“Blowed if I know!” confessed Brad, in a low tone. “But I’m afraid Arlington will carry it.”
“Too bad!” said Stanton, and the Texan knew for the first time just how the third man on the committee stood.
The entire counting-committee was unfavorable to the plebe who sought a position on the athletic board.
Arlington’s friends knew this, and some of them commented on it.
“What kind of a show has Chet got with those fellows to count the votes!” said one.
“He wouldn’t have a show if Merriwell was not on the committee,” said another. “Merriwell is square, and you can bet your life Chet will get the position if he’s elected.”
The voting took some time. When it seemed all over Dow rapped on the table beside him and asked if the votes were all in.
“Hold on!” was the cry from the rear.
Into the room a fellow was dragged by three Arlington workers and rushed down the aisle. He was red in the face, but cast his vote, laughing as he did so.
“Here comes another!” shouted a voice.