“Done what?” asked Wayne.
“Made a home run; and in the last inning, too! What do you think of that?”
Whereupon Wayne tried to snatch the paper from Don, and only succeeded in upsetting the contents of the latter’s tumbler into Professor Beck’s salad.
But there is a limit even to the capacity of a triumphant track team, and after a while, when Professor Beck and the coach had made short, earnest speeches, had been cheered to the echo, and had left the room, Don made himself heard and announced that nominations for the captaincy of the team for the ensuing year were in order. Instantly Gaffney and Dave were on their feet, and the former was recognized.
“I don’t see any use in fussing with nominations and such stuff; we’ve all eaten too much. I move you that Donald Cunningham be re-elected by acclamation and that we all go home.”
Cheering and laughter, cries of “Yes, yes, Cunningham!” and “Second the motion!” arose; and Don got up and waited a chance to speak. When the uproar had died down for a moment he said:
“I thank you, fellows, for the nomination, but I can not——”
“Don, Don, Donald C.!” chanted Wayne, and Dave took up the refrain, and in a moment the room was again a pandemonium.
“Don, Don, Donald C.,
One big captain he!”
improvised Wayne, and the rest caught eagerly at the doggerel and chanted it lustily to the accompaniment of weird music produced by knives and tumblers. Don held up a hand appealingly.