“Let Toby do it,” Lanny replied.
“It is moved and seconded that Lanny be appointed a committee of one to negotiate with Louise Brent in the matter of a purple silk pennant. All those in favor will so signify by raising their right hands. One, two, three, four. It is a vote, gentlemen.” Toby bowed gravely to Lanny.
“All right,” laughed the latter. “It’s all up when Toby’s in the chair, anyway! Any other business before the meeting, Guy?”
“No, I guess not. We’ll see what can be done with persuading the fellows to try new stunts. Maybe it’ll work out fine. I hope so. Much obliged for coming around, anyhow. I was getting a bit discouraged, to tell the honest truth. Skeet’s been growling for days and wanting to know how I expected him to make a team out of nothing. And the trouble was I couldn’t tell him! You fellows needn’t run off so early, though.”
“I’m going home and pile into bed,” replied Lanny gravely. “From now on I shall take the very best care of myself because, you see, I mean to get that purple pennant.”
“You?” jeered Harry Partridge. “You haven’t the ghost of a show, you old tow-head! I only have to close my eyes to see that thing hanging over my mantel!”
“Huh! Open ’em again and wake up! Good-night, all!”
CHAPTER XVII
THE SQUAD AT WORK
On Monday work for the Track Team entrants was no different than usual. Perry, one of a bunch of seven or eight sprinters, practiced starts, did two fifty-yard dashes and finally swung through the two hundred and twenty. There were no trials, nor were any of the number allowed to go faster than a “hustle,” which was Skeet’s term for a pace that was something like a glorified jog. Lanny, who was now giving three afternoons each week to track work, spent much of his time coaching the rest, and to him Perry owed his first real understanding of what might be called the philosophy of the crouching start. Lanny, watching Perry and two others at the mark, stopped proceedings.