Denry emerged and wandered innocently towards the offices of his paper,
which were close by. It was getting late. The first yelling of the
imprisoned _Daily_ boys was just beginning to rise on the autumn
air.
Suddenly Denry was accosted by a young man.
"Hello, Machin!" cried the young man. "What have you shaved your beard
off, for? I scarcely knew you."
"I just thought I would, Swetnam," said Denry, who was obviously
discomposed.
It was the youngest of the Swetnam boys; he and Denry had taken a sort
of curt fancy to one another.
"I say," said Swetnam, confidentially, as if obeying a swift impulse, "I
did hear that the _Signal_ people meant to collar all your chaps
this afternoon, and I believe they have done. Hear that now?" (Swetnam's
father was intimate with the _Signal_ people.)
"I know," Denry replied.
"But I mean--papers and all."
"I know," said Denry.
"Oh!" murmured Swetnam.
"But I'll tell you a secret," Denry added. "They aren't to-day's papers.
They're yesterday's, and last week's and last month's. We've been
collecting them specially and keeping them nice and new-looking."
"Well, you're a caution!" murmured Swetnam.
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