  The whole affair left Jimmie feeling dizzy and a little sick. He was willing enough, next morning, to accept his father’s suggestion that he remain at home all day. As he reclined on a heap of pillows in the sun-room, gazing dreamily out of the door, he saw Joe, Dick, Jerry, and Ned, his good school pals, practicing kick-offs and runs in the vacant lot across the way. “Football,” he thought. “I used to play that.” Then, waking to sudden reality, he exclaimed, “Week after next high school opens and I have one more year of it. Hurray!” Closing his eyes he called it all back, the gay throng, the shouting, the school yells, the band, the kick-off, the good feel of the ball as it dropped into his waiting arms, then the dash down the field. “School days, school days,” he hummed. Yes, school days. They began next week. All these newspaper thrills would, for the time at least, belong to the past. They would remain only as half-forgotten dreams. Was he sorry? He did not know. Perhaps—— “Here’s the paper, son,” said his mother. “Such a remarkable picture on the front page.” It was remarkable. Even the editor had admitted it. “THE BUBBLE MAN’S LAST TOSS,” Jimmie read above it, and below, “MOST UNUSUAL PICTURES EVER PRODUCED, TAKEN BY A BOY’S CANDID CAMERA.” “Why!” Jimmie sat up. “I took that picture.” “You, son!” his mother’s eyes widened. “How could you?” “I did, for all that,” Jimmie admitted reluctantly. “Well,” he thought, “the cat’s out of the bag. The whole story of the Bubble Man is here and my part in his capture too. This will be the end of my newspaper career for this year. And who cares? One week till school starts.” Then he told his mother the whole story. At the end he said, “When the Bubble Man went into action I got excited and pressed my switch. The flash bulbs exploded. The distance happened to be right. So—o, I got that picture. Played into luck, that’s all.” “I think,” said his mother soberly, “that you played into luck all the way through. And now,” she sighed, “I hope you are ready to be just a boy again.” “I am,” said Jimmie simply. Jimmie heard the ball game on the radio. It was a grand scrap. “Oggie,” his idol, pitched a glorious game and won. Needless to say, there was no Bubble Man in the grand-stand to razz him. Three days later, when Jimmie made a short visit to his old haunts in the News Building, he came upon Tom Howe, John Nightingale, and Mary Dare. They were gathered in a corner and seemed both happy and excited about something. “Here’s Jimmie now!” John exclaimed. “Shall we tell him?” “No! Wait!” Mary protested. “Let’s all go down to the Purple Mug for a cup of coffee. This must be done in the proper setting.” “Now,” said Jimmie, fifteen minutes later, “what’s it all about?” He was fairly bursting with curiosity. “It’s about all of us,” said Mary. “May I tell him?” she turned to her companions. “Sure! Certainly!” they agreed. “First,” she said, “there is the reward for the capture of the Bubble Man. Tom just collected that.” “Great!” exclaimed Jimmie. “Congrat——” “Wait!” Mary held up a hand. “Half of it was awarded to a boy named Jimmie Drury.” “But say!” Jimmie burst out. “Fair enough,” Tom insisted. “I tried to have them give it all to you but they claimed I’d had a part in it.” “Five hundred dollars,” Jimmie thought. “My first year in college.” “But say!” he burst out once more. “John and Mary had a hand in it too.” “We’ve been taken care of in another way.” There was a happy smile in John’s eyes. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten the diamonds we found in the old house.” “Oh, oh, yes,” said Jimmie. “They weren’t stolen at all,” Mary broke in. “They were part of the Judge Stark estate.” “We turned them over to the Stark boys,” John continued. “They thought we should have some sort of reward. The old place is to be sub-divided and sold. There’s a small house, used to be a coachman’s house, in one corner by the drive.” “A perfectly ducky little house,” Mary exclaimed. “All built of stone.” “And they are giving us a deed to it,” said John. “Us?” said Jimmie. Then, as the light broke in upon him, “You two are going to live there. Mary and John.” “After a clergyman has said a few kind words to us,” John admitted. “And is there a stove in it with cracked lids?” Jimmie asked. “No, but we’ll move in the one from the hideout,” said Mary. “We couldn’t do without that. And we’ll be looking for you at least once a week for bitter chocolate and broiled steak.” “Never fear. I’ll be there,” exclaimed Jimmie. “And many congratulations.” And so this story ends, as all stories must. But you may be sure that Jimmie will have many happy hours with his friends around the stove with the cracked lid, and that he will have, too, many more adventures as thrilling as those recounted in these pages. THE END Endpapers
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