“Who was it, then?”
“Kendrick.”
Duncan stared. “I wonder how he got into it,” he said at length.
“He knew I was forced into the thing and he wanted to help me out,” answered Sam, quickly. “That’s more than some fellows I know would do,” he added with scornful emphasis.
Duncan’s stern look melted into a malicious grin. “More than Mulcahy would do, I’ll bet. He isn’t running any more risks than he can help.”
“There wasn’t any risk!” said Sam, bravely.
“There wasn’t? Why, you’ll every one of you be fired when the faculty gets on to it.”
“I guess not,” Sam remarked with a confidence which was not altogether sincere.
“That Mulcahy has the crust of a crocodile,” went on Peck. “I understand he’s trying to elect himself president of the Leaf.”
“Look here, Peck,” said Sam, holding his head high, “I wish you’d leave Mulcahy out of the conversation hereafter. He’s a friend of mine, and I don’t care to hear him abused all the time. If you don’t want to vote for him, you’re not obliged to. There’ll be other candidates. He has brains and ability, but perhaps they don’t count as much in your eyes as clothes and a big allowance and membership in a frat.”