"Chautauquan Daily" came from a small but earnest throat. "Chautauquan Daily; program for to-day and to-morrow."
"Upon my word!" ejaculated Mrs. Morton.
"Lecture by Mithter Griggth; addreth by Doctor Hurlbut," piped the piercing voice.
"Upon my word," gasped Mrs. Morton once more; "it's Dicky!"
It was. It was a radiant Dicky. His romper trousers were spread wide on each side and he strutted consumedly. His breast heaved proudly beneath the Boys' Club monogram on his sweater. The elastic under his chin did not hold his hat straight upon his bobbed hair and the brim was canted over one ear and gave him a rakish expression. He was the picture of a perfectly happy boy and he was doing a bigger business than any other newsboy in front of the Post Office. People crowded around him and every time he shouted "Lecture by Mithter Griggth; addreth by Doctor Hurlbut," they went into peals of laughter.
"What shall I do, Father?" asked Mrs. Morton breathlessly.
"You wouldn't have the heart to stop him, would you?" Mr. Emerson asked in return.
Dicky's mother gazed raptly at him for a whole minute.
"No," she said at last, "I haven't the heart to stop him."
"It's in the air, as I said the other evening when Helen was making her plea," said Mr. Emerson.