In a moment Gimbel was back, engaging them in eager conclave. "See here, there's a combination being gotten up," he said impersonally, "a sort of slate for our class football managers, and I want to get you fellows interested. Hotchkiss and St. Paul are going in together, and we want to organize the other schools. How many fellows are up from Lawrenceville?" "About fifteen." "We've got a corking good man from Andover not in any of the crowds up there, and a lot of us want to give him a good start. I'll have you meet him to-night at supper. If you fellows weren't out for football, we'd put one of you up for secretary and treasurer. You can name him if you want. I've got a hundred votes already, and we're putting through a deal with a Sheff crowd for vice-president that will give us thirty or forty more. Our man's Hicks--Frank Hicks--the best in the world. Say a good word for him, will you, wherever you can. See you to-night." He was off to another table, where he was soon in animated conversation. "Don't mix up in it," said Stover quietly. "Why not?" said McCarthy. "A good old political shindig's lots of fun." "Wait until we understand the game," said Stover, remembering Le Baron's advice not to commit himself to any crowd. "But it would be such a lark." Dink did not reply. Instead he was carefully studying the many types that crowded before his eyes. They ranged from the New Yorker, extra spick-and-span for his arrival, lost and ill at ease, speaking to no one; to older men in jerseys and sweaters, unshaven often, lolling back in their chairs, concerned with no one, talking with all. The waiters were of his own class, who presently brought their plates to the tables they served and sat down without embarrassment. It was a heterogeneous assembly, with a preponderance of quiet, serious types, men to whom the financial problem was serious and college an opportunity to fit themselves for the grinding combat of life. Others were raw, decidedly without experience, opinionated, carrying on their shoulders a chip of somewhat bumptious pride. The talk was all of the doings of the night before, when several had fallen into the hands of mischief-bent sophomores. "They caught Flanders down York Street and made him roll a peanut up to Billy's." "Yes, and the darned fool hadn't sense enough to grin and bear it." "So they gave him a beer shampoo." "A what?" "A beer shampoo." "Did you hear about Regan?" "Who's Regan?" "He's a thundering big coal-heaver from out the woolly West." "Oh, the fellow that started to scrap." "That's the man." "Give us the story, Buck." "They had me up, doing some of my foolish stunts," said a fellow with a great moon of a face, little twinkling eyes, and a grotesque nose that sprang forth like a jagged promontory, "when, all at once, this elephant of a Regan saunters in coolly to see what's doing." "Didn't know any better, eh?"