"Training and newspaper work don't go well together," laughed the news editor. "However, your football season will soon be over. This time next year you'll be through with High School, and I hope you'll be with us then altogether."
"I don't know about that, Mr. Bradley," smiled Dick, picking up his hat and starting for the door. "But I do know that I like newspaper work mighty well. When a fellow is writing for a paper he seems to be alive all the time, and right up to the minute."
"That youngster may come to us for a while, after he gets out of High School," called Mr. Pollock, across the room, after Prescott had, gone out. "But he won't stay long on a small daily. A youngster with all his hustle is sure to pull out, soon, for one of the big city dailies. The country towns can't hold 'em."
Dick went briskly down the street, whistling blithely, as a boy will do when he's healthy and his conscience is clear.
A block below another boy, betraying the hang-dog spirit only too plainly, turned the corner into Main Street.
It was Phin Drayne, out for one of his night walks. Fearing that he might be insulted, and get into a fight with some one, Drayne had armed himself with one of his father's canes. The stick had a crook for a handle.
Prescott caught a glimpse of the other boy's face; then he turned away, hastening on.
"I'm not even worth looking at," muttered Phin to himself.
Just as Dick went past, Phin seized the cane by the ferule end, and lunged out quickly.
The crook caught neatly around one of Dick's ankles just as the foot was lifted.