“Where's Vic Burleigh?” somebody called, and a chorus followed:
“Burleigh! Burly! Burlee! Come home! Come home! Come home!”
But Burleigh did not come.
“Maybe they are shutting him out,” somebody else suggested, and the Sunrise bleachers took fire. Calls for Burleigh rent the air, roars and yells that threatened to turn this most auspicious college event into pandemonium, and the jolly company into a veritable mob.
Meantime, as the teams were leaving their quarters early in the afternoon, the coach said to Vic:
“Run up to Burgess and get your grades, Burleigh. It's a mere form, but it will save that gang of game-cocks from getting one over us.”
In the rotunda Vic and Vincent met face to face, the country boy in his football suit and brown sweater, and the slender young college professor, with faultless tailoring and immaculate linen. Ten minutes before, Burgess had been in Dr. Fenneben's office, where Elinor Wream and a group of fair college girls were chattering excitedly.
“See these roses, Uncle Lloyd.” Elinor was holding up a gorgeous bunch of American Beauties. “These go to Vic Burleigh when he gets behind the goal posts. Cost lots of my Uncle Lloyd's money, but we had to have them.”
Small wonder that the very odor of roses was hateful to Burgess at that moment.
“May I speak to you a minute?” Vic said as the two men met in the rotunda.