Dick, while eating supper, thought of an item that he wanted to print in the next day's "Blade." Accordingly, he hurried to the newspaper office as soon as the meal was over.
It was ten minutes past eight when Dick handed in his copy to the night editor.
"Time enough," muttered the boy, as he reached the street.

"A brisk jog homeward is just the thing before pulling off clothes and dropping in between the sheets." As Dick jogged along he remembered having noticed, on the way to the office, Tip Scammon in a new suit of clothes.
"Tip's stock is coming up in the world," thought young Prescott.
"But I wonder whether Tip earned that suit or stole it, or whether he has just succeeded in threatening more money out of Ripley.
How foolish Fred is to stand for blackmail! I wonder if I ought to speak to him about it, or give his father a hint.

I hate to be meddlesome.

And, by ginger! Now I think of it, Tip looked rather curiously at me.

He---oh!---_murder_!" The last exclamation was wrung from Dick Prescott by a most amazing happening.
He was passing a building in the course of erection.