Phin was as good as his word. He was on hand the next evening at a little before eight, and he and Hansel set out to pay visits. The campaign had begun.

Phin did not make the mistake of letting his friends know that he was “rushing” Hansel, but, on the contrary, allowed them to think that he and Hansel had been going by and had just dropped in for a moment. Everybody was glad to see Phin; a few seemed genuinely glad to meet his companion; but for the most part Hansel was received “on suspicion,” as he put it to himself, and given plainly to understand that were he not vouched for by Phin he would be quite unwelcome. But Hansel had the tact to take no notice of such attitudes, did more listening than talking, was modest on the subject of his football prowess and so, in every case, created a good opinion, and was directly or indirectly invited to come again. And Phin impressed upon him the necessity of accepting the invitations. After they had left the eighth study at shortly before ten, Phin accompanied Hansel back to 22 Prince, and, seating himself at the table, drew up a list of the fellows whom Hansel had met, and set down after each address a day of the week.

“That’s your calling list, Dana,” he said. “Better drop in in the evenings as a rule; in that way you’re likely to meet other fellows.”

“Talk about swiping!” groaned Hansel.

“It isn’t swiping,” answered Phin. “You’re not after anything for yourself. It’s diplomacy, that’s what it is. Now you put that list where no one but you will ever see it. To-morrow night we’ll try a few other visits.”

Hansel sighed, and Phin smiled at his dejection.

“Cheer up! To-morrow ought to finish the calls, if we have luck and find fellows in. And, by the way, have you ever tried debating? No? Well, you’d better begin. I’ll put your name up for the Cicero Society; it meets in Academy Six, every first and third Friday.”

Hansel murmured his thanks confusedly, and the door crashed open in front of Bert and Harry. There was a very pleasant half hour of talk after that, and when Harry and Phin had taken their departures, the roommates continued the conversation in unaccustomed friendliness.

The mass meeting called for the election of an assistant football manager to take the place of the one who had held the office, but had not returned to the academy, was not very largely attended. Few fellows cared a button who was assistant manager, and those who did show up were there more in the hope of being able to create a little “rough house” than from any laudable desire to select a good incumbent for the office. Custom prescribed that the manager should be chosen from the fourth class, and the assistant manager from the third. Field, the fourth class president, presided. After calling the meeting to order—a not wholly successful operation, owing to a group of unsympathetic fellows at the back of the hall—he stated the business in hand and called for nominations. And he got them. Every famous man from Adam to the President of the United States was placed in nomination, and it was not until Field threatened to adjourn the meeting, and Harry had begged the audience to “cut it out,” that order was sufficiently restored to allow of serious business. The names of three candidates were then proposed. One of the number arose precipitately and aroused merriment by indignantly refusing to run. Then Bert proposed the name of Phin Dorr, and there was a burst of applause. The remaining candidates begged to be allowed to retire in Phin’s favor, and the voting was merely a form. Phineas Dorr was unanimously elected assistant manager of the Beechcroft Football Team. He accepted the honor in a few words which everybody applauded wildly and sat down. Whereupon Harry rapped for attention and announced to the backs of the departing audience that there would be a mass meeting at the same time and place on the following Saturday night to raise money for the support of the football team. This announcement was hailed with a few groans, and Field requested Harry to move adjournment. Hansel awaited Phin at the door and, in the innocence of his heart, congratulated him. Phin smiled grimly.

“Much obliged,” he said. “I guess you don’t know what a lot of hard work and how little glory goes with the office. You couldn’t get any fellow to take it if it didn’t lead to the managership.”

“Oh!” said Hansel. “But aren’t you pretty busy already?”

“Yes,” answered Phin, smiling grimly. “This means that I’ll have to change my getting-up hour from six to five.”

Before the mass meeting took place several things of moment occurred. Hansel received notice of his election to the Cicero Society and of the fact that by paying a dollar to the treasurer he could become the possessor of a printed certificate of membership. On Wednesday the team journeyed to Parkham and defeated the local team 23 to 0. On Saturday the State Agricultural School descended upon Bevan Hills, and for thirty minutes of actual playing time kept every Beechcroft student’s heart in his mouth. But in the end the visitors were forced to return home without scoring, while the academy team had five points to its credit. Hansel made numerous calls on his new acquaintances and rapidly enlarged his circle of friends. But, after all, the most important event, judged in the light of subsequent results, was the appearance on Thursday morning at a French recitation of Harry Folsom in a white sweater. Not that the color of the garment had anything to do with the matter; had it been red or green or purple the outcome would have been the same.

