SCHOOL ELECTIONS

"Just a minute, fellows!" called Bunny, as the other Scouts straggled toward the door of the clubhouse, after Horace Hibbs had gone. "I want to tell you something. This morning I spoke to Professor Leland about having a meeting of the whole school, to get ourselves organized and to elect officers. The school, you see, is a good deal like a troop of Boy Scouts; there must be a leader over everybody, and each branch, like each patrol, must have its leader, too. I mean that a student president is to be elected, and a football manager, and somebody to head the athletic association, and—and I don't know what else."

"When will the meeting be?" asked Nap.

"Professor Leland says it will be held late this afternoon, just before our first football practice. Now, the school may feel like electing some of us to offices—"

"Of course," agreed Specs complacently. "Will there be enough offices for all of us, Bunny?"

"That's just what I wanted to talk about," the patrol leader answered soberly. "We're organized, of course, and we're known by most of the students, and I think we're pretty well liked. If two or three of us are elected, that will be fine. But we mustn't use our—our power to run things. We mustn't try for all the offices. There are lots of other bully fellows in school, and we want the best man elected to each office, whether he's a Black Eagle or not."

"H'm!" said Specs gloomily. "That won't be the way Buck Claxton and his gang will look at it. They'll be out to gobble everything they can get. I'll bet they have it all figured out already."

But at a quarter of four that afternoon, when Professor Leland announced to the school that the remaining fifteen minutes of the period would be devoted to a mass meeting of all the pupils, it was evident that "Buck and his gang" had heard nothing of the plan. As a matter of fact, Buck looked uneasily at Peter Barrett, the farmer boy, and at Royal Sheffield, who came to school in an eight-cylinder motor car, as if he were wondering whether they were at the bottom of this move. Marion Genevieve Chester and Clarence Prissier also appeared at a loss. Rodman Cree, who seemed to have forgotten how to smile, showed neither surprise nor any other emotion.

"This afternoon," Professor Leland began, "we have our first football practice. It is customary, of course, for the squad to elect its own captain, but the school should vote on the team's manager. Moreover, we shall need somebody to act permanently as president of the athletic association, whose duty it will be to look after all athletic activities. One boy has spoken to me about a literary and debating society. Now would be an excellent time for its organization. And, lastly, although it will be better to have a temporary chairman of this meeting, we need a president of the student body to handle future elections. Nominations are now in order for temporary chairman."

"I am going to nominate you, Bunny," Nap whispered excitedly from across the aisle.

Bunny shook his head. "Please don't. They will think we are trying to run the school."

"I nominate Peter Barrett," flashed Buck.

This was too much for Specs. "I nominate Bi—I mean, Charlie Jones," he countered.

"Move that the nominations be closed." It was Buck again.

"All those in favor of Mr. Barrett say 'Aye,'" announced Professor Leland, when it had been decided to accept no more names.

The room shook with the thunder of the answer.

"All those in favor of Mr. Jones will signify in the same manner."

The response was hearty, but hardly a third as loud as the first.

"Mr. Barrett has been elected temporary chairman of this meeting," decided Professor Leland. "He will take the chair at once."

Amid a good deal of hand-clapping, Peter Barrett climbed to the rostrum and pounded on the principal's desk with a ruler. His face was red and his patched clothes very conspicuous, but he spoke calmly and slowly.

"Nominations for manager of the football team," he invited.

A little movement a few seats away caught Bunny's eye. After writing something on a slip of paper, Royal Sheffield passed it down the aisle.

"Mr. Chairman."

"Mr. Claxton."

"I nominate Roy Sheffield." Quite as if it had been arranged beforehand, the mention of the name was greeted with a volley of applause.

Bunny moved uneasily in his seat before rising to be recognized. In some inexplicable manner, he sensed that some plot he could not fathom was under way, and that it was a move against the Black Eagle Patrol. Perhaps he could swing the school with a neat speech of nomination.

