Chapter XI. The Archery Prize - Page 2

to Carl to associate once more with boys of his own age. Thrown unexpectedly upon his own resources, he had almost forgotten that he was a boy. Face to face with a cold and unsympathizing world, he seemed to himself twenty-five at least.

"Those who wish to compete for the archery prize will come forward," announced Robert Gardiner, a young man of nineteen, who, as Carl learned, was the president of the association. "You all understand the conditions. The entry fee to competitors is ten cents. The prize to the most successful archer is one dollar."

Several boys came forward and paid the entrance fee.

"Would you like to compete?" asked Edward Downie, the boy whose acquaintance Carl had made.

"I am an outsider," said Carl. "I don't belong to the association."

"I'll speak to the president, if you like."

"I don't want to intrude."

"It won't be considered an intrusion. You pay the entrance fee and take your chances."

Edward went to the president and spoke to him in a low voice. The result was that he advanced to Carl, and said, courteously:

"If you would like to enter into our games, you are quite at liberty to do so."

"Thank you," responded Carl. "I have had a little practice in archery, and will enter my name for that prize."

He paid over his quarter and received back fifteen cents in change. It seemed rather an imprudent outlay, considering his small capital; but he had good hopes of carrying off the prize, and that would be a great lift for him. Seven boys entered besides Carl. The first was Victor Russell, a lad of fourteen, whose arrow went three feet above the mark.

"The prize is mine if none of you do better than that," laughed Victor, good-naturedly.

"I hope not, for the credit of the club," said the president. "Mr. Crawford, will you shoot next?"

"I would prefer to be the last," said Carl, modestly.

"John Livermore, your turn now."

John came a little nearer than his predecessor, but did not distinguish himself.

"If that is a specimen of the skill of the clubmen," thought Carl, "my chance is a good one."

Next came Frank Stockton, whose arrow stuck only three inches from the center of the target.

"Good for Fred!" cried Edward Downie. "Just wait till you see me shoot!"

"Are you a dangerous rival?" asked Carl, smiling.

"I can hit a barn door if I am only near enough," replied Edward.

"Edward Downie!" called the president.

Edward took his bow and advanced to the proper place, bent it, and the arrow sped on its way.

There was a murmur of surprise when his arrow