Mr. Ames had issued an edict at the beginning of the year to the effect that students attending his classes must be suitably dressed. In short, sweaters as features of class-room attire were prohibited. That is why when on this particular morning Mr. Ames espied Harry with a white turtle-neck sweater under his jacket he remonstrated.

“Folsom,” he observed, “I’ve told the class that I would not permit them to wear sweaters. There is no occasion for it. You have plenty of time in the morning to dress properly. This is a French recitation; not a football game. I shall have to insist that you go to your room and take that off. And as I can’t have students coming in after recitations are under way, you need not return. I shall put you down as absent.”

Harry, amid the broad smiles of the others, took himself out with his offensive white sweater and Le Cid held the boards. Had the affair ended there this story would have been quite different, Phin and Hansel would not have thrown down the gauge of battle, and many other things would not have happened. But Harry didn’t like the thought of the ridicule which would probably follow the incident and told himself that “Bobby was too blamed fussy.” In the act of removing the obnoxious white sweater a beautiful idea came to him, and his face, which since leaving the class room had been clouded with annoyance, suddenly wreathed itself in a radiant smile.

An hour and a half later Mr. Ames held a recitation in German in the same room, Academy Two. With a few exceptions the same students attended as attended the French recitation. The class were assembled and in their places and the hands of the clock pointed to one minute of the hour when the door opened before a belated student. Mr. Ames, in the act of opening his book, looked down the room. The expression on his face instantly caused a unanimous turning of heads. Down the aisle walked Harry, an expression of blissful unconsciousness on his features. The white sweater was gone. In place of his former attire was an immaculate suit of evening dress. Patent-leather pumps clad his feet, the tails of his coat waved jauntily, a white vest framed a dazzling expanse of shirt bosom, from which two pearl studs peeped coyly forth, his collar and white lawn tie were in quite the best of taste, his hands were chastely hid by pearl-colored gloves, and his hair was sleek and shining. He took his seat gracefully and viewed the convulsed countenances of his class mates with an expression of courteous surprise. That expression was the last straw. Such a roar of laughter went up as never before had been heard in those sacred precincts. And Mr. Ames, after a brief struggle for composure, joined his voice to the others. Only Harry remained composed, and the look of well-bred bewilderment grew and grew. At last Mr. Ames conquered his amusement and coughed suggestively. The room quieted down.

“Folsom,” he remarked, “you have gone to unnecessary extremes in complying with my request, but I am glad that you appreciate my point of view. Allow me to compliment you on your appearance. I assure you you look much more respectable than at our last meeting.”

Harry bowed respectfully and work began. But all during the recitation there were occasional choking sounds as some member of the class allowed his attention to wander from the lesson to Harry.

Now one cannot with impunity wear dancing pumps and open jacket out of doors on a bleak day in October. Harry discovered this fact the next morning. At noon he was in the hands of Dr. Gordon suffering with a nice attack of grippe. And that is why when, the following evening, the mass meeting was called to order, the duty of stating the purpose of the meeting fell, in the absence of the manager, to the assistant manager, which was one of the first important results hinging upon the wearing of a white sweater.

There was a full attendance, as was usually the case when there were speeches announced. After Phin had stated briefly the object of the meeting Mr. Ames arose, was cheered loudly—Field leading—and spoke of the outlook for the season. There was no good reason, he said, why, with the support of the school to count on, the team should not win this year from Fairview. As for the game with Warren, they would do their best to win that also, second in importance as it was to the final contest, but it was possible that they would have to save themselves for the greater game, as this year a lack of good new material put more work on the old men. However, they would do the best they knew how in each case, and he hoped the school would be back of them on each occasion, and let them know it.

Mr. Foote had a few words to say which no one paid much attention to—except the fellows on the platform, who had to appear polite. Then it was Phin’s turn again. After a welcoming cheer had died away, he announced the enforced absence of the manager, and begged the indulgence of the audience for his inexperience. The audience was becoming waked up by that time—there is nothing like cheering to start the enthusiasm—and there were cries of “You’re all right, Phin!” “Speak out, Phin!” “Don’t be coy!” Hansel, sitting with other members of the team in the front row, thought Phin looked unusually serious. It couldn’t be on account of nervousness, Hansel said to himself, for Phin was quite used to talking in public; and the steady, untroubled gaze of his hazel eyes proved that supposition false.

