The victors sat at banquet. To be sure, as regarded variety of viand and culinary excellence it left much to desire; in fact it was, I believe, simply called “Dinner” on the

card. But it answered all the purposes of a Roman feast. Victory presided, Happiness and Merriment were the guests of honor, and Hunger waited at table. Professor Beck was there, and one of the coaches, and Don, and Wayne, and Whitehead, and Dave, and Gaffney, and Perkins, and Connor, and Hardy, and Kendall, and several others; and every one talked as much as he could and ate indiscriminately of all on the board, and was wonderfully, radiantly joyful. The hotel management had given them a little room to themselves; fortunately for the peace of the other guests, for it was necessary to cheer loudly and often.

The events of the day were discussed from start to finish and the official summary of the meeting was passed from hand to hand around the board and the figures eagerly scanned.

“Great Cæsar!” muttered Don as he looked it over; “to think that two points moved from the first column to the second would have beaten us! It was a narrow squeak, Wayne; if you hadn’t finished a scant foot ahead of Sturgis – ”

“Let’s see it,” said Wayne. Don passed the sheet to him, and this is what he saw:

Summary

“It was close,” said Wayne, as he handed the summary on to Connor, who sat at his right. “And,” he added in a low voice, “when I think how nearly I lost the thing for you, Don, I feel like kicking myself back to Hillton.”

At that moment the door was burst open and Paddy’s flushed and exultant face peered in.

“Don’t want to bother you, fellows,” he cried, “but thought you’d like to hear the news. We won at Marshall; Hillton 4, St. Eustace 0!” He shied an evening paper across the room at Dave and disappeared again. As the door closed Professor Beck sprang to his feet.

“Now, boys, three times three for the nine, and every one yell!” And every one did yell. And then the paper was passed around and the brief account of the baseball game was read and reread.

“By Jove,” cried Don, “your friend Gray’s gone and done it again!”

“Done what?” asked Wayne.

“Made a home run; and in the last inning, too! What do you think of that?”

Whereupon Wayne tried to snatch the paper from Don, and only succeeded in upsetting the contents of the latter’s tumbler into Professor Beck’s salad.

But there is a limit even to the capacity of a triumphant track team, and after a while, when Professor Beck and the coach had made short, earnest speeches, had been cheered to the echo, and had left the room, Don made himself heard and announced that nominations for the captaincy of the team for the ensuing year were in order. Instantly Gaffney and Dave were on their feet, and the former was recognized.

“I don’t see any use in fussing with nominations and such stuff; we’ve all eaten too much. I move you that Donald Cunningham be re-elected by acclamation and that we all go home.”

Cheering and laughter, cries of “Yes, yes, Cunningham!” and “Second the motion!” arose; and Don got up and waited a chance to speak. When the uproar had died down for a moment he said:

“I thank you, fellows, for the nomination, but I can not – ”

“Don, Don, Donald C.!” chanted Wayne, and Dave took up the refrain, and in a moment the room was again a pandemonium.

“Don, Don, Donald C.,

One big captain he!”

improvised Wayne, and the rest caught eagerly at the doggerel and chanted it lustily to the accompaniment of weird music produced by knives and tumblers. Don held up a hand appealingly.

“Fellows, please come to order!” he cried. And when the tumult had subsided he went on: “I can’t accept the nomination, although I feel – recognize – ”

“Hear! hear!” bawled Dave.

“Although I appreciate the honor. I thank you all. I am glad that we won to-day and hope that we will repeat the victory next year. I will do my best to keep my place on the team, but I must refuse the captaincy.”

“No, no!” cried his hearers.

“I don’t feel that I can spare the time from my lessons next year, and I hope you will excuse me and elect some one to take my place. If I may be allowed to nominate a candidate – ”

Cries of “Yes, yes! Go ahead!”

“I nominate for captain Wayne Gordon.”

A chorus of applause broke out. Wayne stared in bewilderment about the board. “Gordon! Gordon!” cried several; and Whitehead and Dave seconded the nomination in unison.

“Are there any other nominations?” asked Don.

Wayne leaped to his feet. “I don’t quite know whether this is a joke or not.” He frowned inquiringly at Don.

Don smiled and shook his head.

“Speech!” called some one.

“But if it isn’t a joke, it’s – it’s silly rot. I am no more fit to be captain than I am to – to be principal.”

“Sit down,” shouted Dave, “you’re out of order!” But Wayne paid no attention; instead he looked quite serious as he continued.

“To prove what I say, fellows, I’m going to make a confession. You – you ought to know about it. I won the mile race to-day – ”

“You bet you did!” said some one. “You’re all right!”

“But I didn’t deserve it. I came near losing it by – by my pigheadedness. I don’t deserve any credit; fact is, I ought to be put off the team.”

The fellows had quieted down and were listening in surprise and curiosity. Don put up a hand and tried to pull him back into his seat.

“Shut up, Wayne,” he pleaded in a whisper.

“To-day,” continued Wayne, “I was told to get behind Sturgis and to hang to him to the end of the race. Well, I didn’t; I thought I knew more than the coaches, and Professor Beck and the captain, and every one. And when St. Eustace put up a game by sending Gould ahead as though he was going to win the race, I just let instructions go and went after him. You all know how nearly Sturgis came to winning – ”

“A miss is as good as a mile,” said Connor.

“And if he had won St. Eustace would have got the championship, and it would have been all due to my foolishness. I haven’t felt right about it since you fellows were so kind and cheered me, and – and all; and I’ve wanted to tell you the truth, and I have; and I’m glad you gave me the chance. And I thank you for the nomination, but couldn’t take it even if you still wanted me to.”

Wayne sat down, and three fellows were instantly on their feet. Don recognized Whitehead.

“Look here, fellows,” he said, speaking quickly and vehemently, “I don’t deny that Gordon made a mistake, but I want to tell you that he wasn’t to blame. The trick would have deceived any fellow that wasn’t experienced; if it had been me instead of Gordon, I would have fallen into the trap just as he did, and I’m not sure that I’d been so ready to own up and tell the truth about it, either. Gordon made a mistake, but he ran the finest sort of a race; he’s got lots of pluck and lots of go, and we all like him; and I think he will make a good captain, if Cunningham won’t accept re-election; and I move that we prove to him that we don’t think an