“That’s the only talk,” approved Dave promptly.  “Gridley must have the winning football eleven.”

“Well, the whole thing is a shame,” blazed Reade indignantly.

“Oh, well, don’t worry,” drawled Dan Dalzell.  “Keep cool, and the whole thing will be fixed.”

“Fixed?” insisted Reade.  “How?  How will it be fixed?”

“I don’t know,” Dan confessed, stifling a yawn behind his hand.  “Just leave the worry alone.  Let Dick fix it.”

“How can you fix it?” asked Reade, turning upon their leader.

“I don’t know—–­yet,” hesitated Prescott.  But, like Dan, I believe there’s a way to be found.”

“Going?” asked Hazelton.  “Well, I’ll trot along, too.”

“Yes,” nodded Greg.  “It’s a shame to stay here, hardening Dick’s mattress when he ought to be lying on it himself.  It’s time we were all in bed.  Good night, Dick, old fellow.”

Four of the boys were speedily gone.  Darrin, however, remained behind, though he intended to stay only a few minutes.  The two were earnestly discussing the squally football “weather” when the elder Prescott’s voice sounded from the foot of the stairs.

“Dick?”

“Yes, sir,” answered the boy, throwing open the door and springing to the head of the stairs.

“Mr. Bradley, of ‘The Blade,’ wants to talk with you over the ’phone.  In a hurry, too, he says.

“I’ll be right there, Dad.  Coming, Dave?”

Darrin nodding, the two chums ran down the stairs to the bookstore.  Dick caught up the transmitter and answered.

“That you, Dick?” sounded the impatient voice of News Editor Bradley.

“This is Dick Prescott, Mr. Bradley.”

“Then, for goodness’ sake, can you hustle up here?”

“Of course I can.”

“Ask your father if you can take up a late night job for me.  Then come on the jump.  My men are all out, and everything is at odds and ends in the way of news.  I can’t get a single man, and I wish I had three at this minute.”

“Dave Darrin is here.  Can I bring him along?”

“Yes; he’s not a reporter—–­but he may be able to help.  Hustle.”

“I’ll be walking in through the doorway,” laughed Dick, “by the time you’ve hung your transmitter up.  Good-bye.”  Ting-a-ling-ling!  “Now, Dave, get your father on the jump, and ask his leave to go out on a late night story with me.”

Fortunately there was no delay about this.  Dave received the permission from home promptly enough.  The two youngsters set out on a run.

What healthy boy of sixteen doesn’t love to prowl late a night?  It is twenty-fold more fascinating when there’s a mystery on tap, and a newspaper behind all the curiosity.

The longing of these sturdy chums for mystery and adventure was swiftly to be gratified—–­perhaps more so than they could have wished!

News Editor Bradley was waiting for them in the doorway of “The Blade” office, a frown on the journalistic face.