“Last year,” said Phin, “we raised five hundred and forty-three dollars and seventy-five cents at the mass meeting. It was a good sum, and it carried the team through the season and left a small balance on the right side. This balance has, however, been already expended and the management has been obliged to go somewhat into debt. I am informed that a larger sum will be necessary this year. Before asking for it I am going to read to you the manager’s report for last year, in order that you will know in what manner the money you gave has been used.”

There were signs of uneasiness on the part of several of the fellows, and Bert strove to catch Phin’s eye. But Phin didn’t look in his direction as he took the sheet of paper from his pocket and spread it open. The report wasn’t especially exciting; so much for football paraphernalia; so much for maintenance of the gridiron; so much for traveling expenses; and so on. At the beginning of the present season there had been left on hand ninety-three dollars and forty cents.

“Of this sum,” continued Phin calmly, “thirty dollars and forty cents has gone for footballs, repairs on the tackling machine, and incidental expenses. The sum of sixty dollars has gone——”

“Mr. Chairman!” Bert was on his feet claiming attention.

“Mr. Middleton!” said the chairman.

“It doesn’t seem to me that this sort of thing is interesting. We are here for the purpose of raising funds for the team, and I think we ought to go ahead and do it. There are quite a number of us who have other engagements this evening and want to get away. Besides, it has not been the custom heretofore to go into uninteresting facts regarding the accounts. Nobody, I’m sure, doubts the trustworthiness of the manager. I move that we proceed to business.”

“Does Mr. Dorr insist on finishing the report?” asked Field.

“Not if the meeting doesn’t care to listen to it,” answered Phin suggestively.

“Mr. Chairman!” called a voice from the body of the hall.

“Mr. Spring!” answered the chairman.

“I just want to say that it seems to me that the fellows who give the money have a right to hear how it has been spent. I don’t think it’s a question of doubting anyone’s trustworthiness; the report ought to be made public as a—a matter of principle.”

This statement elicited quite a little applause.

“Do you still object, Mr. Middleton?” asked Field.

“No,” answered Bert, making the best of it; “if anyone wants to hear the stuff, why, let them, by all means.”

When the laughter had subsided, Phin went calmly on.

“I am about through, anyhow,” he said. “The remaining sum of sixty dollars was spent for ‘team expenses.’” There was an audible sigh of relief from Bert, and even Mr. Ames looked more cheerful. Hansel, who for the last few moments had been aware of something in Phin’s manner and expression that was unusual, looked up in time to catch a quick, meaning glance from the speaker. For an instant he was puzzled; Phin expected something of him, but what? Then suddenly it came to him in a flash that the battle had begun, that Phin had thrown down the gauntlet, and he was on his feet, claiming recognition. He got it, and——

“I should like to ask what is meant by ‘team expenses,’” he said. “All expenses are team expenses, are they not?”

“Shut up, you fool!” hissed Bert.

“The expenses in question,” began Phin promptly, “are——”

“I object!” cried Bert, leaping to his feet and viewing Phin threateningly.

“I don’t think the question need be answered,” said Field. “It is somewhat—er—irregular.”

“We want to know!” cried a voice from the back of the hall.

“You bet we do!” said another.

Field rapped for order.

“If Mr. Dorr has finished I think it would be well to——”

“Mr. Chairman,” interrupted the troublesome Spring, the editor in chief of The Record, the school monthly, “Mr. Chairman, I move you that the assistant manager explain what is meant in this case by ‘team expenses.’”

“Second the motion!” said another voice.

“It is moved and seconded,” said Field wearily, “that Mr. Dorr explain the meaning. Those in favor of the motion will say ‘Aye.’”

There was a loud chorus of “Ayes.”

“Contrary minded, ‘No.’”

Followed a deafening shout of dissent from the front rows.

“The No’s appear to have it,” said Field. “The motion is——”

“Mr. Chairman!”

“Mr.—er—Dana!”

“I move that a standing vote be taken.”

“Seconded!” “Stand up!” “That’s the stuff!” These cries from the seat of opposition at the back of the hall.

