“As your names are mentioned, you will kindly stand,” continued the Principal. “To members of the First Class: Barton Scholarships of one hundred and twenty-five dollars to William George Phinney, Clark’s Mills, Rhode Island; David Fearson Caldwell, New York City; Jasper Haynes, Plainfield, New Jersey; Patrick Dennis Conlon, Bridgeport, Connecticut. Sinclair Scholarships of one hundred dollars to Phillip Studley Meyer, Belfast, Maine; William Patterson Byron, Newark, New Jersey. Elliot Percival Dwight Scholarships of eighty dollars to Howard Dana Jones, Englewood, Illinois; Horace Newcomb, Greenburg, Connecticut. The Yardley Hall Scholarship of sixty dollars to Newton Scott McDonough, Wilmington, Delaware.” As each name was announced, somewhere in the hall an embarrassed youth arose and a salvo of clapping greeted him. Toby clapped as hard as any. It sort of took his mind off the question that was jumping around in his brain. The nine youths remained standing until the applause, long continued and hearty, died down. Then: “You may be seated,” said the Doctor. “To members of the Second Class――” Toby listened, but only half heard. When a boy stood up he clapped hard. When a laugh started and rippled around the hall, he laughed too, a trifle hysterically, but didn’t know what at. The Second Class recipients sat down and the Doctor began on the Third Class awards. There were but six of these. Toby only knew one of the fortunate fellows, Mark Flagg, who played point with the first hockey squad. The clapping went on and on. Toby wished one instant that it would cease and the next that it would continue. Then it died away, Doctor Collins nodded and the boys sank back gladly out of sight. Toby clenched his hands again, set his countenance in a vacuous stare and held his breath. “To members of the Fourth Class:” began the fateful voice. “Ripley Scholarships of sixty dollars to Gordon Pitman Wells, Cincinnati, Ohio――” At the far side of the assembly hall there was a scraping of feet. The clapping broke forth afresh. Toby didn’t join this time, nor did he look around. He was too busy keeping his eyes on the back of the head of the boy in front of him, and, besides, it is doubtful if he could have unclenched his hands just then. “――John Booth Garman, Fitchburg, Massachusetts――” The boy at Toby’s right got slowly to his feet. Toby stole a look at his face. He was rather red and very embarrassed and there was a little crooked smile twisting one side of his mouth. Toby’s gaze fell to Garman’s hand which hung by his side. The long fingers were doubling back and forth nervously. Toby felt for Garman, wanted to tell him he was glad. Then, the applause lessening, he strained his ears again. Not that the crucial moment was yet, for he had no hopes of a Ripley now, nor much hope of anything. He wished it was all over! Doctor Collins seized the moment’s calm: “Tobias Tucker, Greenhaven, New York!”