The Weber Literary Journal a-days, he just went through his regular routine with only the check-rein to keep him from stepping on his lip; with most of his tail vacant, and a touch of rheumatiz' now and then, in all of his joints. Nevertheless, the Trumpet was seldom more than two days late to most of the subscribers, so Jupiter really did his part in keeping up the Trumpet's proud boast "The latest, and all the news that is fit to print." "But but, Paul," pleaded the "Kernel"; "You've got to print this, after all my work you remember yer promise." "I promised nothing. I said that I might publish yer article, which also gives me the privilege of saying that I might not." The hot blood, probably of his ancestors, came to the "Kernel's" surface. He was literally seething. "You you," he muttered, "I'll get even." He lifted his cane as if to strike then lowered it. The boiling blood of the Punks came to Paul's surface. "Hit me if ye dare! Come on! I ain't afraid of ye. Git directly out of this office now scat, dern ye." The door slammed behind the "Kernel" but, somehow, the glass failed to break. Evening came, as usual, and Paul R. P. had had supper. At this particular time he was setting to type his "Lest We Forget Paul Revere's Famous Ride." Once more, Paul read over his manuscript, his literary gem, to the grand climax. It read: "Then Paul the Great Revere mounted his steed and plunged into the blackness of night on the ride that would soon be famous famed around the world." With a "ho-hum," he tiredly leaned back in his chair and unconsciously began dreaming, dreaming of himself, the fearless horseman Revere on a famous ride and on "Jupiter, the dashing one," plunging over stream, through dense woodland and. Outside, it chose to storm one of those good ol' Iowa storms. The rain came down in blinding sheets, forced around and 26 The Weber Literary Journal around by a genuine Iowa blizzard. It was a horrible night. Jupiter was comfortably situated in a shed back of the Trumpet office, chewing on straws, possibly to pass the time away while waiting to carry his master home. Poor old Jupiter had one consolation anyhow. Heaven knows he wouldn't try to run away. His old head wasn't capable of thinking such brilliant thoughts. But, he was tied up, which must have flattered him considerably, to realize that he was being treated like a real "he" horse. Paul slept on. The ferocity of the storm failed to rouse him. He was riding wildly on the back of his spirited animal on THE ride. He jumped, startled by the ringing of the desk telephone which buzzed unmercifully in his ear. He blinked his eyes upon realizing that he was still in this everyday world. He answered the phone. "Hello, hello," called the voice at the other end of the line; "Is this the Trumpet of River Junction?" "Yes, yes, I'm Mr. Punk," responded Paul, "I can hardly hear ye. The storm, ye know." "Yes, listen Mr. Punk; this is the Associated Press of Waterloo. All phone wires are down to Pike's Settlement. Do you know where Pike's Settlement is situated?" "Yes-sir-ee, it's ten miles up the river jest a little ranchin' village." "Good, then. We have reliable information that Pike's Settlement will be flooded tonight. It is liable to be a thing of the past in three or four hours. There is no escape for the settlers unless they are warned and are able to take to the hills. All wires are down. They simply MUST be warned! Tomorrow you will be a national hero if the Associated Press can make you so." The phone rattled then all was silent. Paul attempted to raise the operator. Impossible. The line was down. Paul thought deeply, looked at the raging storm outside and shuddered, then suddenly brightened. At last, the great chance! He would gain fame as the second Paul Revere he could do it he would do it he would ride as he never did before what if there was a storm. On the morrow, he and 27