"Mr. Chairman, I want to propose the name of a boy who has the ability to handle this job as well as anybody in school. In the first place, he has brains; in the second place, he can give his whole attention to his job, as I think he is too light to play on the team; in the third place, he has had plenty of experience, because he's managed a scrub team that we Boy Scouts have had for the last two years. He arranged games for us, and he fixed the business end so well that at the end of last season we had our football suits paid for and a little left over. And you'll admit that's pretty good for a team of kids. I don't suppose it's necessary to say for him, any more than it is for anybody else in this school, that he's absolutely honest. I nominate Emerson Elliot Meeker."

"For the love of Marengo!" gasped Nap Meeker, who had grown very red.

A boy named Leeton was nominated by a little clique at the back of the room. After a long pause, during which nobody seemed to have anything to offer, the nominations were closed.

"Count the ballots," ordered Peter Barrett to the volunteer ushers who had collected the slips of paper from the pupils. It took nearly five minutes to total the various choices.

"The vote for manager," announced the chairman, "has resulted as follows: Meeker, 10; Leeton, 17; Sheffield, 80. Mr. Sheffield has been elected manager of the football team."

Puzzled and hurt, Bunny Payton crushed in his hand the note that Specs had just slipped over his right shoulder. What was the matter? Why had Nap been so badly beaten? Why? Opening his hand, he smoothed out the note and read in Specs' angular handwriting:

Bunny:

You will have to admit that we are not the only wideawake bunch in school. I have just seen Molly Sefton, and she says that all yesterday afternoon Buck and his gang were going around telling everybody that we Scouts had said we were going to boss this school. I don't know who is at the bottom of it; maybe Rodman the Athlete. (Specs had underlined these three words.) Anyhow, there are a lot of people just waiting for a chance to vote against a Boy Scout, whether he is any good or not.

—Specs.

Bunny set his teeth. He hoped Specs was mistaken. But if it should turn out to be true—

Professor Leland had left the room when Peter Barrett, rapping smartly on the desk, called for the election of a president of the athletic association.

A fellow named Bob Kiproy nominated Buck Claxton.

Specs hopped to his feet, plainly excited. "I nominate—"

"Move the nominations be closed," interrupted Sheffield.

While Specs struggled against the current, wildly protesting, the motion was carried with a roar, and a moment later Buck Claxton was declared unanimously elected president of the athletic association.

Nothing daunted, Specs did his best to nominate S. S. for the presidency of the literary society, but again the school overwhelmed him, carrying into office Clarence Prissier on the crest of the tidal wave.

But one more place remained to be filled. However much the opposition had made up its mind to bar all Scouts from office, it was clear that Specs had grown desperate. Before the chairman had finished asking for somebody to head the student association, Specs was on his feet, waving his right arm and shouting wildly, "Mr. Chairman!"

"Mr. Cree."

Peter Barrett was looking directly over Specs' head toward Rodman Cree, who stood, feet apart, in the aisle. The Scout construed this recognition as another unjust fling at the patrol, although, as a matter of fact, Rodman had risen an instant before Specs.

"Mr. Chairman!" the latter repeated.

"Mr. Cree has the floor," declared Peter Barrett.

"I—I nominate—" Specs began lamely.

The chairman rapped again on his desk. "We are hearing from Mr. Cree. Go on, Mr. Cree."

Now, Bunny, for one, was in no sense adverse to hearing Rodman's nomination. He liked the new boy, and he was sure the new boy liked him, to say nothing of the others in the Black Eagle Patrol. Although he might have scoffed openly at the idea, deep in his heart he was confident that Rodman was about to show his true colors and nominate one of the Scouts; not just any one of them, but their leader, Bunny himself.

As Specs floundered back to his seat, Rodman Cree began. "I don't want to nominate any fellow for this office," he said. "I just want to make a suggestion. It's this: There are about forty boys in this school and over sixty girls; and I think this last office should go to a girl." He sat down to a gathering applause that began with a few faint hand-spats and ended in a tumult of cheering. The speech was like a douche of cold water to Bunny.

"I nominate Marion Genevieve Chester!" shouted Buck through the noise.

Immediately, as before, the nominations were closed, and Marion declared elected. Then, just as the minute hand of the clock touched four, Peter Barrett declared the meeting adjourned.