"Let him alone, John!" said Dick Jones, "It isn't his fault that the teacher awarded the prize to him instead of you."

"I hope you don't think I care for that!" said John, snapping his fingers. "He's welcome to his rubbishing books; they don't amount to much, anyway. I don't believe they cost more than two dollars at the most. If you'd like to see what I got for my essay, I'll show you."

John pulled out his portemonnaie, and unrolled three new and crisp bank-notes of ten dollars each.

"I think that's pretty good pay," he said, looking about him triumphantly. "I don't care how many prizes Rathburn chooses to give his favorite. I rather think I can get along without them."

John's face was turned toward the door, otherwise he would have observed the approach of the teacher, and spoken with more caution. But it was too late. The words had been spoken above his ordinary voice, and were distinctly heard by the teacher. He looked sharply at John Haynes, whose glance fell before his, but without a word passed into the schoolroom.

"See if you don't get a blowing-up, John," said Dick Jones.

"What do I care!" said John, but in a tone too subdued to be heard by any one else. "It won't do Rathburn any harm to hear the truth for once in his life."

"Well, I'm glad I'm not in your place, that's all!" replied Dick.