“Not quite ‘in touch’ with the Signet, I’m afraid,” said Baxford, good-naturedly. Some one moved to drop all names getting six or more black balls, and this, after the first round, decreased the number of candidates to nine. McGaw had put up a man named Carver, one of the editors of the “Monthly.” The nomination was a discreet one, for Carver was neither obscure nor very well known. He was the kind of person they almost all dimly remembered having met at one time or another, in the rooms of fellows they liked. This isn’t knowing much about a man; but, at least, it isn’t knowing anything against him. Then McGaw’s manner of indorsing him was distinctly good. He managed to give the impression of having honestly picked out Carver, not because he was Carver’s friend, but because he thought the Signet was on the lookout for that kind of man. He seemed to wish, in a modest way, to please the Signet. “I can’t say that I’ve known him very long, or well,” said McGaw, thoughtfully (the others had made a point of having been more or less born and brought up with their candidates); “but since I’ve been on the ‘Monthly,’ I’ve seen something of him. He’s a pleasant sort of a fellow, and he writes pretty good stories every now and then; although I don’t think he’s what you would call ‘literary’ exactly. He isn’t very prominent; that might be an objection,” he went on, unconscious of the implied flattery; “but I decided to put him up because I thought he seemed like a good man, and that some of you who know of him might like to consider him.” “I know him,” spoke up Haydock, glad of a chance to help on McGaw’s candidate. “I thought of him myself. He would fit in very well.” Ellis, too, had a good word to say. Carver was then voted on. “Fourteen red and no black,” announced Haviland from the desk. The crowd clapped; and McGaw felt the little thrill born of an awakened sense of importance and power in the community.