Chapter XXIX: The End of the Struggle

The time had finally come when the committee appointed to judge the several farces entered in the competition for the prize, met to complete their part of the proceedings.

Every fellow who belonged to the Boys’ Department of the prosperous Y. M. C. A., as well as many of the girls, were on the tiptoe of excitement. While the vast majority of them firmly believed that Dick was sure to be the successful candidate for honors, there were others who seemed confident that Nat would come in a winner.

“I understand,” said Elmer Jones, as the boys began to gather that evening in the hall, where the choice was to be duly announced, “that the committee is now in session in another part of the building, and having the best of the farces read aloud by Mr. Parkhurst, who once upon a time used to be a public reader.”

“Sure thing,” added Peg Fosdick. “And I’ll tell you a little secret in the bargain. Never mind how I came to know it, but you can depend on it for a fact.”

“Pitch right in then, Peg!” urged one of those clustered around the two.

“It takes Peg to get on the track of things,” laughed another.

“Listen then,” Peg went on softly, in his mysterious way. “While Mr. Holwell, you understand, isn’t on the committee, he has been asked to join them. I saw him going through just a little while back.”

“Whew! I wonder what that can mean?” remarked Phil Harkness.

“Mebbe there’s some sort of hitch, and they need an umpire to decide it,” suggested Clint Babbett.

“Either that,” went on Peg, with a wink, first at Dick, and then toward Nat, both of whom were in the bunch, “or else it’s a neck and neck race between a couple of well-known junior residents of Cliffwood, and they’re looking for some reason to penalize one of the contestants.”

“You’re all wrong,” spoke up Andy Hale. “Listen to me. Remember that little anecdote about the sailor and the soldier. Some one wanted to know which could give the time of day best. One fellow said the soldier ought to, because he so often had to mark time. But the answer was that the sailor must be best qualified to tell, for the simple reason that he had _been to sea_. Well, I’m the Jack Tar, and I’ve been on the job.”

“Then why was Mr. Holwell called into the room with the committee?” demanded Nat, boldly; and those who were close to him could see that he looked plainly concerned, as though the suspense might be wearing heavily on him; while, on the other hand, Dick seemed utterly unconcerned, for the money part of the prize no longer appealed to him as before his recent good fortune.

“Why, it seems that the committee have decided on what they believe to be the greatest farce of the lot, as well as the one that’s second best. To make sure of their ground, they thought it only right Mr. Howell should hear the prize effort. Seems that it must be a stunner, that’s nearly taken their breath away.”

At that Nat chuckled, and threw out his chest.

“You wouldn’t believe me, you fellows,” he remarked, loftily; “but just wait and see. I reckon you’ll change your minds some before long.”

“Yep,” added Dit Hennesy, boastfully, “nobody suspected that there was a budding genius alivin’ here right in old Cliffwood. You’ll all admit, after you hear his dandy farce read, that Nat’s got the goods. All the rest’ll have to take his dust when he travels along the road.”

“Look! there’s Mr. Holwell going out again!” exclaimed Elmer.

“And he’s mighty serious looking too, make a note of it!” added Peg.

“I wonder what’s up?” remarked Andy. “They must have bumped up against a snag of some kind.”

Leslie chanced to be looking toward Nat just when Andy said this, and he saw the other give a big start. His face went several degrees whiter too, which was rather a singular thing in the case of an expectant winner.

“Gee! I wonder now, is Nat up to any of his old tricks?” was the thought that flashed through the brain of Leslie as he noticed this.

Nat must have taken a firm grip of himself, for the pallor quickly gave way to his customary ruddy hue. He watched the door until the minister again came into the building. Mr. Holwell was carrying something in his hand which he had evidently gone to his home to get.

“Looks like it might be a roll of manuscript, too,” suggested Peg, humorously. “Wouldn’t it be queer if Mr. Holwell had entered as a contestant for his own prize?”

“You’re away off in your guess,” ventured Clint Babbett; “for when he passed us I could plainly see that it was a printed paper booklet, and one that looked as if it might be an old relic of his minstrel days!”

Nat shrank back, and said nothing; but when Leslie glanced curiously that way, he discovered that once more the color had fled from the cheeks of the boaster.

“Ginger!” muttered Leslie to himself, “I wonder what ails Nat anyway? He’s acting just as if he was in mortal fear of something jumping at him.”

Minutes passed, and more people continued to arrive, the big room beginning to fill up, for a great deal of interest was being taken in the awarding of the prize. So much had been said from time to time about the keen competition, that the excitement among the boys and girls was at white heat.

