"Yes. Shall you try for the prize?"
"I may—I haven't got that far yet. It seems to me you are beginning early."
"Oh, I am merely going to jot down some ideas I have. Then, from time to time, I'll add to those ideas, and do the real writing later."
"That's a good plan. Maybe" And then Polly Vane stopped speaking and lost himself in his Latin lesson. He was very studious as well as girlish, but one of the best fellows in the school.
Dave went to work, and so easily did his ideas flow that it was supper time before he had them all transferred to paper. The subject interested him greatly and he felt in his heart that he could do it full justice.
"But I must work carefully," he told himself. "If I don't, some other paper may be better than mine."
The students were flocking in from the campus, the gymnasium, and the river. Some came upstairs, to wash up before going to the dining room. Among the number was Chip Macklin, the young pupil who had in times gone by been the toady of Gus Plum when Plum had been the Hall bully.
"Oh, Dave Porter!" cried Chip, and running up, he clutched Dave by the arm.
"What is it, Chip?" asked Dave, seeing the little boy was white and trembling. "What's wrong?"
