sponsor with a malignant scowl. Clem spoke again from his precarious seat on the radiator—which, fortunately, was not radiating to-night—and suggested that they get busy and do something, because it would be study hour in about ten minutes.
"Maybe we'd better ballot. Jimmy, tear up a couple of sheets of paper from my block, will you? So far the candidates are Tyson, Ridgway—"
"Nothing doing!" protested "Babe."
"—and Thayer. But I'm going to nominate another. I like the captain to be a backfield chap. After that he ought to play well enough to be certain of his place (laughter), and he ought to have a whole lot of fight and pep. In fact—" and Clem's eyes twinkled—"he ought to be a fellow who can go after what he wants and get it. I nominate Kemble."
There was a brief instant of surprise, surprise plainly, oh, so plainly shared by Tom! Then came an astonishing amount of applause, astonishing at least to Clif, who was reprehensibly late in joining in it. Tom was shaking his head, not so much negatively as doubtfully. "Heck, fellows, I'm new around here, and I guess you want a fellow who's been here longer. Henning says he won't take it, but if we show him we need him—"
"I'm out," declared Clem, grinning across at Tom. "Let's vote."
Jimmy Ames distributed slips of paper, pens and pencils passed from hand to hand, and "Wink" started some one's cap around, and the slips dropped in. Then
