The acrostics lay in a great white
heap on Mr. Burrows' desk, not a name written on any of them. Mr.
Burrows was to read, and the boys were to have the pleasure of spelling
out the names of the owners as he read.
A merry time they had of it that afternoon. Some wonderful acrostics were
read. Ellis Holbrook had a very clever one, arranged from his lesson in
Virgil. Howard Minturn had borrowed from his father's library a copy of
Shakespeare, and worked hard over his; the boys and their teacher thought
it a success.
Even Bob Turner had written; the idea had happened to strike him as a
very funny one, and Bob always did everything that he thought funny. He
had found three lines in rhyme which just suited him, and by the time the
eager boys had spelled out B O B,--which was the only name the boy saw
fit to own,--the schoolroom fairly shook with their laughter.
Next to his lay a paper which Tip knew, and his heart beat so loudly
when Mr. Burrows took it up, that he thought every one in the room
must notice.
The room had now grown quiet, and Mr.
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