“Confound it, Os,” remarked Bollup as they were standing around the bulletin, “I worked hard last month in math and made as good recitations as you did, but you knocked a 4 on the exam. Now what chance has a fellow if you’re going to do that right along? Let up on it, old chap, won’t you?” The kindly twinkle in Bollup’s eye didn’t look as if he felt badly that Ralph had beaten him. “Say, Os,” he continued, “we’re going to elect class officers next week; you’ve heard the fellows talking about it, haven’t you?”
“Oh, yes; Creelton seems much interested, but I haven’t taken very much interest in the subject. It doesn’t make a great deal of difference who is elected; they’re sure to be good fellows.”
“Yes it does; the class president is frequently in consultation with the commandant and he ought to be a man who can represent the class feeling. Some good fellows get scared when they get into the commandant’s office. Now we want a man who can talk to the commandant without losing his nerve, and you’re just the man. Several of us have talked this over and we’re going to run you for it.”
“That’s awfully kind, old chap, but I’m not at all the man you want, and besides nothing whatever could induce me to accept if I were elected.”
“Why not? what’s your reason?” asked Bollup in blank surprise.
“Until this thieving business is cleared up I don’t want any more prominence than I can help.”
“Pshaw, there isn’t a soul that connects you with that—and people have forgotten about it; now don’t let that bother you any.”
“Bollup, I have had repeated things happen that prove beyond a doubt that some one here is determined to injure me. I can’t even imagine who it can be—now that Short is not here. My reason may be a poor one, but all the same I would not accept a class office. But I’m much obliged, all the same, old fellow.”
“Who do you think would make a good class president?” continued Bollup.
“I’m going to vote for Himski. I’m sure he’d be a good one.”