On the morning succeeding the distribution of the prizes, Frank
arrived at the schoolhouse a few minutes before the bell rang.
John, with half a dozen other boys, stood near the door.
John took off his hat with mock deference. "Make way for the
great prize essayist, gentlemen!" he said. "The modern Macaulay
is approaching."
Frank colored with annoyance. John did not fail to notice this
with pleasure. He was sorry, however, that none of the other boys
seemed inclined to join in the demonstration. In fact, they liked
Frank much the better of the two.
"That isn't quite fair, John," said Frank, in a low voice.
"I am always glad to pay my homage to distinguished talent," John
proceeded, in the same tone. "I feel how presumptuous I was in
venturing to compete with a gentleman of such genius!"
"Do you mean to insult me?" asked Frank, growing angry.
"Oh, dear, no! I am only expressing my high opinion of your
talents!"
"Let him alone, John!" said Dick Jones, "It isn't his fault that
the teacher awarded the prize to him instead of you.
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