Amid a good deal of hand-clapping, Peter Barrett climbed to the rostrum and pounded on the principal's desk with a ruler. His face was red and his patched clothes very conspicuous, but he spoke calmly and slowly.
"Nominations for manager of the football team," he invited.
A little movement a few seats away caught Bunny's eye. After writing something on a slip of paper, Royal Sheffield passed it down the aisle.
"Mr. Chairman."
"Mr. Claxton."
"I nominate Roy Sheffield." Quite as if it had been arranged beforehand, the mention of the name was greeted with a volley of applause.
Bunny moved uneasily in his seat before rising to be recognized. In some inexplicable manner, he sensed that some plot he could not fathom was under way, and that it was a move against the Black Eagle Patrol. Perhaps he could swing the school with a neat speech of nomination.
"Mr. Chairman, I want to propose the name of a boy who has the ability to handle this job as well as anybody in school. In the first place, he has brains; in the second place, he can give his whole attention to his job, as I think he is too light to play on the team; in the third place, he has had plenty of experience, because he's managed a scrub team that we Boy Scouts have had for the last two years. He arranged games for us, and he fixed the business end so well that at the end of last season we had our football suits paid for and a little left over. And you'll admit that's pretty good for a team of kids. I don't suppose it's necessary to say for him, any more than it is for anybody else in this school, that he's absolutely honest. I nominate Emerson Elliot Meeker."
"For the love of Marengo!" gasped Nap Meeker, who had grown very red.
A boy named Leeton was nominated by a little clique at the back of the room. After a long pause, during which nobody seemed to have anything to offer, the nominations were closed.