It seemed to Allan during the next few days that the bulky form of Peter Burley was bent upon haunting him. On Tuesday morning, in English, he was aware of Burley’s presence a few rows behind him; when he looked around, it was to encounter the big fellow’s smiling regard. There was really nothing offensive in that smile; it was merely one of intense friendliness, quite unconventional in its intensity, but it irritated Allan greatly. Why couldn’t Burley let him alone? Just because he had kept him from falling and lugged him to the dressing-tent, he seemed to have an idea that Allan was his especial property. And then the cheek of scrawling his silly name on a fellow’s door! And yelling like a three-ply idiot at the track!
Perhaps the fact that Burley, whoever and whatever he was, was markedly popular rather increased Allan’s prejudice. Wherever Burley sat in class there was invariably a good deal of subdued noise and laughter, and when he left the hall it was always as the center of a small circle of fellows, above which Burley towered head and shoulders. Secretly, Allan envied Burley’s success with his fellows, but in conversation with Smiths he dubbed Burley a mountebank. Hal was visibly impressed with the word and used it unflaggingly the rest of the year.
Wednesday, Burley was again on the field, but this time he made no remarks as Allan passed him on the track; merely smiled and nodded with his offensive familiarity and then turned his attention to the football practise. As usual, he was the center of a group, and after Allan had passed the turn he heard their laughter and wondered if Burley had selected him as a butt for his silly jokes. After that Allan saw him at least once a day until on the following Wednesday night, when the freshman election took place in Grace Hall, and Burley leaped into even greater, and to Allan more offensive, prominence.
There were two leading candidates for the presidency, and, contrary to the usual custom, the opposing forces had failed to arrange a compromise and a distribution of offices. The contest was prolonged and exciting. On the ninth ballot, Mordaunt, a St. Mathias fellow, won amidst the howls of the opposition. The rival candidate was elected secretary, but promptly and somewhat heatedly declined. New nominations were called for, and Burley was proposed simultaneously from two sides of the room. His name met with loud applause. Burley, sitting unconcernedly near the door, grinned his appreciation of the joke. Two other names were offered, and then the balloting began. On the first ballot, Peter Burley, of Blackwater, Col., was elected.
Burley tried to get on to his feet to refuse the honor, but owing to the fact that three companions held him down while the chairman rapped wildly for order, he failed to gain recognition. The next moment the election was made unanimous. Allan grunted his disapproval. Hal said it didn’t much matter who was secretary; anybody could be that.
Hal accompanied Allan back to the latter’s room and stayed until late, talking most of the time about his chances of making the varsity squad, what he was going to do if he didn’t, and how he didn’t give a rap anyway.
“Of course, I can make the freshman team all right, but what’s that? They have only four outside games scheduled, and two of those don’t amount to anything; just high schools. The only game they go away for is the one with Dexter. And this thing of working hard for a month to play the Robinson freshmen isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.”
“Who will win?” asked Allan, suppressing a yawn.
“That’s the trouble. It’s more’n likely that Robinson will. We’ve got a lot of good men—fast backs and a mighty brainy little quarter—but we haven’t got any support for our center. Cheesman’s a wonder, but he can’t do much with guards like Murray and Kirk beside him. Why, Kirk doesn’t weigh a hundred and seventy, and Murray’s only a hundred and eighty-something. Poor is going to issue another call for candidates; he’s going to ask every man of a hundred and seventy-five or over to come out. Say!”