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 to announce the name of the member of this graduating class who has won the scholarship for the coming college year."

Again the hush fell. Praska's brain was racing. It would be Perry, of course. Perry, by his work on the Safety Committee, had ended the laxness about open lockers. Perry, by his courage, had faced down Rig Jim Fry's rowdyism and had ended disorders in the corridors. Yes, it would be Perry.

Carlos Dix's voice rang out clear in the silence as he turned to the class on the platform: "The Alumni Committee on Scholarship, assisted consciously by the faculty and unconsciously by many different members of the student body, has made a careful study of the service that you have given to Northfield. We have come to the unanimous decision that the Northfield Alumni Public Service Scholarship should go this year to one whom all declare Northfield's cleanest, hardest-fighting politician—George Praska."

A storm of applause broke out. Praska shook himself. His mind had slipped. He was sure of that. He was imagining things. He And then Perry's elbow was in his ribs.

"It's you, you nut," Perry was saying hoarsely. "Wake up. Who else would get it but you?" He saw Carlos Dix coming across the stage toward