“There’s a whole column here about the Commencement,” she said, as Sam sat down beside her. “Don’t you want to see it?”
Sam laughed contentedly. “I don’t need to read about it; I was there.”
“And beside it is a report from the Hillbury Commencement, too. Prizes aren’t so plenty in Hillbury. There seem to be hardly half as many as are given here.”
The prizes at Hillbury possessed small interest for Sam. He was satisfied to lounge quietly in the comfortable chair, let his eyes wander over the profusion of gay flowers in the old-fashioned garden, and gloat in silence on the fact that school recitations were, for him, forever finished. All at once he straightened up in his chair and demanded:—
“Who got the Yale Cup down there? I wonder if it’s any one I know?”
“In Hillbury?” answered Mrs. Archer, taking up the paper again. “Let me see—the Orton prize, the Harper prize, the—oh, yes, the Yale Cup: Winthrop Joy Kilham.”
“Kilham!” cried Sam, in a sudden accession of spirit. “Kilham! That’s great! The judges hit the bull’s-eye that time, for sure!”
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation are as in the original.