And so it went around, and everybody seemed delighted at the innovation.  Only a few skeptical old fogies shook their heads, and declared that it was too good to last, and that they about expected to see the boys of Stanhope transplanted to the heavens in a body presently, since their wings must be sprouting.

About this time it came to the ears of Paul that the banner which the peace-loving Quaker, Mr. Westervelt, had offered for the most proficient troop of scouts along the Bushkill, had been placed on exhibition in the window of a jewelry store over in the manufacturing town of Manchester.

He and Jack wheeled over that very day to inspect the coveted trophy.  When they saw what a beauty it was, their hearts thrilled with new aspirations.

“Worth fighting hard for, eh, Paul?” observed Jack.

“I should say, yes,” replied the other, delight written in big letters on his face, pressed so close to the glass; “and I reckon it would do our fellows lots of good just to run down here to look at that dandy banner.  I must tell them all about it, and have them see it for themselves.”

“A bully good idea.  You know how to get a fellow to put his best licks into any job he undertakes,” declared his chum, admiringly.

“Humbug!” scornfully replied Paul; “why, it’s as easy as falling off a log.  Don’t you feel more like straining every nerve in the effort to win that prize, after seeing how handsome it is?  Well, I just try to believe every fellow is more or less like I am.  That’s the whole secret.  Yes, Stanhope must work hard to catch up with the other fellows.”

There were several boys standing around, also gaping at the fine snowy banner, upon which as the card under it, went on to state, was to be embroidered with colored silk the totem of the leading patrol of the successful troop.

These fellows could not help knowing who the strangers in town were; and it was also easy for them to guess what had brought Paul and Jack down there.  More than a few times had they seen these Stanhope boys competing on the athletic field, either in baseball, or football.  And of course it was always good form for Manchester lads to “josh” any would-be rivals.

“Yes,” said one of the natives, with a grin, “up in that corner is where the eagle is going to be painted.  And every time we go on a hike we’ll carry that banner at the head of the procession.”

“They say,” remarked another, with pretended innocence, “that poor old Stanhope is getting up a troop, and even hopes to have a try for this beauty.  Now, what do you think about the nerve of that, fellows?”

“Oh! well, the more the merrier,” came from a third, whom Paul knew to be the scout leader of the “Eagles” in person, “and after all, we don’t mind showing these tenderfeet scouts how to do stunts.  None of us want to be hogs, boys.  There’s room enough for all, even if some do have to eat the husks.”