“What!” exclaimed the brown-haired man, almost incredulously. “You—a boy? How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“And you are a contributor to Puck and other papers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You must be a smart boy. Shake hands.”
Chester shook hands with a smile.
“Will my being a boy make any difference?” he asked.
“Not if your work is satisfactory. Are you willing to work exclusively for The Phœnix?”
“Yes, sir; that is, if I may be allowed to complete a contract I have made.”
“What sort of a contract?”