gathered him in with others, had made him feel the depth of his association with them, and out of it had sprung the sentiment that suddenly made the school a background of real life and a tower of inspiration. He had been transformed into Praska of Room 13 of Northfield High. So had the unconfined limitless prairies become the bounded States of a great Union.
In the announcement that Room 13 was to elect its officers, Praska had found a thrill of a kind that had never come to him in the heat of play on the football field. The word itself had a sound of solemnity. He viewed elections as something sacred. Men had frozen, starved and died for the right of free expression. But the home room, judged by its actions, was not awed. Instead of serious thought, Praska found clamor and a confusion of rival claims. Each student had his own idea of who should be elevated to the honors. Debates went on heatedly in the corridors, in the cafeteria, and even in the home room itself. Boys, overcome by the fury of argument, daily deserted their candidates and appeared with strange and bewildering choices. Instead of a calm weighing of candidates there was chaos. Consideration was routed by noise.
And then Praska had proposed a formal ballot; a ballot carefully prepared before the elec-
