"No, the big one." West stared.
"Do you mean the Goodwin scholarship?"
"Yes, that's the one," answered Joel. West whistled.
"Well, you're not modest to hurt, March. Why, man, that's a terror! You have to have the Greek alphabet backward, and never miss chapel all term to get a show at that. The Goodwin brings two hundred and forty dollars!"
"That's why I want it," answered Joel. "If I win it it will pay my expenses for this year and part of next."
"Well, of course I hope you'll make it," answered West, "but I don't believe you have much show. There's Knox, and Reeves, and--and two or three others all trying for it. Knox won the Schall scholarship last year. That carries two hundred even."
"Well, anyhow, I'll try hard," answered Joel resolutely.
"Of course. You ought to have it; you need it. Did I tell you that I won a Masters scholarship in my junior year? Yes, I did really. It was forty dollars. I remember that I bought two new putters and a jolly fine caddie bag."
"You could do better than that if you'd try, West. You're awfully smart."
"Who? Me?" laughed West. "Pshaw! I can't do any more than pass my exams. Of course I'm smart enough when it comes to lofting out of a bad lie or choosing a good club; but--" He shook his head doubtfully, but nevertheless seemed pleased at the idea.