“Is that all?” asked Sam Pomeroy.
“No; as there will be some expenses, there must be a treasurer to receive and take care of the funds, and we shall need a secretary to keep the records of the club, and write and answer challenges.”
“Boys,” said the chairman, “you have heard Tom Pinkerton’s remarks. Those who are in favor of organizing a club on this plan will please signify it in the usual way.”
All the boys raised their hands, and it was declared a vote.
“You will bring in your votes for captain,” said the chairman.
Tom Pinkerton drew a little apart with a conscious look, as he supposed, of course, that no one but himself would be thought of as leader.
Slips of paper were passed around, and the boys began to prepare their ballots. They were brought to the chairman in a hat, and he forthwith took them out and began to count them.
“Boys,” he announced, amid a universal stillness, “there is one vote for Sam Pomeroy, one for Eugene Morton, and the rest are for Frank Fowler, who is elected.”
There was a clapping of hands, in which Tom Pinkerton did not join.
Frank Fowler, who is to be our hero, came forward a little, and spoke modestly as follows: