Pen was not only exhausted by his race, he was disappointed and distressed as well.

Whether or not his grandfather had seen him as the train moved out he did not know. He simply knew that for him not to have been there on time was little less than tragical. He dropped down limply on a convenient trunk to regain his breath.

After a minute he was aware that some one was standing near by, looking at him. He glanced up and saw that it was Aleck Sands. He was nettled. He knew of no reason why Aleck should stand there staring at him.

“Well,” he asked impatiently, “is there anything about me that’s particularly astonishing?”

“Not particularly,” replied Aleck. “You seem to be winded, that’s all.”

“You’d be winded too, if you’d run all the way from Drake’s Hill.”

“Too bad you missed your grandfather. He was looking for you.”

“How do you know?”

“He told me so. He wanted to know if I’d seen you.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him you’d gone to Drake’s Hill, coasting.”

Pen rose slowly to his feet. What right, he asked himself, had this fellow to be telling tales about him? What right had he to be talking to Colonel Butler, anyway? However, he did not choose to lower his dignity further by inquiry. He turned as if to leave the station. But Aleck, who had been turning the matter over carefully in his mind, had decided that Pen ought to know about the proposed gift of the flag. He ought not to be permitted, unwittingly, to go on securing subscriptions to a fund which, by reason of Colonel Butler’s proposed gift, had been made unnecessary. That would be cruel and humiliating. So, as Pen turned away, he said to him:

“I’ve put in some work for the flag this afternoon.”

“I s’pose so,” responded Pen. “But it does not follow that by getting the first start you’ll come out best in the end.”

“Maybe not; but I’d like to show you what I’ve done.”

He took the subscription paper from his pocket and began to unfold it.

“Oh,” replied Pen, “I don’t care what you’ve done. It’s none of my business. You get your subscriptions and I’ll get mine.”

Aleck looked for a moment steadily at his opponent. Then he folded up his paper and put it back into his pocket.

“All right!” he said. “Only don’t forget that I offered to show it to you to-day.”

But Pen was both resentful and scornful. He did not propose to treat his rival’s offer seriously, nor to give him the satisfaction of looking at his paper.

“You can’t bluff me that way,” he said. “And besides, I’m not interested in what you’re doing.”

And he walked around the corner of the station platform and out into the street.

When Aleck Sands tramped up the hill to school on the following morning it was with no great sense of jubilation over his success. He had an uneasy feeling that he had not done exactly the fair thing in soliciting a subscription from Pen Butler’s grandfather. It was, in a way, trenching on Pen’s preserves. But he justified himself on the ground that he had a perfect right to get his contributions where he chose. His agency had been conditioned by no territorial limits. And if, by his diligence, he had outwitted Pen, surely he had nothing to regret. So far as his failure to disclose to his rival the fact of Colonel Butler’s gift was concerned, that, he felt, was Pen’s own fault. If, by his offensive conduct, the other boy had deprived himself of his means of knowledge, and had humiliated himself and made himself ridiculous by procuring unnecessary subscriptions, certainly he, Aleck, was not to blame. Under any circumstances, now that he had gone so far in the matter, he would not yield an inch nor make a single concession. On that course he was fully determined.

On the walk, as he approached the school-house door, Pen was standing, with a group of Hill boys. They were discussing the accident that had occurred on Drake’s Hill the day before. They paid little attention to Aleck as he passed by them, but, just as he was mounting the steps, Pen called out to him.

“Oh, Aleck! You wanted to show me your subscription paper last night. I’ll look at it now, and you look at mine, and we’ll leave it to the fellows here who’s got the most names and the most money promised. And I haven’t got my grandfather on it yet, either.”

Aleck turned and faced him. “Remember what you said to me last night?” he asked. “Well, I’ll say the same thing to you this morning. I’m not interested in your paper. It’s none of my business. You get your subscriptions and I’ll get mine.”

And he mounted the steps and entered the school-room.

Miss Grey was already at her desk, and he went straight to her.

“I’ve brought back my subscription blank, Miss Grey,” he said, and he handed the paper to her.

She looked up in surprise.

“You haven’t completed your canvass, have you?” she asked.

“No. If you’ll read the paper you’ll see it wasn’t necessary.”

She unfolded the paper and read the letter written on it. Her face flushed; but whether with astonishment or anxiety it would have been difficult to say.

“Did Colonel Butler know,” she inquired, “when he wrote this, that Pen also had a subscription paper?”

