“Why, those verses were written by Jack Sheldon himself!” cried Percival, getting up excitedly.

“They were published in the Riverton News, but were unsigned.  I know that Jack wrote them.”

“Please be seated, Percival,” said the doctor.  “Sit down, Herring.  I will give you an opportunity to speak presently.  This poem purports to have been written by Sheldon.  Is that so?”

“Yes, sir,” said Jack, “or at least what you have read was written by me.  I don’t know if the rest was.  I cannot tell till I hear it.”

“And you say that the lines I have just read were not written by him?” Dr. Wise asked, turning to Herring.

“No, they were not, they were written by Miss Sadie May, and were published in a paper up the state.  Here it is.  I received it this morning, and was reading it as I came in.”

“Will you kindly read the entire poem?” Herring had a good voice when he wanted to display it, and he now read the lines that the doctor had read, the poem being about twice as long as the portion already given.

“The poem I have here contains these lines,” said the doctor, who had been following the manuscript in his hand, “but it is considerably longer.”

“I did not put those verses in the poem that I submitted, sir,” said Jack.  “They had already been published in the News, and I would not think it right to submit any but entirely new matter.  Will you read the rest of the poem?  I can tell if it is mine, and I have a copy in my desk.  If the rest is mine I do not see how these lines got in it, for I certainly did not put them in.”

“The other poem is certainly Jack’s,” said Percival.  “He showed it to me at the time he wrote it, and I have a copy of the paper containing it.  I would not wonder if other boys had it also.”

“I have!” spoke up five or six of the boys, Harry, Arthur and young Smith among the number.

“Will you kindly let me see the out-of-town paper you have, Herring?” asked the doctor.

“Certainly,” said Herring, taking the paper to the desk.

“When was your poem published, Sheldon?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“And this paper is a week old.  You say you got it this morning?” to Herring, who was on his way to his seat.

“Yes, but they sometimes come late or two or three together.  A friend sends them to me.”

“Have you the paper containing the poem handy, Percival?” asked the doctor.  “Would you kindly fetch it?”

“Certainly, sir,” and Percival left the pavilion, returning in a few minutes with a copy of the Riverton paper in his hand.

The doctor compared the verses in both and found them to be identical, saying with a puzzled look: 

“The one in the News is the same as this other, but it is not signed.  The other is signed Sadie May.  Do you use that as a nom de plume, Sheldon?”

“No, sir, I do not,” said Jack with a smile.