“No,” answered the Major. “I rather anticipated some of his characteristic attentions, but he has quite neglected me. Not that I complain--certainly not! Only I took occasion to point out to him the exceeding unwisdom of again annoying me. Odd, too, how he took the advice. Leered at me, and mumbled, but made no distinct threats. But I must not detain you, young man. You, I infer, are on your way to school?” “Yes, sir,” said Sam again. “Then proceed. A moment, though!” The Major’s bushy eyebrows met in a frown, which wholly lacked ferocity. “Your holidays are at hand, I believe. Some day, when you’re at leisure, I should be glad to show you my modest collection of weapons of war and the chase. Ought to interest you, as a budding sportsman with a promising record of large game!” The Major’s eyes were twinkling once more. Sam blushed hotly. “I’ll be very glad to come, sir,” he said. “Then I have the honor to wish you a very good morning,” quoth the Major; and they parted in friendly fashion. * * * * * Both Major Bates and Peter Groche soon lost first place in Sam’s consideration. The school session promptly put the Orkney affair to the fore. The Lester prize for declamation was one of the great honors of the course, and competition always was keen. The contest covered a full term, two boys and two girls entering the lists each Monday. Usually they were seniors, elocution being part of the required work of the final year, but sometimes juniors volunteered, often with a notion of “working off” the requirement ahead of time, but occasionally with a hope of winning. There could be no doubt that Tom Orkney did his best to win. As it happened, he was fortunate in his competitors. The other boy was a senior, who took the platform simply because he had to take it, and who raced through his selection with an eye single to ending the ordeal in a minimum of time. Then two girls performed conscientiously but ineffectively. And then came Orkney, junior and volunteer. Tom had chosen an ancient favorite “speaking piece,” so ancient, indeed, that a giggle ran through the hall when the principal announced, “The Parting of Marmion and Douglas.” But the merriment quickly died, as the boy swung into Scott’s stirring verse. “Good work!” was the involuntary and whispered tribute of Step Jones, who sat beside Sam. “Awfully good work, confound him!” Sam nodded. Orkney was revealing unexpected dramatic fire; and, unpopular as he was with his audience, was capturing its admiration. One might suspect that he had had professional coaching, but one could not deny that it had been worth while. There was loud applause--not the customary ripple of hand-clapping but a spontaneous and hearty demonstration--and Tom was smiling when he made his bow to his schoolmates, and another bow to the principal, and came down the steps from the stage. It was not a pleasing smile, for there was in it more than a trace of supercilious triumph.