of the Wyndham—no, of the Fighting Scrub, and may Heaven help him!"
To which sentiment the party laughingly dissolved, hurrying off to arm themselves for study hour.
"Well, I don't see how it happened," said Clif as he and Tom went back to West. "It's great, Tom, and I'm awfully pleased, but I certainly was surprised!"
"It was a regular bolt from the blue," agreed Tom gravely. "Look here, did you vote for me?"
"Of course I did!"
"That's funny then."
"What is?"
"I had eleven votes pledged and only got ten. Some lowlife went back on me!"
"You had eleven—" A light broke on Clif. "Why—why," he sputtered at last, "you blamed old fox! Do you mean to say that you knew all the time—"
"Well, I couldn't be sure," Tom chuckled. "As it was, one of my pledges got away. But I sort of expected, Clif."
"You—you politician! How'd you do it?"
"Just got them to promise to vote for me in case my name was proposed. They didn't think it would be, of course."
"I should say not! But how did—how'd it happen that Henning nominated you?"
"Henning thought I was the right fellow for the job," replied Tom tranquilly.
"He did, eh? I'd like to know where he got that—"
"Some one told him, I guess."
