"But where shall we get this one cake?"
"Let's not think about that now. Let's see whether the poems are good or not."
The boys began to read the poems and did not like them. All the five poems that they had in front of them on their desk were very poor.
"That only leaves one more. And I hope it's poor too," said Jennings.
Darbishire looked at the handwriting on the last sheet of paper and said: "This one is Venables'. Listen!"
'Break, break, break,
On thy cold grey stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me!
O well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!'
"That's not bad, is it!" said Jennings. "Who did you say wrote it?"
"Venables."
"Don't be funny. Venables couldn't write that."
"I'm sure it's Venables' handwriting. But wait a minute. It's only half of a poem."
"It's quite enough. His poem is certainly a lot better than others," said Jennings.
"We'll have to give him a prize, if we can't find that something is wrong with it," said Darbishire.
"There must be something wrong with it." Jennings looked at the sheet of paper. "Look, Darbi. I don't think it is very good when he repeats all the time 'O well'. He says, 'O well for the fisherman's boy' and 'O well for the sailor lad.' People don't say that, do they?"
"Maybe he couldn't think of anything better. But we can't disqualify him for it, can we?"
"No, we can't. we must think of something else for a prize. Oh well, let's think.."
"There you are," said Darbishire quickly. "You've said it."
"Said what?"
"'Oh well.' You said people didn't say that."
At that moment the dormitory bell rang and the boys went to bed.
When Jennings and Darbishire were takings off their clothes in the dormitory that evenings, the boy who took part in the competitions came up to them.
"Have you already read those poems?" asked Bromwich.
"Yes, there was only one good poem," answered Jennings.
"Mine?" asked Bromwich.
"No. Yours went into the waste-paper basket."
"Oh!" exclaimed Bromwich. "I've spent a lot of time on that poem."
"And mine?" asked Temple.
"Yours was very poor, too," said Jennings. "I don't want to tell you who is the winner, because it's still a secret, but if you keep it I'll tell you that Venables' poem is the best."
"Good old Venables!" cried Temple.
"Hey, Venables, you've taken the first prize in the wall-newspaper competition!" cried Atkinson.
Venables was washing his face at the washbasin. He turned his head.
"Have I?" he exclaimed. He quickly dried his face on the towel and came up to Darbishire and Jennings.
"When shall I get the cake?" asked Venables.
Jennings began to take off his shoes. He "did not hear" the question.
"When shall I get the cake?" Venables repeated.
"You see," said Jennings. "We don't have the cakes yet."
"What!" exclaimed Venables. "But you've promised it!"
"Yes, you've promised a big cake. And there must be a big cake," said Atkinson.
"If I don't get my prize, I'll..."
"All right, all right! Don't get angry. You'll get your prize," said Jennings.
"The big cake?" asked Venables.
"No, something ten times better."
"Ten times better? What?"