Field hesitated. Bert was scowling blackly. Cameron, to whom the proceedings might naturally have been of interest, was apparently unconcerned. Hansel wondered whether he understood what was coming. Then a standing vote was taken and almost every fellow voted in the affirmative. Field was forced to give in.

“It is moved and carried,” he announced shortly, “that the assistant manager explain more fully.”

Phin, who during the proceedings had kept his place at the front of the stage and awaited calmly the outcome, bowed.

“The words ‘team expenses’ are used in this particular case,” he explained dryly, “to mean the fall term tuition of one of the members of the team.”

The announcement caused a sudden commotion of audible remarks, whisperings and whistling. Those, and they were greatly in the minority, who knew who the member of the team was craned their heads for a sight of the untroubled countenance of the star half back. Bert’s face looked like a thunder cloud as he scowled alternately at Hansel and Phin. Mr. Ames was studying his hands.

“Mr. Chairman!” It was Spring again. “Mr. Chairman, I’d like to ask whether it was understood that the money collected for the team was to be used to pay the tuition expenses of one of the students.”

This demand was loudly applauded. Field looked toward Phin.

“I believe,” answered the latter, “that there was a tacit understanding to that effect. Of course, it would not do for the school to have it publicly known that we pay a player’s expenses in order to strengthen our team. But we did it last year, and if the collection is sufficiently generous to-night we shall do it again. I may add that unless we do it we shall possibly lose one of our best players.”

Spring again demanded recognition and got it from the bored chairman.

“I want to say,” declared Spring warmly, “that I, for one, knew nothing about it. And I dare say there are a good many others who gave money for the support of the team who are in the same fix.”

“You bet!” “Oh, cut it out!” “Sit down!”

“And what’s more,” continued Spring defiantly, “I don’t think we should be called on to give money for such a purpose. If we can’t win without buying players——!”

But the rest of his remarks were lost in the subsequent uproar. A dozen fellows were on their feet, clamoring for recognition. The chairman recognized Larry Royle.

“Spring is making a big fuss about nothing,” said the center. “What if we do pay Bil—pay one of the players’ tuition? He’s a good man and we need him; and he’s cheap at the price. It seems to me that one hundred and fifty dollars is a small price to pay for a victory over Fairview. And any fellow who doesn’t think that way about it had better keep his old money in his pocket!”

He sat down amid enthusiastic applause from the football men and some others. Spring struggled for Field’s eye, but the latter refused to see him. Finally he subsided and immediately became the center of an excited group. Field nodded toward Phin.

“I think that’s all I have to say,” said the latter, his voice almost drowned by the hubbub. “It only remains for me to remind you fellows that the team can’t hope for victory unless it is well supported. It needs both money and the hearty coÖperation of every fellow in the school. But to-night it is money we are looking for. We ought to have about six hundred and fifty dollars to see us through the season, and I feel sure that with the spirit of the school what it is at present, we will receive from you all we deserve. I thank you.”

Phin retired to his seat, viewed suspiciously by the football crowd to whom his speech had sounded, at the best, rather ambiguous. Pencils and slips of paper were in readiness and in a jiffy they were being passed about the hall. Hansel stole a look at Phin. The assistant manager was whispering calmly to Mr. Foote, who, during the excitement, had looked on affably and uninterestedly. As for Hansel, he felt rather excited. The struggle had begun, and from present indications they had won the first engagement. When the slip was handed to him he found himself in a quandary. Every fellow was expected to give as much as he could afford. Hansel felt that he could afford five dollars, since so far his incidental expenses had been very light, but if he did so, he would be defeating in a measure his own end, which was to drive Cameron off the team. If sufficient money was not pledged to-night, or secured subsequently, to pay the rest of Cameron’s tuition, he thought, that youth would have to leave school. Finally he compromised on two dollars and a half, and signed his promise for that amount. Five minutes later the slips were all returned, and Phin, Mr. Ames, and Mr. Foote were adding up the amounts of the pledges. The meeting was breaking up, but the fellows lingered to hear the result. At last Mr. Ames arose and stepped to the front of the platform.

“I am requested to announce,” he said when quiet had been secured, “that the total amount of the pledges is three hundred and eighty-eight dollars and fifty cents.”

What more he had to say, if anything, was prevented by the noise of scraping chairs, shuffling feet and excited voices, indignant, laughing, triumphant as the case might be. The meeting came to an abrupt close, but the echo of it lasted for many days. Meanwhile Hansel and Phin had won the first skirmish.