Ducked, deservedly, by a crowd on Main Street, Ripley could never regain real standing in the High School, and he knew that.
As soon as they could Dick and Dave walked on to "The Blade" office.
Here Darrin took a chair in the corner, occasionally glancing almost enviously at Prescott, as the latter, seated at a reporter's table, slowly wrote the few little local items that he had picked up during the afternoon.

When Dick had finished he handed his "copy" to Mr.Pollock, and the chums left the office.
"Dick, old fellow," hinted Dave, confidentially, "I'm afraid I ought to give you a tip, even though it does make me feel something like a spy." "Under such circumstances," smiled Prescott, "it might be well to think twice before giving the tip." "I've thought about it _seventeen_ times already," Dave asserted, gravely, "and you're my chum, anyway.

So here goes.

When we were in the department store, do you remember that the girls were looking over some worsteds, or yarns, or whatever you call the stuff ?" "Yes," Prescott nodded.
"Well, I couldn't quite help hearing Laura Bentley say to Belle that the yarn she picked up was just what she wanted for you." "What on earth did that mean ?" queried Dick, looking almost startled.
"It means that you're going to get a Christmas present from Laura," Dave answered.
"But I never had a present from a girl before!" "Most anything is likely to happen," laughed Dave, "now that you're a sophomore---and a reporter, too." "Thank goodness I'm earning a little money now," murmured Dick, breathing a bit rapidly.

"But, say, Dave!" "Well ?" "What on earth does one give a girl at Christmas ?" "Tooth-powder, scented soap, ribbons---oh, hang it! I don't know," floundered Dave hopelessly.