Even Mr. Loft, the librarian, whose superior airs had so offended the boys of the town, had condescended to grace the affair with his presence, though never before had he been known to attend a meeting like this.

“I’m beginning to have some hopes that in time Mr. Loft will grow to be really human,” Leslie was saying to his mates, when he spied the cultured librarian in a seat not far away. “He’s finding out that to know and understand boys he’s just got to mingle with them.”

“Mr. Holwell does that,” observed another boy, “and that is why all of us are ready to do anything he asks us. We know that he’s always thinking of helping a fellow who’s backward, or in trouble.”

“Here comes Harry Bartlett straight this way!” exclaimed Peg.

“Isn’t he one of the three committeemen who were appointed to judge the farces?” demanded a boy.

“Of course he is,” replied Peg. “And since they’ve run up against a snag p’raps he’s after Dick here to ask a question or so.”

Dick laughed in a free and easy manner. Indeed, he would have been only too willing to answer a score of questions just then, for his mind was perfectly free from all sources of anxiety.

“You are wanted in the committee room, Nat!” said Harry Bartlett, shortly.

“Who--me? What for?” asked Nat, in a trembling voice.

“Never mind until you get there,” replied the other sharply. “I was asked to bring you back with me; that’s all I can say,” with which words the leader of the Y. M. C. A. turned and retraced his steps.

Nat tried to grin, for he knew that every eye just then was fastened on him. But the attempt was not much of a success. He arose to his feet and shuffled after the messenger of the committee. The rest of the boys gaped as they saw the door of the committee room close on him.

“Whew! I wonder what’s doing?” ventured Clint.

“Ten to one Nat’s been up to some crooked work again,” said Peg.

“You’d like to believe so, wouldn’t you?” sneered Dit Hennesy, who, however, had a half alarmed look on his sallow face. “Chances are the committee want to congratulate Nat privately on his genius before they make the public announcement.”

“Sure!” jeered Peg. “And Nat must have believed that too, even if he did look like a criminal being led to the execution block when he left us just now. Watch and see what happens.”

Ten minutes passed away. Then the door opened again, and Nat came out. He was holding his head up, and grinning, but they could see what an effort it cost him to put on such a bold, reckless face.

To the astonishment of the boys, and the dismay of Dit, Nat, instead of rejoining them, waved his hand derisively, and quitted the building.

“Say, something must have busted in there!” exclaimed Peg, excitedly.

“Huh! looks like the jig was up,” grunted Dit; and presently he, too, was among the missing.

“There come the committee and they’re headed for the stage!” said Clint. “Now the suspense will soon be over, for Harry Bartlett is going to announce the finding of the judges.”

The crowded room became as still as death when the leader of the Y. M. C. A. commenced to speak in his ready fashion.

“My friends, I am about to announce the verdict of the committee appointed to serve as judges in this contest arranged by Mr. Holwell. We did our duty faithfully, and every farce submitted was read carefully by all of us. Then on taking a vote it was found that all must be eliminated save two, both of which evinced positive merit.

“A second vote disclosed the fact that the majority of the committee believed one of these to have more merit than the other, though the names of the contestants were unknown to us at the time. In order that we should do no boy an injustice it was decided to invite Mr. Holwell, whose ability in that line you all know, to come in to hear these two farces read by Mr. Parkhurst.

“When Mr. Holwell heard the leading farce read, he looked serious, and asked that the one that stood second choice should also be given. Then he requested us to wait while he went home and rooted through an old trunk where he kept some mementoes of the old days when he once took part in a minstrel show, before he thought of studying for the ministry.

“When he came back he brought with him a printed farce, published many years ago, and in which he remembered once acting. No sooner had he commenced reading this than we realized that the one we had selected as the winner had been copied almost word for word from the printed playlet.

“The pretended author was called in, and when accused, readily admitted practicing the deceit, though he stoutly claimed it was only done for a joke, and that he would not have accepted the money prize. He has been reprimanded, and has departed with his stolen effort. I need hardly tell you his name, for most of you can already guess it.

“Of course, after that there was no difficulty in deciding on the farce that was plainly entitled to the prize; and I have great pleasure in announcing to you that the twenty-five dollars in gold, together with the congratulations of the judges, go to Richard Horner for his original black-face farce entitled _When Erastus Came Home_, which I trust all of you will have the pleasure of hearing in the town hall two weeks from tonight. I thank you.”

His last words were drowned in a roar of cheers that went up from the boys. Those who could reach Dick shook his hands unmercifully; others slapped him on the back, as they showered congratulations on him.