Amid enthusiastic applause Lester rose. This was the first opportunity that the class as a whole had had to show its satisfaction at the outcome of the election. The applause swelled, slackened, and swelled again; it continued and continued while Lester, white and unsmiling, waited for a chance to speak. At last there was quiet, and he began in a voice that shook a little:
“Fellows, I wanted you all to be here—”
“Louder!” came a shout from the back of the room.
“Get up on the platform!” cried another voice.
“Yes! Platform!” shouted others.
Lester obeyed the command; he stepped up on the platform and took his stand beside the chairman’s table. “Fellows,” he said, “ever since the election I’ve been very uncomfortable in my mind. I’ve known that I’m not fit to be first marshal or to hold any office in the class.”
A cry of derision and protest went up from the audience.
“I’m in earnest about this,” Lester continued when he was able to make himself heard. “There isn’t one of you that would have voted for me if he’d known what I know about myself.”
“We’re all miserable sinners,” cried a cheerful voice; and the crowd broke into laughter that kept renewing itself irrepressibly just as quiet seemed about to be restored.