Boarding schools -- Juvenile fiction; Football stories
In the confusion of cheering that followed, Merriwell had hard work
making himself heard. Finally, though: “Those in favor of the election
of Kendall Burtis will stand up,” he announced. Every chair was pushed
back save those of Merriwell, who was already standing, of Coach
Payson and Andy Ryan, who had no voice in the proceedings, and of
Kendall himself. Marion mounted a chair and called for “Three cheers
for Burtis, fellows! Let her go!” The cheers came with a will and were
followed by cries of “Speech! Speech!” Kendall, his eyes on the table,
and his well hand nervously employed in the manufacture of bread pills,
felt himself being lifted to his feet. It was an awful thing to have to
say anything, for his voice was nowhere to be found at first; and when
it did come it was so shaky and low that for a moment no one could hear
it.
Finally, however, his halting words reached them.
“――Awfully afraid you’ve made a――a most horrible mistake,” he was
saying, “and I wish you’d change your minds, fellows. Honestly――” and
he looked appealingly about――“I don’t think I could do it, fellows!”
A howl of delight and derision went up. Kendall faltered again.
“I――I’d like you to excuse me, please, and――――”
“Not on your life! You’re elected, Burtis!”
Kendall turned questioningly, pleadingly, to Simms. Simms, laughing,
shook his head. “No use,” he said. “You’re it!”
Kendall gulped, smiled wanly, started to sit down, reconsidered and
went on: “Then all I can say is that I’m awfully much obliged and that
I――I’ll do the best I know how. But I hope you’ll all help me a lot,
because――because I don’t know much about my job!”
Merriwell, looking worried, went down the table and for a minute
conversed in whispers with Coach Payson. The coach frowned and,
nodding, finally arose and walked to the side of the room. Merriwell
tapped Kendall on the shoulder.
“I say, Burtis, just come over here a minute, will you?”
Kendall, wondering, accompanied the other to where the coach stood. The
rest of the team followed them with curious eyes.
“Burtis,” said Payson, pulling a folded sheet of paper from his pocket,
“have you ever seen this before?”
Kendall looked at it in surprise. Then, “Why, yes, sir, I think so. I
drew that diagram, but I didn’t do all that writing.”
“How did you happen to make the diagram?” asked Merriwell.
“Why, a fellow came to my room one night, and we got to talking about
signals; the different systems, you know; he had some scheme of his own
and wanted to know what I thought of it. I didn’t think much of it,
though.”
“Who was this fellow?” asked Payson.
Kendall hesitated. “Is there――is there any trouble about this?” he
asked.
It was Payson’s turn to hesitate, and he looked uncertainly at
Merriwell. Finally: “Yes, this has made some trouble, or very nearly.”
“Then I guess I’d better not say who the fellow was,” replied Kendall.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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