“Yes. I met him at the station last night, when he was starting for New York, and I told him all about it.”

“Was Pen there?”

“No; he didn’t get there till after the train started.”

“Does he know about this letter?”

“Not from me. I offered to show it to him but he wouldn’t look at it.”

“Aleck, there’s something strange about this. I don’t quite understand it. Is Pen outside?”

“Yes; he was when I came.”

“Call him in, please; and return with him.”

Aleck went to the door, his resolution to stand by his conduct growing stronger every minute. He called to Pen.

“Miss Grey wants to see you,” he said.

“What for?” inquired Pen.

“She’ll tell you when you come in.”

Both boys returned to the teacher.

“Pen,” she inquired, “have you obtained any subscriptions to your paper for the flag fund?”

“Yes, Miss Grey,” he replied. “I think I’ve done pretty well considering my grandfather’s not home.”

He handed his paper to her with a show of pardonable pride; but she merely glanced at the long list of names.

“Did you know,” she asked, “that Colonel Butler has decided to give the flag to the school?”

Pen opened his eyes in astonishment.

“No,” he said. “Has he?”

“Read this letter, please.”

She handed the colonel’s letter to him and he began to read it. His face grew red and his eyes snapped. He had been outwitted. He knew in a moment when, where and how it had been done. He handed the paper back to Miss Grey.

“All right!” he said. “But I think it was a mean, underhanded, contemptible trick.”

Then Aleck, slow to wrath, woke up.

“There was nothing mean nor underhanded about it,” he retorted. “I had a perfect right to ask Colonel Butler for a subscription. And if he chose to give the whole flag, that was his lookout. And,” turning to Pen, “if you’d been half way decent last night, you’d have known all about this thing then, and maybe saved yourself some trouble.”

Before Pen could flash back a reply, Miss Grey intervened.

“That will do, boys. I’m not sure who is in the wrong here, if any one is. I propose to find out about that, later. It’s an unfortunate situation; but, in justice to Colonel Butler, we must accept it.” She handed Pen’s paper back to him, and added: “I think you had better take this back to your subscribers, and ask them to cancel their subscriptions. I will consult with my associates at noon, and we will decide upon our future course. In the meantime I charge you both, strictly, to say nothing about this matter until after I have made my announcement at the afternoon session. You may take your seats.”

The school bell had already ceased ringing, and the pupils had filed in and had taken their proper places. So Aleck and Pen went down the aisle, the one with stubborn resolution marking his countenance, the other with keen resentment flashing from his eyes.

And poor Miss Grey, mild and peace-loving, but now troubled and despondent, who had thought to restore harmony among her pupils, foresaw, instead, only a continued and more bitter rivalry.

Notwithstanding her admonition, rumors of serious trouble between Aleck and Pen filtered through the school-room during the morning session, and were openly discussed at the noon recess. But both boys kept silent.

It was not until the day’s work had been finally disposed of, and the closing hour had almost arrived, that Miss Grey made her announcement.

With all the composure at her command she called the attention of the school to the plan for a flag fund.

“Our end has been accomplished,” she added, “much more quickly and successfully than we had dared to hope, as you will see by this letter which I shall read to you.”

When she had finished reading the letter there was a burst of applause. The school had not discovered the currents under the surface.

She continued:

“This, of course, will do away with the necessity of obtaining subscriptions. Honors appear to be nearly even. A prominent citizen of Chestnut Hill has given us the flag ” (Loud applause from the Hilltops;) “and a pupil from Chestnut Valley has the distinction of having procured the gift.” (Cheers for Aleck Sands from the Riverbeds.) “Now let rivalry cease, and let us unite in a fitting acceptance of the gift. I have consulted with my associates, and we have appointed a committee to wait upon Colonel Butler and to cooperate with him in fixing a day for the presentation of the flag to the school. We will make a half-holiday for the occasion, and will prepare an order of exercises. We assume that Colonel Butler will make a speech of presentation, and we have selected Penfield Butler as the most appropriate person to respond on behalf of the school. Penfield will prepare himself accordingly.”

By making this appointment Miss Grey had hoped to pour oil upon the troubled waters, and to bring about at least a semblance of harmony among the warring elements. But, as the event proved, she had counted without her host. For she had no sooner finished her address than Pen was on his feet. His face was pale and there was a strange look in his eyes, but he did not appear to be unduly excited.

