"I don't want to hear what he said," interrupted Jerry peevishly. "He's a big bully. He's hated me ever since I interfered the time he was ducking young Gordon. Gordon couldn't swim, and he was so scared that his face was as white as that block of paper."
"Well, it was pretty cheeky for a Sophomore to lay down the law to a
Senior, you know," said Ned.
"And it was pretty mean of a Senior to haze a Freshman, wasn't it?" Jerry demanded. "Anyhow, I spoiled his fun for him."
"And got ducked yourself," laughed the other.
"That was all right. I could swim and wasn't afraid. I was better able to take it than young Gordon was. Ever since then Welch has had it in for me. I dare say that if I went and licked his boots he'd let me into the Lyceum and give me a fair show for the Nine, but I'm not going to do it. I can play baseball, and I'd like to make the team, but if it depends on my toadying to Welch, why, I'll stay off, that's all."
"Oh, come now, it isn't as bad as that," responded Ned. "Don't you bother. I'll get you elected before Class Day, Jerry. Grab your skates and come on down to the river."
"Skates!" exclaimed Jerry. "Why, you can't skate to-day. The ice is all breaking up. Look at it!"
From the dormitory window the river was visible for a quarter of a mile as it curved slowly to the south between Winthrop Academy and the town bridge. It was late February, and for two days the mercury had lingered around fifty degrees. Along the nearest shore the ice still held, but in midstream and across by the Peterboro side the river, swollen by melting snow and ice, flowed in a turbid, ice-strewn torrent. For a while at noon the sun had shone, but now, at four o'clock, the clouds had gathered and the moist air coming in at the open window of the room suggested rain.
"There's plenty of ice along this bank," answered Ned cheerfully, "and as it may be the last chance I'll get to skate I'm going to make the most of it. I promised Tom Thurber and Herb Welch I'd meet them at four. I must get a move on." He closed the book before him and arose from the study table. "You'd better come along, Jerry."
But Jerry shook his head, staring moodily out over the dreary prospect of wet campus and slushy road. A mile away the little town of Peterboro lay straggling along the river, the chimneys of its three or four factories spouting thick black smoke into the heavy air. Jerry was disappointed. It meant a good deal to win election to the Lyceum, and, in spite of what he had told Ned, he had all along entertained a sneaking idea that he would make it, Welch or no Welch. He wondered whether Ned couldn't have got him in if he had tried real hard. Ned and he were very good friends, even though they had never met until they had been roomed together in the fall, but Jerry was a new boy still, while Ned was a Junior and had known Herb Welch three years.