“Well, old man,” said Dick pleasantly, “that was what I call a hot meeting.” The Texan did not stir. From his appearance, it did not seem that he was aware Dick had entered the room. “In a trance, Brad?” asked Dick. Still Buckhart remained motionless, staring at the wall, a hard look on his face. “What’s the matter?” asked Dick, stopping in front of his roommate. “What ails you, old man?” Brad looked at Dick, and there was a mingling of reproach, shame, and anger in that look. “Why didn’t you let me alone?” he demanded. “That dirty dog won!” “You mean——” “Arlington—you know whom I mean! He’s on the committee now, and he will show you in short order that he has power there. Just you wait and see what he does!” “But he was fairly elected, Brad.” “Was he? I’m not so sure of that.” The Texan’s voice was harsh and his manner toward Dick new and strained. He felt deeply the shame of his position. More for Dick’s sake than his own, he had sought to keep Chester Arlington from getting on the committee. Dick had detected him in the act of filching the two ballots that gave Chester the position, and had compelled him to put them back while the votes were being counted again. No one else knew of this, but Buckhart felt that he had lowered himself in the eyes of his friend and roommate. “I’m not so sure his election was fair,” he repeated. “What do you mean? Why wasn’t it?” “What made Savage pull out just when he did? What made him try to throw his votes to Arlington? There was something behind it, and you know it.” Although Brad had not noted the incident observed by Dick, when Savage was approached by a fellow who seemed to make a demand on him, against which he rebelled at first, but to which he finally succumbed, still the Texan had sense enough to reason it out that there had been an unusual cause back of the action of Savage in stepping out in favor of Arlington at that critical juncture. “What do you think there was behind it?” asked Dick, curious to learn Buckhart’s opinion on the matter. “Crookedness, crookedness!” exclaimed the Westerner, rising to his feet and beginning to tramp up and down the room. “I know it! I’m sure of it! I was sure of it all the time,” he went on, eager to say something to make his own act seem less heinous. “That is why I was determined that Arlington should not win if I could help it. I could have prevented it.” “Dishonestly! Look here, Brad, I don’t think you realized just what you were doing.” Dick attempted to place a hand on Buckhart’s shoulder, but it was brushed aside, and the Texan continued his excited striding up and down the room. “Yes, I did!” he declared grimly. “I knew I was cheating—I knew it! I meant to cheat! I meant to beat Chet Arlington at his own game!” “Which would have placed you on the same level with him.” “No! I would have beaten him! Look here, Dick, when you go against a slugging football-team, when the other side plays rough-house, how do you meet them?”