them afterwards in one of the poems
published in the paper. Jack is a modest fellow and does not blow
his own trumpet."

"Did any one else hear him, Art?"

"Yes, Harry. We did not say anything about it, but we know the pieces
were his. Then you know that he has done something in that line for
the Hilltop Gazette, of course?"

"To be sure I do. The Academy paper is doing fine since Jack took
the editorship. It is some magazine now."

"I should say it was. Jack will write something good I know, and I
want to see him win the prize."

"So do I, Art, as I told you before," replied Percival heartily.

Percival let it be known to Jack that he was trying for the prize
and this, instead of making the boy feel envious, as some would have
done, encouraged him and caused him to put forth his best efforts.

"I hear that you are going to compete for the poetic prize, Dick,"
he said to his friend. "That's fine. I hope you will get it.
You used to do a lot of good things, and I don't see why you should
not do them still. I'd like to see you get it, Dick."

Dick chuckled over this to Harry and Arthur and Billy, and said:

"Jack is putting his best foot forward, as I hoped he would. He
thinks that I will beat him, and so he is doing his best. That's
just what I wanted, and I hope he will win the pennant."

"H'm! you talk as if this was a baseball series," laughed Billy.

"Well, you know what I mean anyhow," returned Dick.

The boys put in their poems and the blank sealed envelopes containing
their names and the titles of their productions, the envelopes not to
be opened till after the prizes were given.

The doctor had all the manuscripts in his study, and was to go over
them with the professors, the majority to decide which was the best.

On the night when the various manuscripts were in the doctor's
study in the little cottage he occupied in the camp, Billy Manners
was a bit restless, not from his literary efforts, but from having
eaten something which greatly disagreed with him.

He occupied a tent with young Smith, and at a late hour awoke for
the third or fourth time, and suddenly heard some one say in a
whisper:

"It's all right, I've got it!"

Billy thought the voice was Herring's, but was not certain in his
sleepy condition, and with pains gripping his bowels.

"Can you fix it?" somebody asked, and Billy thought this might be
either Holt or Merritt, not being sure which it was, for the same
reaso