"I'd give good money, if I had it," quoth Turner, "to have to-morrow's game over and won." Half a dozen boys were gathered in the Pierson Hall rooms, and the talk was on the Exeter game which was to be played on the morrow.

"Why so timid?" spoke up the Codfish, who was planning another assault on the News columns.

"This Exeter team is good, awfully good. Did you see what they did to Hotchkiss last week?"

"Sure—16 to 0."

"And what was our score against Hotchkiss?"

"Nothing to 6."

"Figuring at that rate it will be an interesting occasion for us to-morrow afternoon," said Frank Armstrong gloomily. "But then," more cheerfully, "you can never tell what will happen in football. If our friend James Turner could get away on one of his dashing runs, right early in the game, it might be a help."

"I haven't been dashing much lately," said Turner. "My dashing has been chiefly on the ground."

"The worm may turn," suggested Butcher Brown, a broad-shouldered and loosely built young chap who played a tackle position on the second Freshman eleven, and who lived on the same floor in Pierson, at the end of the corridor.

"Speaking of worms," observed the Codfish, "did you notice the News this morning?"

"I saw it was printed as usual," said Frank. "Some good football news on the first page?"

"Always thinking of football. Did you happen to look in the crew notices? Of course, you didn't."

"What was it? Tell us. Have you been promoted?"

"Promoted is the word," said the Codfish proudly. "I have the honor to announce to you, since you didn't read it for yourself, that I'm to guide the destinies of the third Freshman crew henceforth."

"I'm glad I'm not on it, then," said Turner.

"And," continued the Codfish undaunted by Turner's shot, "in about a week I'll land in the seat of the first eight. They are very fond of my style down there at the boathouse."

"Your line of talk I suppose is so overpowering that the crew rows hard to get away from it."

"Don't be sarcastic, Armstrong. It doesn't fit your particular style of beauty. You are peeved because you can't make the Freshman football team, and, of course, I don't blame you, but try not to be jealous of me."

Frank laughed. "Go it, old bird," he said. "We're too fond of you to be jealous, but remember the old proverb: 'Pride goeth before a fall!'"

"Watch me," said the Codfish. "Proverbs don't fit my case," and the Codfish busied himself over a pile of correspondence.

"Why such industry?" inquired Turner, after a few minutes of silence broken only by the scratching of the Codfish's pen.

"Read it in the News, my son. I'm going to have a red-hot scoop to-morrow."

"Let us in on it."

"Not on your life."

"Has it anything to do with prehistoric horses?"

"Nothing at all. Better than that. This one will make them all sit up and take notice. There ought to be about ten thousand words credit in this one. I can see the road clear to an editorship on that ancient and honorable sheet. When I get on the Board, I'll see to it that all football games are very carefully reported, and that your glaring mistakes are not brought out too prominently."

"Thanks, very much," said Turner, laughing. "You're a confident little rooster. For a man who talks so much you get very little into that same News, it seems to me."

"I'll bet you I can get a front page article to-morrow."

"I'm not a betting man," said Turner. "Moreover I don't want to take your money."

"Quitter," retorted the Codfish. "I'll bet you for fun, money or beans."

"I haven't had any fun for the last three weeks. I have no money, and beans are scarce."

"Then I'll show you, anyway. Read the News in the morning," and grabbing a handful of manuscript the Codfish dashed out the door, slamming it vigorously behind him as was his habit.

An hour later, just as the boys were about to turn in for the night, Jim, the University officer, pushed the door open and entered.

"Hello, boys," said the officer, seating himself in a big armchair and puffing with the climb of three flights of stairs. "Do you have a fellow named Gleason rooming here, a News heeler?"

"Sure," said Frank, "that's the Codfish."

"Yes, yes," said the officer. "Well, he's been pinched."

"What, arrested?"

"Sure thing. He's down at the lock-up now. Captain just telephoned me to see if I could locate his friends."

"What was he up to?"

"Riding a bicycle on the Chapel street sidewalk."

"But he has no bicycle, it would be too much like work for him to ride one."

"Well, he must have borrowed it then, because he was pulled in by one of the city men for breaking the ordinance against riding on the sidewalk."

"The nut," ejaculated Turner. "He should have known better than that."

"We've got to get him out of hock," said Frank.

"I guess you will if he gets out to-night," returned the officer, laughing, "and it takes about fifty dollars bail to do it."

The boys looked at each other, aghast. "Fifty dollars!" they said. "That's a lot of money."

"Take up a collection," suggested the officer, "and I'll go down to the station with you. It has got to be cash. They won't accept checks for bail, you know."

