Paul had to laugh out loud at this.

“Say, you’re on to us, all right, Manchester,” he said, turning around.  “Yes, we’ve come down here just to take a peep at this great prize.  Of course we’d like mighty well to say we meant to win it; but we’re too modest for that.  The most we admit is that we mean to make a try for it.  Of course we haven’t got much show against two such veteran troops as Manchester and Aldine; but we want to get all the fun out of the game we can.  And you won’t begrudge us that, Claypool?”

“Sure we won’t, Morrison,” returned the other, frankly, thrusting out his hand; “as I said before, the more in it the better.  It will make our victory look bigger.”

“Glad to see you’re so dead sure of winning out,” laughed Paul; “whenever the Stanhope boys go into anything they always work harder if they have big odds against them.  But all the same that’s a bully good banner, and no matter whether it has an eagle, the head of a beaver, or that of a fox worked on it in colored silk, it’s going to be something we’ll all be proud of as Boy Scouts.”

“That’s well put, Morrison; though you might just as well get it out of your head now as later that the Manchester fellows will ever let any crowd come in here and take that dandy flag away.  Why, our fellows know ten times as much about scout tactics as your greenhorns do now.”

Claypole did not mean to be overbearing; when he said this he really believed it to be an actual fact.

“That’s very true,” said Paul, quietly, as he and his chum prepared to mount their wheels for the return journey; “but Thanksgiving is still more than two months off; and Claypole, I give you my word, we’ve got some of the smartest tenderfeet in the Stanhope troop you ever heard of.  Ta-ta, boys!”

Of course, when Paul and Jack told what they had seen, every fellow wanted to make the run over to Manchester to look for himself.  And, just as Paul had expected, they came back home more than ever enthused with the hope and prospect of winning that royal banner for the Stanhope troop.

At the next meeting the talk was all about the prize, and a vote was even taken to ascertain to whom the honor of being the banner bearer might fall, in case the victory was awarded to Stanhope.  Wallace Carberry turned out to be the lucky standard bearer.

All of which was just what clever Paul wanted.  He had infused a new stimulant into the veins of his comrades.  And at their next outdoor rally, when various contests were undertaken to discover who showed the most skill, he found that the very atmosphere seemed to be surcharged with electricity; for the boys labored to excel as they had never done before; but it was because each one believed that upon his shoulders alone devolved the duty of bringing that beautiful prize to Stanhope.

Four days later the expected suits arrived, much sooner than even the most sanguine had anticipated.