Stone looked up from his work. “Let that book alone, can’t you!” he exclaimed, as he snatched the geometry from Marchmont’s pencil. “Drill holes in your own books!—How do you know that?”
“Jack Butler had a letter from him this morning. He’s gone abroad with his family.”
“Too bad,” said Whitely. “Ted was a blamed nice fellow. There’ll have to be a new class president elected to take his place. I suppose they’ll just move up the vice.”
“That’s Laughlin,” observed Stone.
“Laughlin!” sneered Marchmont. “Is that jay always going to carry us round in his pocket? I think it’s about time we struck for a decent man!”
“Butler would make a good president, wouldn’t he?” remarked Stone. “I wish he had some one to back him.”
“Why shouldn’t he have some one to back him?” demanded Whitely, starting up. “And why shouldn’t we have some voice in naming the officers of the class? Laughlin got the football captaincy away from Butler; it’s right that But should be president. Let’s put him in!”
“Can we?” asked Stone.
The trio made a hasty count of the forces to be relied on. “How about Poole?” asked Whitely.
“Oh, he’s for Laughlin, sure,” answered Stone.