"Leave it to Kip!" they cried in chorus.
"You'll have to get the ads.," announced Paul. "I've secured one. I leave the rest of them to you."
"Right-o! We'll 'tend to them," piped Donald Hall with assurance.
"My father's firm has never advertised," declared Dave Chandler. "I'll put it up to Pater when I get home."
"My uncle will help us out; I bet he will," promised Oscar Hamilton. "Robey and Hamilton, you know."
"The more the merrier," responded Paul gayly. "Just call me up this evening and tell me what luck you've had."
"Sure, old fellow! We'll do that!" came from the boys as they dispersed.
The remainder of the morning Paul mingled fragments of chemistry and Greek with visions of the March Hare, and the moment school was out he dashed home to complete his studying and get it out of the way that he might be free to go to see Judge Damon directly after dinner.
Despite the dignity of his profession the judge was a much less formidable person to face than Mr. Arthur Presby Carter. He was a simple, kindly man, with an ingratiating smile and a keen sympathy with human nature. He was, moreover, very fond of young people. He liked all boys, seeming never to forget the fact that he himself had been one of them not so many years ago.
Therefore, no sooner had Paul presented himself at the front door than he was shown into the study where, before a bright fire blazing on the hearth, the judge sat smoking.