"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."