“I’m It,” replied Paddy, striking an attitude. “And Greene’s a back number—aren’t you, Greeney? And I can pommel you all I want and not lose my place on the team, can’t I?”
“Hooray!” It was the muffled tones of Dave from the closet.
“Shut up, you! Greene withdrew and so I got the captaincy. He could have had it again if he’d wanted it.”
“Rot!” said Greene. “I was out of it, and I knew it. Besides, I didn’t want it again. Three times is too much. I’m awfully glad it went to Paddy. He’ll make a good captain, Cunningham; don’t you think so?” Don’s reply was interrupted by the sound of breaking wood. Dave emerged from the closet in a heap, and, picking himself up, seized Paddy and forced him into a wild dance about the room.
“Hooray for Paddy—Captain Paddy!” he shouted. In the dance Paddy’s nice white bandage came off and exposed a very black eye, which lent a thoroughly desperate and disreputable look to the countenance of the newly elected captain of the football team.
“By the way, Greene, do you know Gordon?” asked Paddy, as the boys found seats about the table and without further ceremony began the feast. Greene didn’t, and very graciously shook hands.
“You’re the fellow that got spunky to-day, aren’t you?” he asked smilingly. Wayne nodded, looking bored.
“Wayne doesn’t like the subject,” said Dave. “It’s a matter of lasting regret to him that he didn’t reach that chap Kirkwell.”
“Well, don’t worry, my boy,” said Paddy, as he filled his mouth with cracker and jam. “I reached him once. I didn’t do it the way I should have liked to, of course, because I was seeing double and having hard work to keep my pins, but I fetched him a very decent little jab on the neck. He got me four times before I gave up—hang him! Mind you, fellows, I don’t believe in slugging, and I never did it before—that is, since I have been on the team—but to-day I got tired of having him bang me every time there was a mix-up, so I forgot myself.” And Paddy grinned reminiscently and tried to wink his damaged eye at Wayne.