“――and Thayer. But I’m going to nominate another. I like the captain to be a backfield chap. After that he ought to play well enough to be certain of his place (laughter), and he ought to have a whole lot of fight and pep. In fact――” and Clem’s eyes twinkled――“he ought to be a fellow who can go after what he wants and get it. I nominate Kemble.” There was a brief instant of surprise, surprise plainly, oh, so plainly shared by Tom! Then came an astonishing amount of applause, astonishing at least to Clif, who was reprehensibly late in joining in it. Tom was shaking his head, not so much negatively as doubtfully. “Heck, fellows, I’m new around here, and I guess you want a fellow who’s been here longer. Henning says he won’t take it, but if we show him we need him――” “I’m out,” declared Clem, grinning across at Tom. “Let’s vote.” Jimmy Ames distributed slips of paper, pens and pencils passed from hand to hand, and “Wink” started some one’s cap around, and the slips dropped in. Then Jimmy dumped the ballots on the bed, and Clem prepared to tabulate them on the back of an envelope exhumed from a pocket. Lou Stiles interrupted proceedings. “Hold on a sec! How are we doing this? Does a majority elect or a plurality or what?” “Plurality,” decided Clem, and as no one dissented――although Leo Gosman wanted anxiously to know what a plurality was――the counting proceeded, and after a minute, Clif read the result. “Ridgway gets four,” announced Clif, “Kemble ten and Tyson six. Kemble is elected. The meeting’s adjourned _sine die_, _pro tem_ and _e pluribus unum_!” “Speech! Speech!” “I don’t know how,” responded Tom, grinning. “Besides, there isn’t time. But I want to say that I thank you fellows for the honor, and that I’ll do my best to help you put the Fighting Scrub on the map. I don’t deserve the captaincy, of course; most any of the rest of you would have been better; but I’ll certainly try to deserve the――er――unexpected honor. That’s all, I guess.” “Hold on,” said “Babe.” “Let’s make it unanimous, fellows. What do you say?” “I’ll second that,” declared Pat Tyson good-naturedly. “Moved and seconded――” “You can’t! The meeting’s adjourned,” laughed some one. “Forget it! Kemble is unanimously elected Captain of the Wyndham――no, of the Fighting Scrub, and may Heaven help him!” To which sentiment the party laughingly dissolved, hurrying off to arm themselves for study hour. “Well, I don’t see how it happened,” said Clif as he and Tom went back to West. “It’s great, Tom, and I’m awfully pleased, but I certainly was surprised!” “It was a regular bolt from the blue,” agreed Tom gravely. “Look here, did you vote for me?” “Of course I did!” “That’s funny then.” “What is?” “I had eleven votes pledged and only got ten. Some lowlife went back on me!” “You had eleven――” A light broke on Clif. “Why――why,” he sputtered at last, “you blamed old fox! Do you mean to say that you knew all the time――”