“May I speak, Miss Grey?” he asked.

“Certainly,” she replied.

“Then I want to say that I’m very much obliged to you for appointing me, but I decline the appointment. I’m glad the school’s going to have a flag, and I’m glad my grandfather’s going to give it; and I thank you, Miss Grey, for trying to please me; but I don’t propose to be made the tail of Aleck Sands’ kite. If he thinks it’s an honor to get the flag the way he got it, let him have the honor of accepting it.”

Pen sat down. There was no applause. Even his own followers were too greatly amazed for the moment to applaud him. And, before they got their wits together, Miss Grey had again taken the reins in hand.

“I am sure we all regret,” she said, “that Penfield does not see fit to accept this appointment, and we should regret still more the attitude of mind that leads him to decline it. However, in accordance with his suggestion, I will name Alexander Sands as the person who will make the response to Colonel Butler’s presentation speech. That is all to-day. When school is dismissed you will not loiter about the school grounds, but go immediately to your homes.”

It was a wise precaution on Miss Grey’s part to direct her pupils to go at once to their homes. There is no telling what disorder might have taken place had they been permitted to remain. The group of Hilltops that surrounded Pen as he marched up the street and explained the situation to them, was loud in its condemnation of the meanness and trickery of Aleck Sands; and the party of Riverbeds that walked down with Aleck was jubilant over the clever way in which he had outwitted his opponent, and had, by obtaining honor for himself, conferred honor also upon them.

Colonel Butler returned, in due season, from New York.

Pen met him at the station on his arrival. There was no delay on this occasion. Indeed, the boy had paced up and down the platform for at least fifteen minutes before the train drew in. During the ride up to Bannerhall, behind the splendid team of blacks with their jingling bells, nothing was said about the gift of the flag. It was not until dinner had been served and partly eaten that the subject was mentioned, and the colonel himself was the first one to mention it.

“By the way, Penfield,” he said, “I have ordered, and I expect to receive in a few days, an American flag which I shall present to your public school. I presume you have heard something concerning it?”

“Yes, grandfather. Your letter was read to the school by Miss Grey the day after you went to New York.”

“Did she seem pleased over the gift?”

“Yes, very much so, I think. It was awfully nice of you to give it.”

“A was any arrangement made about receiving it?”

“Yes, Miss Grey appointed a committee to see you. There’s to be a half-holiday, and exercises.”

“I presume a Penfield, that I will be expected to make a brief address?”

“Of course. Miss Grey’s counting on it.”

“Now, father,” interrupted Aunt Millicent, “I do hope it will be a really brief address. You’re so long-winded. That speech you made when the school-house was dedicated was twice too long. Everybody got tired.”

His daughter Millicent was the only person on earth from whom Colonel Butler would accept criticism or reproof. And from her he not only accepted it, but not infrequently acted upon it in accordance with her wish. He had always humored her, because she had always lived with him, except during the time she was away at boarding school; and since the death of his wife, a dozen years before, she had devoted herself to his comfort. But he was fond, nevertheless, of getting into a mild argument with her, and being vanquished, as he expected to be now.

“My dear daughter,” he said, “I invariably gauge the length of my speech by the importance of the occasion. The occasion to which you refer was an important one, as will be the occasion of the presentation of this flag. It will be necessary for me, therefore, to address the pupils and the assembled guests at sufficient length to impress upon them the desirability, you may say the necessity, of having a patriotic emblem, such as is the American flag, constantly before the eyes of our youth.”

His daughter laughed a little. She was never awed by his stately manner of speech.

“All the same,” she replied; “I shall get a seat in the front row, and if you exceed fifteen minutes fifteen minutes to a minute, mind you I shall hold up a warning finger; and if you still trespass, I shall go up and drag you off the platform by your coat tails; and then you’d look pretty, wouldn’t you?”

Apparently he did not find it profitable to prolong the argument with her on this occasion, for he laughed and turned again to Pen.

“By the way, Penfield,” he said, “I missed you at the train the day I left home. I suppose something of major importance detained you?”

Pen blushed a little, but he replied frankly:

“I was awfully sorry, grandfather; I meant to have written you about it. I didn’t exactly forget; but I was coasting on Drake’s Hill, and there was an accident, and I was very much excited, and it got train-time before I knew it. Then I ran as fast as I could, but it wasn’t any use.”

