"You have drawn number three, Miss Ayres. Church, you are next."
Rapidly the First Form made their drawings, and then more slips were placed in the box for the Seconds.
"I think we might be allowed to select our own desks," grumbled Bart, and, as the possibility of the two rivals drawing adjacent desks was thus suggested, the others became all attention.
Though he gave no indication of the fact, the headmaster had overheard Bart's remark, and for that reason called Fred to make the first selection, announcing "seventeen" as he read the slip the youth handed him.
"That's the best desk in the Second Form section," whispered several of the boys, while Buttons and Soda patted their chum lovingly on the back when he returned to his seat between them.
As one name after another was called, Bart became more and more glum, his sober face evidencing that he felt slighted at being compelled to wait.
"There's Clothespin, the new boy," murmured Soda, as Bronson walked awkwardly forward. "Wouldn't it be rich if he drew a better desk than Bart?"
"Eighteen," announced Mr. Vining. And the allotment proceeded till only Bart was left.
Eagerly the students had listened as one number after another was called and such close attention did they pay that it was not necessary for them to hear the figure "thirty-three" read to know that the only desk remaining for Bart was in the front row.
"I won't sit there!" growled the rich lad, as the fateful number was announced. "If a newcomer can force me into the front row, I'll do my studying at home."