“If it were a case of letting my temper loose,” laughed Percival, “it would be a sure thing, but the imagination is different.”

Jack knew that his mother would be pleased if he won the prize, and so he determined to try for it, and began setting himself to work on some verses having to do with the very location where the Academy was situated.

When Billy Manners heard of the contest he said to Arthur, Harry, young Smith, and a few others who were down on the shore fixing their boats: 

“Oh, say, can you see by the dawn and so forth!” he exclaimed, “that is fine.  Think of the inspiration we get from this historic river.  Look at the mountains all around us, full of patriotic memories, and then say that you can’t do anything.  Why, the poetry fairly bubbles out of me.”

“Give us a sample, William,” chuckled Harry.  “There was another poet named William once.  Perhaps you inherit some of his genius.  I never saw any suspicion of it on you, but it may be there all the same.  Give us a sample, There’s a good fellow.”

“Why, certainly,” Billy rejoined.  “Historical subject, eh?  And one that occurred on the Hudson?  Why, that’s easy.  Listen to this:” 

Then Billy threw up his arms, gazed straight up into the sky, and delivered himself of his poetic thoughts as follows: 

"When Freedom from her mountain height Unfurled her banner to the skies, Not a creature was stirring, not-----“

“You’ve got things mixed, Billy,” roared Harry.  “Try again.  Besides, that is not original.  It must be original to pass.”

“Oh, well, all poets are plagiarists more or less,” said Billy, “but this time I will give you something of my own.”

Then Billy struck a pensive attitude, and began again: 

"’Twas midnight; in his guarded tent,
Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note,
By thy cold, gray stones, oh, sea! 
Once upon a midnight dreary,
A gentle knight was pricking on-----“

“Worse and worse!” yelled Arthur.  “Halleck, Poe, Tennyson, Spenser, and I don’t know who else in a regular literary hash!  That will do for you, my boy.’  A little of that goes a long way.”

“Didn’t I tell you I was bubbling all over with poetry?”

“You’re a bubble yourself,” laughed Harry, “and you’ll burst if you get too full of that sort of stuff.”

“You wait till I really put my mind on it,” said Billy with a droll look.  “You’ll be surprised, my boys.”

“We don’t doubt that in the least,” said Harry.  “Why, I never heard such poetry,” chuckled young Smith.

“It actually makes me cry,” said Arthur.

“You will be surprised when I take the prize,” answered Billy, taking all this chaff good-naturedly.

“Yes, I think we will be,” replied Seymour.  “Surprised is no name for it.  We will be actually thunderstruck.”

“Oh, you boys are jealous,” grinned Billy.  “Shall I give you another sample?”