“I see. I trust that no one was seriously injured?”

“No, sir. I bruised my shin a little, and Elmer scraped his knee, and the bobs were wrecked; that’s about all.”

Colonel Butler adjusted his glasses and leaned back in his chair; a habit he had when about to deliver himself of an opinion which he deemed important.

“Penfield,” he said, “a gentleman should never permit anything to interfere with the keeping of his engagements. If the matter in hand is of sufficient importance to call for an engagement, it is of sufficient importance to keep the engagement so made. It is an elementary principle of good conduct that a gentleman should always keep his word. Otherwise the relations of men with each other would become chaotic.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Pen.

Colonel Butler removed his glasses and again applied himself to the disposal of his food which had been cut into convenient portions by his devoted daughter.

But his mind soon recurred to the subject of the flag.

“A Penfield,” he inquired, “do you chance to know whether any person has been chosen to make a formal response to my speech of presentation?”

Pen felt that the conversation was approaching an embarrassing stage, but there was no hesitancy in his manner as he replied:

“Yes, sir. The boy that got your offer, Aleck Sands, will make the response.”

“H’m! I was hoping, expecting in fact, that you, yourself, would be chosen to perform that pleasing duty. Had you been, we could have prepared our several speeches with a view to their proper relation to each other. It occurred to me that your teacher, Miss Grey, would have this fact in mind. Do you happen to know of any reason why she should not have appointed you?”

For the first time in the course of the conversation Pen hesitated and stammered.

“Why, I she she did appoint me.”

“Haven’t you just told me, sir, that

“But, grandfather, I declined.”

Aunt Millicent dropped her hands into her lap in astonishment.

“Pen Butler!” she exclaimed, “why haven’t you told me a word of this before?”

“Because, Aunt Milly, it wasn’t a very agreeable incident, and I didn’t want to bother you telling about it.”

Colonel Butler had, in the meantime, again put on his glasses in order that he might look more searchingly at his grandson.

“Permit me to inquire,” he asked, “why you should have declined so distinct an honor?”

Then Pen blurted out his whole grievance.

“Because Aleck Sands didn’t do the fair thing. He got you to give the flag through him instead of through me, by a mean trick. He gets the credit of getting the flag; now let him have the honor of accepting it. I won’t play second fiddle to such a fellow as he is, and that’s all there is to it.”

He pushed his chair back from the table and sat, with flaming cheeks and defiant eyes, as if ready to meet all comers.

Aunt Millicent, more astonished than ever, exclaimed:

“Why, Pen Butler, I’m shocked!”

But the colonel did not seem to be shocked. Back of his glasses there was a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes which Pen could not see. Here was the old Butler pride and independence manifesting itself; the spirit which had made the family prosperous and prominent. He was not ill-pleased. Nevertheless he leaned back in his chair and spoke impressively:

“Now let us consider the situation. You received from your teacher a copy of the same subscription blank which was handed to your fellow-pupil. Had you met your engagement at the station, and called the matter to my attention, you would doubtless have received my subscription, or been the bearer of my offer, in preference to any one else. In your absence your school-fellow seized a legitimate opportunity to present his case. My regret at your failure to appear, and my appreciation of his alertness, led me to favor him. I am unable to see why, under these circumstances, he should be charged with improper conduct.”

“Well,” responded Pen, hotly, “he might at least have told you that I had a subscription blank too.”

“He did so inform me. And his fairness and frankness in doing so was an inducing cause of my favorable consideration of his request.”

Pen felt that the ground was being cut away from under his feet, but he still had one grievance left.

“Anyway,” he exclaimed, “he might have told me about your giving the whole flag, instead of letting me go around like a monkey, collecting pennies for nothing.”

“Very true, Penfield, he should have told you. Didn’t he intimate to you in any way what I had done? Didn’t he offer to show you his subscription blank containing my letter?”

“Why why, yes, I believe he did.”

“And you declined to look at it?”

“Yes, I declined to look at it. I considered it none of my business. But he might have told me what was on it.”

“My dear grandson; this is a case in which the alertness of your school-fellow, added to your failure to keep an engagement and to grasp a situation, has led to your discomfiture. Let this be a lesson to you to be diligent, vigilant and forearmed. Only thus are great battles won.”

Again the colonel placed his glasses on the hook on the breast of his waistcoat, and resumed his activity in connection with his evening meal. It was plain that he considered the discussion at an end.