mount their wheels for the return journey; "but Thanksgiving is still
more than two months off; and Claypole, I give you my word, we've got
some of the smartest tenderfeet in the Stanhope troop you ever heard
of. Ta-ta, boys!"

Of course, when Paul and Jack told what they had seen, every fellow
wanted to make the run over to Manchester to look for himself. And,
just as Paul had expected, they came back home more than ever enthused
with the hope and prospect of winning that royal banner for the Stanhope
troop.

At the next meeting the talk was all about the prize, and a vote was even
taken to ascertain to whom the honor of being the banner bearer might
fall, in case the victory was awarded to Stanhope. Wallace Carberry
turned out to be the lucky standard bearer.

All of which was just what clever Paul wanted. He had infused a new
stimulant into the veins of his comrades. And at their next outdoor
rally, when various contests were undertaken to discover who showed the
most skill, he found that the very atmosphere seemed to be surcharged
with electricity; for the boys labored to excel as they had never done
before; but it was because each one believed that upon his shoulders
alone devolved the duty of bringing that beautiful prize to Stanhope.

Four days later the expected suits arrived, much sooner than even the
most sanguine had anticipated.

Then there _was_ a time.

The usually quiet and peaceful streets of the town were fairly filled