“Well, I am—­” Anthony left it unfinished.  “What can I do?” he asked meekly.

“We’ll find a plan somehow,” said Miss Mix, approvingly.  “But you must be got out first!”

“And meanwhile,” said Anthony, awkwardly, “I don’t really know how to thank you—­”

“Oh, nonsense!” she said lightly.  “You forget how fond I am of him!  Now, I’ll go up to the house, and—­” Her confident voice faltered, and Anthony was astonished to see a look of dismay cross her face.  “Oh, my goodness gracious heavenly day!” she ejaculated softly.  “Whatever shall we do now?  Now we never can get you out!”

“Then I’ll stay in,” laughed Anthony, philosophically.

Miss Mix echoed his laugh nervously.  She glanced across the yard.

“It’s that disgusting newspaper contest!” she said.

“That what?”

“Please don’t shout!” she begged, sitting down on her box again, “I’ll explain.  You see, the San Francisco call, one of the big city dailies, has offered the job of being its local press representative to the college man who brings in the best newspaper story between now and the first of May—­that’s less than ten days.  Of course, all the boys have gone crazy over it.  It’s a job that a boy could easily hold down with his regular class work, and it might lead to a permanent position on the paper’s staff after graduation.  About ten boys are working furiously for it, and all their friends are working for them.  Tony’s helping Jerry Billings, and Jerry has already taken in a couple of good stories, and has a good chance.  This, of course, would land it!”

“What would?”

“Why, this!” She was laughing again.  “Can’t you see?  Think of the head-lines!  Even your New York papers would play it up.  Think of the chance to get funny!  ‘Old Fox in a Trap!’ ’Goes to Bed with the Chickens!’ ‘Iron King Plays Chanticleer!’”

“Thunder!” said Anthony, uncomfortably.

“There’d be no end of it, for you or me,” said Miss Mix.  “I know this town.”

“Yes, you’re right!” agreed Anthony.  “The idea is for me to sit here until after the first of May, eh?” he continued uncertainly.

Her eyes danced.

“Oh, we may think of some other way!”

“Tony’s not to be trusted, you think?”

“No-o!  I wouldn’t dare.  He’s simply mad to have Jerry win.  He’d let it out involuntarily.”

“The maid can go for a plumber?”

“Statia?  She’s working for Joe Bates.  And both the boys in the plumber’s shop are in college, anyway.”

“You might telephone for a plumber from San Francisco?” suggested Anthony, afterthought.

“Yes, I could do that.”  Miss Mix brightened.  “No, I can’t, either,” she lamented.  “Elsie White, the long-distance operator, is working for Joe Bates, too.”  She meditated again for a space, then raised her head, listening.  “They’re calling me!” she whispered.