Frank and Jimmy brought forth their rolls, but when they had laid all their cash on the table they were still short a matter of twenty-five dollars. In this emergency David Powers was called upon across the hall, and he advanced the necessary funds.

At the Police Headquarters they found the Codfish installed in the Captain's room, writing industriously.

"Just in time," said the Captain. "I was just going to put him in the cooler. I think he ought to spend the night with us, anyway. Teach him a lesson."

The Codfish continued his writing unconcernedly for a minute, sighed with satisfaction, folded up the paper and put it in his pocket. "When the formalities are complied with, I'll go along with you. Have you got the bail?" he said to Frank, who was gazing at him in amazement.

The money was soon paid over, and the Codfish was released from the grip of the law with instructions to be on hand for the opening of the city court at nine o'clock the next morning.

"You crazy nut," said Jimmy, on the way up to Pierson Hall. "How did you come to get pinched?"

"Method in my madness, old top. Let's swing around to the News office. I've got a couple of articles for them, two more scoops."

"And what are they?"

"O, read the News in the morning," said the Codfish, joyfully. "You wouldn't understand the workings of the genius mind like this," tapping his forehead, "if I told you."

The boys swung over to Elm street, and the Codfish handed in two articles at the News office, and then went along with his friends. "It always gives me a feeling of deep exhaustion to see those heelers working so hard on that sheet."

"Do they work hard?" inquired Frank.

"Work hard! Great fishes of the vasty deep, they put in an amount of hours that ought to make you football fellows blush with shame, if you could blush. The ordinary news-heeler doesn't have time to eat his meals."

"You don't cut out many, I notice," laughed Jimmy.

"Yes, but I'm not the ordinary kind."

"I've heard you say that before."

"These other fellows chase little bits of things for news' sake, while I create news for my sake. Get the difference?"

"Right—O," said Frank. "You created some the other day—some bone news."

"'Still harping on my daughter,' as one William Shakespeare said some moons since? Can't you give that a rest and turn your mind to the present? Never worry about the dead past, is my motto. Even Napoleon made mistakes, to say nothing of Turner, eh Jimmy?"

Reaching the Pierson room, the Codfish threw himself into a big chair and sighed luxuriously. "Great day's work. Although I started late on this competition I must be nearly up to the leader now, and a little more hustling will shoot me to the front."

"What an ego!" exclaimed Frank. "But now in the privacy of our own room, will you kindly tell me, why, how and what for did you get yourself in the hands of the law to-night, whose bicycle was it you borrowed, and when are we going to get the money we advanced to release your worthless carcass from hock?"

"My, what a lot of questions. Do you mean to tell me you haven't visioned my scheme, a bright young fellow like you? Pshaw, pshaw, Armstrong, I didn't think it of you."

"Go ahead and elucidate, Sherlock Holmes!"

"It seems hardly necessary, but it is said, and truly I now perceive, that brains and brawn are not kindred attributes of the genus football man. In a word, I got myself pinched, and thereby made news for the News. Savez?"

"You got arrested on purpose to write up your own arrest?"

"Sure thing, surest thing you ever knew. Made a pretty little story of it, touched on the brutality of the officer who hauled me into the station, and, incidentally, made a strong plea for the use of the city sidewalks by heelers on bicycles when the streets are as dusty as they are now, to say nothing of a little hit at the lack of courtesy accorded the Yale student by the ordinary, garden variety of policeman."

"And this is what we provided good money for!" said Frank.

Turner advanced threateningly upon the offender. "This is what we were dragged from our room in the dead hour of night for, this is the thing for which we deposited our good money! I hope they give you a thousand dollars and costs, and send you to jail for a year, to-morrow morning."

"O, yes," continued the Codfish, not noticing Turner's outburst, "and I forgot, I wrote another little item suggesting that the Criminal Club, of which I am now a member in good standing, and which has fallen into decay, be rejuvenated and reËstablished in its glory of the olden days."

"Well, you've had your trouble for nothing, old lunatic. The News won't print anything like that."

"If they don't, they don't know good news when they see it."

"Costly news, I should say," grunted Frank. "Costly with our money. We want our money back and fifty per cent. interest for the wear and tear on our constitutions in this night air."

"I'll pay it to you out of my dividends from the News Board when I cash in."

"Then we'll never get it," groaned Jimmy. "I'm going to bed. Codfish has absolutely gone nutty."

"That's always said about geniuses by ordinary folks, old top. Time alone will prove who is the nutty gent," the Codfish shot after him as Turner went into his bedroom.

