"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!"