Bert Dodge was talking almost in whispers with a young fellow named Fessenden, who had discharged from the bank in which Bert’s father was vice president.

“You do my trick—–­put it through for me, Fessenden—–­and I’ll do my best with my father to get you back in the bank,” Bert promised.

“Even if I fail in that, I’ll pay you well, in addition to the money I’ve just given you.”

“Oh, it won’t be a hard job to put through,” nodded young Fessenden, understandingly.  “I can find two fellows who have nerve enough, and who will go into court and swear to anything I want them to.”

“That’s the talk!” glowed young Dodge.  “You will testify that Dick Prescott was talking with you, and that he told innumerable lies to blacken my name that he libeled me!”

CHAPTER IV

What about Mr. Cameron?

One place that Dick Prescott made it a point to visit early in his furlough was the office of the morning “Blade,” for which paper, in his old High School days, the cadet had worked as a local reporter “on space.”

A “space writer” is one who is paid so much per column for all matter of his that is published in the paper.

Had it not been for the “Blade” Dick Prescott would not have been as well supplied with pocket money as he had been during his High School days.

Everyone about the “Blade” office, in the old days, had expected that Prescott, at the end of his High School course, would join the “Blade” staff as a “regular.”  But Dick had had his own plans about West Point, although he had kept his intentions a secret from nearly every one but his chums.

Early one bright June afternoon Dick strolled into the “Blade” office.

“Why, hullo, my boy!” cried Editor Pollock, jumping up out of his chair and coming forward, hand outstretched.  Bradley, the news editor, and Len Spencer, the “star” reporter, now growing comically fat, rushed forward to meet the cadet.

“Sit down, Dick, and let’s hear all about West Point,” urged Mr. Pollock, placing a chair beside his own, while the other members of the staff crowded about.  “What sort of a place is West Point, and how do you like it there?”

Dick smilingly gave them a lively account of life at the United States Military Academy.

“I hope you’re keeping track of all this, Len,” nodded the editor to Reporter Spencer.  “Tell us plenty more, too Dick.  We want to give you and Holmes at least a bully two-column write-up.”

Dick’s cheery look suddenly changed to one of mild alarm.

“Do you want to do me a big favor, Mr. Pollock?”

“Anything up to a page, my boy, and you know it,” replied the editor heartily.  “We still regard you as one of the ‘Blade’ family.”

“The favor I’m going to ask, Mr. Pollock, is that you don’t give Greg and myself a write-up.”