The next morning the college was agog with excitement about the proposed flight of aeroplanes over Yale field some time during the afternoon while the football game was in progress. Details of the flight were given in the Yale News, the names and histories of the aviators and the types of machines to fly. It was further stated that one of the flyers would loop-the-loop in full view of the crowds in the stands. The Codfish was bursting with pride at the sensation he had sprung, for it was his story which had set the college talking.

"It's knocking their eye out," he boasted.

"Is it coming off?" inquired Frank incredulously.

"Sure, it's coming off. It cost me a cool two hundred and fifty to get them here, and I've had a dickens of a time keeping it quiet."

"So that's what you've been at these last three days, is it?" said Turner.

"A week, my boy, you can't do big things like that in three days. This ought to give me a lead in the race. Eh, what?"

"A race for your life, if it doesn't come off."

"Always skeptical, no imagination, typical football type, slow to grasp an idea. If you had read the papers you would have seen that they're having a flying meet down at Bridgeport. With a little lubricant in the shape of cash, the rest was easy."

A great crowd journeyed to Yale Field that afternoon, so great that it resembled in a measure the days of the big football games. With three events scheduled—a Freshman game, a 'Varsity game and a flying exhibition, all in one afternoon, thousands were drawn in the direction of the field, and the football manager chortled with joy as he saw the shekels going into his treasury.

The games came and went, but no fliers hove in sight. The Freshmen were overwhelmed by the big Exeter team, and after that was over the 'Varsity proceeded to punch holes in their opponents. The spectators divided their attention between the field and the sky, but nothing came. The nearest thing to an aeroplane that appeared during the afternoon was a large hawk which floated up from the southwest, and volplaned down from the heights. For a moment it raised false hopes. The crowd reluctantly filed out of the big stands as darkness began to settle over the field and still no flying men put in their appearance.

The Codfish was puzzled but not alarmed. Nothing could disturb his buoyant nature. He rode back to the city on a car loaded with people who indignantly proclaimed a fake by the Yale News for the purpose of drawing a larger attendance for the game, but although he heard, the Codfish kept his own counsel. Arriving at his room he found a telegram from the manager of the meet at Bridgeport, notifying him that owing to a disagreement among the fliers, they would not be able to come to New Haven at all, and that his check would be returned next day.

"Well, this lets me out," soliloquized the promoter of the flying meet. "I'll write this up, describe the disagreement in detail, and hand it in for Monday's paper. Great thought," he added aloud, "more credit for yours truly. We play them both ways and the middle, there's no chance to lose."

Just then Frank and Jimmy came in. The game had not been one to enliven their spirits. They were caustic in their remarks to the Codfish.

"You are certainly a bum flying meet promoter," said Frank. "With two such stories as you have pulled off in our conservative little News, you might as well die."

"On the contrary, I've just begun a little story," as indeed he had, "which will explain the matter satisfactorily. Fliers are said to be uncertain birds anyway, and I guess they are. This story," he added, "will put me straight with the editors and the editors straight with the college. No harm done at all. Exhibition arranged, all in good faith, some aviator has the pip, no flight, telegram explains, I explain, more news at every turn, and there you are."

"Yes, and there you are," said Turner scowling. "Your roommates get the blame for not letting you be locked up, as you should be."

"O, I didn't see you scoring any touchdowns to-day. Come in," he yelled as a knock came on the door. A young Freshman heeler entered with a note which he handed to the promoter of the flying exhibition. "From the News," he added and went out.

The Codfish took the letter and tore off the end of the envelope. "Big assignment I imagine, expected as much, they're beginning to see I'm onto my job."

But as the Codfish read, a change came over his face. He went through the short note once and then again, while his roommates watched him curiously.

"Well, what is it, an assignment, eh?" said Frank. "Something big?"

"An assignment, yes," returned the Codfish weakly, "an assignment to quit. What do you think of this?" and he read aloud:

"G. W. Gleason,

Pierson Hall.

Dear Sir:—

It is the unanimous opinion of the Board that you had better confine your activities to some other field of endeavor than the News. An imagination like yours is wasted on the ordinary business of publishing a college paper. We do not deal entirely in fiction. We respectfully suggest that you try the Courant, which will more nearly suit your peculiar type of genius.

Very truly yours,

John P. Murray, Chairman."

"Fired, by gosh," said the Codfish.

"Fired it is," said Turner. "I knew your zeal would carry you over the falls."

"Well, I had a good time going, anyway."

"O, I say," said Frank, "what did they give you at City Court this morning?"

"Five dollars and costs, not much for the experience. It was worth all the trouble. Experience is what I live for."

"You funny duffer," said Frank, laughing. "Now pay up," and the Codfish did.

"Well, there's one thing I still have left, my crew job. They can't shake me there."