But George couldn't make up his mind. There were other problems as critical as the clubs. Could he afford to fight Dick Goodhue for that high office? If only he could find out what the Goodhue crowd thought of him!
He had an opportunity to learn one evening, and conquered a passionate desire to eavesdrop. As he ran lightly up the stairs to his room he heard through the open study door Wandel and Goodhue talking with an unaccustomed heat.
"You can't take such an attitude," Wandel was saying.
"I've taken it."
"Change your mind," Wandel urged. "I've nursed him along as the only possible tie between two otherwise irreconcilable elements of the class. I tell you I can't put you over unless you come to your senses."
George hurried in and nodded. From their faces he gathered there had been a fair row. Wandel grasped his arm. George stiffened. Something was coming now. It wasn't quite what he had expected.
"How would you like," Wandel said, "to be the very distinguished secretary of your class?"
George gazed from the window at the tree-bordered lawns where lesser men contentedly kicked footballs to each other.
"It ought to be what the class likes," he muttered. "I'm really only interested in seeing Dicky re-elected."
"If," Wandel said, "I told you it couldn't be done without your distinguished and untrammelled name on the ticket?"