though he were really a man, for Pollock’s hostility would be most disastrous to us—–­er—–­to some of us, possibly, I mean.  But, really, young Prescott is a most bright and enterprising young fellow, anyway—–­a very likable boy. You like him, don’t you, Cantwell?”

“Ye-e-es,” admitted the principal, though he added grimly under his breath: 

“I like him so well that I could eat him, right now, if I had a little Worcestershire sauce to make him more palatable.”

“The Board will please come to order,” summoned Chairman Stone, rapping the table with his gavel.  “Mr. Reporter, have you good light over at your table.”

“Excellent, thank you, Mr. Chairman,” Dick replied.

“Er—–­aren’t you going to stay, Cantwell?” demanded Gadsby, as the principal turned to leave the room.

“No; the fact is—–­I—–­well, I want to consider my statement a little more before I offer it to the Board.  Good evening!”

Mr. Cantwell got out of the room while some of the members were still scraping their chairs into place.

Dick Prescott had not openly looked in the principal’s direction.  Yet the amateur reporter had taken it all in.  He was grinning inside now.  He had taken upon himself the work of reporting these meetings that he might be in a position to block any unfair move on the part of the principal.

“I wonder what Mr. Cantwell is thinking about, now?” Dick asked himself, with an inward grin as he picked up his pencil.