Trevor didn’t look impressed with this last remark. He studied the flames awhile thoughtfully as he held his hands up to the warmth. Then: “I see. I don’t fancy, then, he loves me much after the way I beat him Saturday night, eh?” “I guess not,” answered Dick laughingly. “I ‘fancy’ we’re both down in his black book.” “Yes.” Trevor turned away and rummaged among the _débris_ of the study table. “Seen my algebra? Never mind, here it is.” He drew a chair up before the fireplace and opened the book, only to lay it down again and deliver himself forcibly of the following declaration: “Taylor may be as waxy with me as he likes, Hope, but he’s got to understand that if he interferes with this crew business there’s a plaguy lot of trouble ahead for him!” “And for me, too,” thought Dick, as he gazed despondently at the slim list of candidates. CHAPTER IX THE HOCKEY MATCH The balance of the week was a busy time for Dick. His usual hour of study before supper was dropped, and he spent that time with every other spare moment in trying to recruit candidates for the crews. He buttonholed boys in classroom and even in chapel, pursued them across the frozen Yard, waylaid them in the corridors, and bearded them in their dens; and all with small success. Those who displayed a willingness to go in for rowing were almost invariably younger fellows whose ambitions were better developed than their muscles. Those whom Dick longed to secure had an excuse for every inducement he could set forth. The seniors pleaded lessons; the upper middle fellows were going in for baseball, cricket, anything save rowing; the lower class boys were unpromising to a degree; and when Saturday came he found that out of a possible ten recruits the most promising was a long-legged, pasty-faced youth who had been dropped from the hockey team and whose desperate desire to distinguish himself in some manner was alone accountable for his complaisance. That Taylor and Crocker and some of the other candidates had been busy was evident from the first--Taylor especially, Dick told himself bitterly. “Try for the crew?” said one senior whom Dick approached, “why, Roy Taylor was speaking to me about it, and I promised him I’d think it over. But I don’t see how I can, Hope; you know yourself how beastly hard the studies are this term; I’m an awful duffer at mathematics, and German, too; and then as for physics--well, really I can’t see how I’m ever going to pass.” And when Dick pointed out modestly enough that he (Dick) had the same studies and was going in for rowing, and expected to graduate notwithstanding, the other waived the argument aside carelessly: “Oh, _you_, Hope! You’re different; you’re one of those lucky beggars that never have any trouble with lessons. Why, if I was like you I wouldn’t hesitate an instant; I’d say put me down for the crew right away. But as it is---- By the way, is it true that you’ve only got twenty candidates?” “Who told you that?” asked Dick.