The San Francisco call., 1896-06-28

very OlQ JDaE Jnere was not one CldQCe III |
q thousand that Mr.. Dean had ever seen it |
or would ever discover the fraud. And |
Ned now felt certain that he had wanted to |
say something just like this all along, only |
the ideas and the words would not quite |
come.
The boy was not naturally dishonest or
deceitful, but he had never been so tempted
before, and he did want to keep up his
brilliant record and get the prize. Thiswas
his only chance, he thought, and so he
copied the verses, and the next morning he
dropped the carefully folded paper into
the box that had been set up to receive the
compositions.
But it had no sooner left his hands than
he would have given all the world to re-
call it. Not till then did the full realiZa-
ton of what he had done come over him.
He had stolen another's work and claimed
it as his own. What did it matter that
the real author was dead and forgotten
long ago, the theft was just as bad and
Ned was miserably unhappy.
Hetried to see Mr.. Dean after school.
but Mr.. Dean had an engagement and had
hurried out. He had only one hope now,
and that was that some of the other boys
that his poem would be quite eclipsed and
SO be passed over without notice. 1t did
not seem likely, but still Ned fervently
hoped that it might turn out so, and he
resolved that never again should the hope
of prize or of anything else whatever
tempt him to depart from the straight
path of honesty.
The morning of the decision came and
the boys were all assembled in the big
hall. As soon as the prayers were ended,
Mr.. Dean stood up and looked about him.
He hesitated for d moment and then said,
very slowly and distinctly:
without question, the best of all the
poems that have been handed in is signed
by 'Pinta Max"
Ned's heart leaped, for that signature
was his, and he knew that he had won-by
fraud But no, he would not take the
prize; he would stand up and confess what
he had done, here and now, before them
all.
Before he could move or speak, however,
Mr.. Dean went slowly on.
"But do not award the prize to 'Pinta
Max for reason that is known only to
him and to myself"
There was an audible movement OF sur
prise among the boys and Ned bowed his
guilty face, sure that his burning cheeks
would betray him.
Mr.. Dean went on without pause
The fictitious name of the prize-winner
was announced, the poem was read and
the unknown writer-who proved to be
Jack Dale-was requested to come upon
| the platform and receive the prize.
Nod novar InoU how he liua6
the rest of that awful morning. He
suffered horribly, and the moment recess
came he broke away from his compan-
ions and sought out Mr.. Dean.
MIR. Dean listened in silence to his con-
fession of how perfectly miserable he had
been ever since the stolen verses had left
his hands, and how he would have done
anything in his power to recall such a
cowardlY, dishonest act, even though he
had not for moment dreamed of its dis
covery.
Then Mr.. Dean smiled gravely.
"My boy" he said, ''in that old yellow
book you chanced upon one of the classics
l'of our language, and the verses that you
so thoughtlessly stole and tried to i'm
prove upon were written by no less a poet
than Alexander Pope. But your sin
against your own honesty has brought
with it lesson and its own sufficient
punishment, and think l know you well
enough to be sure that nothing could
tempt you to try any such deceit again"
When Ned and Mr.. Dean came out of
the study together they met Jack Dale,
glad and triumphant, and a troup of his
admiring friends-all mystifed and still
wondering who "Pinta Max" could be
and why the best poem had failed to win
the prize.
"Hello, Ned, never was so surprised!"
cried Jack. 81 thought you'd get it,
sure"
"I-I-" Ned stammered, flushing pain
fully.
But Mr.. Dean laid reassuring hand
upon Ned's shoulder.
med may win some other time,' he
said, kindly, "but for this competition he
failed to compose poem."-Philadelph
Times.