CHAPTER XV

THE NEW CAPTAIN MAKES A SPEECH

That _was_ a cheer! They might almost have heard it at Broadwood! “_Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah, rah! Vinton!_” And after the cheer every fellow shouted his applause in the way that best pleased him and the demonstration threatened to last all night. But some one began to demand “Speech! Speech! Vinton! Vinton!” and poor Dan was thrust into the speaker’s place and the tumult died abruptly.

“Fellows,” began Dan in a low voice.

“Louder!” called those at the edge of the throng. Dan cleared his throat, smiled nervously and started again.

“Fellows, I thank you very much. I never made a speech and so I don’t know how. I――――”

“You’re doing fine!” called some one reassuringly, and in the laughter that ensued Dan gained courage.

“When they were good enough to elect me awhile ago the only thing that――that made me hesitate about accepting the honor was the thought that if I did I might have to make a speech! I asked Alf――Captain Loring――and he said that maybe I could get out of it. I――the only thing I have to say is that I’m mighty proud to be captain and I’ll do the best I can. And――and thank you all. Now let’s have a cheer for Loring!”

And Dan, with a sigh of relief, stepped back as Chambers led the cheering. After that Payson said a few words, and then the procession formed again, marched once around the bonfire, singing “The Wearin’ o’ the Green,” and went back up the slope to Oxford, where, massed in front of the steps, the fellows, with bare heads, sang “The Years Roll On.”

“The years roll on. Too soon we find Our boyhood days are o’er. The scenes we’ve known, the friends we’ve loved Are gone to come no more. But in the shrine of Memory We’ll hold and cherish still The recollection fond of those Dear days on Yardley Hill.

“The years roll on. To man’s estate From youthful mold we pass, And life’s stern duties bind us round, And doubts and cares harass. But God will guard through storms and give The strength to do his will And treasure e’er the lessons learned Of old on Yardley Hill.”

After that, although many of the fellows still lingered about the front of Oxford, the celebration was over with. It was late and most everyone was tired after what had been a busy and exciting day. Also, November nights are chilly in the neighborhood of Wissining and there was an icy little breeze blowing in from the sound. So it wasn’t long before the last fellow had sought the warmth and light of his room, leaving the white stars alone to look down on the flickering remains of the fire.

Dan was silent as he climbed the stairs of Clarke and sought No. 28. To be sure, he went up alone, after saying good night to Alf and Tom and Joe Chambers and several others at the corner of the building, and that might explain it if it were not for the fact that Dan usually either sang or whistled as he ran upstairs. To-night he didn’t even run. He was much too tired and sore. He had played a hard game for all there was in it and he had received his full share of knocks and bruises. There were no scars visible, but he knew where he could put his hand on a dandy lump! The fact that he limped a little with his right leg indicated in a general way the location of the lump. Besides that, there were plenty of bruised places, and he had an idea that by to-morrow he would be an interesting study in black and blue. When he opened the door of the room he found Gerald there before him, Gerald sitting on the edge of his bed partly undressed and looking very forlorn and a trifle red about the eyes.

“Hello, Gerald,” exclaimed Dan. “What’s the trouble?”

“Nothing,” answered Gerald, diligently hunting on the floor for a stocking which was draped gracefully over his knee. Dan went over and seated himself beside him on the bed.

“Something’s up, chum,” he said kindly, putting an arm over the younger boy’s shoulders. “Let’s hear about it.”

“It――it isn’t anything,” replied Gerald with the suspicion of a sniff. “I guess I’m just sort of tired.”

“I should think you might be,” said Dan heartily, “after the work you did this morning! You made a great hit with the school, Gerald. If it hadn’t been for you we’d have lost that race as sure as shooting!”

“That’s just it,” said Gerald, after a moment, aggrievedly.

“What’s just it? You aren’t downhearted because you ran a bully race and won the meet, are you?”

“No, but――but other fellows when they win points for the school get――get recognition!”

“Recognition? Great Scott, chum, the fellows cheered you until they were hoarse! Didn’t you know that?”

“I――I didn’t hear much of it, but Arthur said they did.”

“They certainly did! Why, I’ve heard lots and lots of fellows say how plucky you were and how glad they were that you beat Jake Hiltz.”

“But I don’t get my Y,” said Gerald. “When other fellows do anything they get their Y or they get their numerals or――or something.”

“But none of the Cross-Country Team get a Y,” exclaimed Dan.

“I don’t see why they shouldn’t, though,” Gerald mourned. “Do you?”

“N-no, I don’t,” Dan acknowledged. “I guess next year they’ll change that. You see, chum, it’s a new sport here and it isn’t exactly recognized yet.”

“It’s just as hard work as playing basket ball,” said Gerald, “and if you play basket ball you get your two B’s.”

“Why don’t you mention it to Maury? He’s your captain, isn’t he?” Gerald nodded. “He might see Bendix about it. I think myself that you fellows ought to get something in the way of letters. As you say, it’s just as important as basket ball.”

“I thought perhaps I’d get my Y,” said Gerald.

“And you were disappointed, eh? Is that it? Well, cheer up. You’ll get your Y soon enough. You want to remember that as it is now you can only get it in football, baseball, track or hockey.”

“Could I get it in hockey?” asked Gerald eagerly.

“Yes, if you made the team and played against Broadwood,” replied Dan with a smile. “But you’re rather young yet to talk about getting your Y, Gerald.”

“I’m fifteen. Stevenson is not much older and he has his. He got it on the track team.”

“He’s the fellow that jumps, isn’t he?”

“He hurdles.”

“Well, Stevenson is at least a year older than you are, chum. I tell you what, though; you ought to be able to get your C this winter if you make the dormitory hockey team.”

“I don’t want a dormitory letter,” said Gerald. “I want to get something worth while. I’m going to ask Alf if he will let me on the hockey team.”

“He will let you on without being asked if you show that you deserve a place,” said Dan soberly. “But don’t try to swipe, Gerald.” Gerald looked a bit sulky for a minute, but he made no answer. “I don’t see, though,” Dan continued, “why you shouldn’t try for the hockey team. You’re a mighty good skater and you seem to know how to handle a stick pretty well, although I’m not much of a judge. The only thing against you is that you’re pretty light.”

“Well, I’m going to try, anyhow,” said Gerald more cheerfully. “Are you?”

“I don’t know. I promised Alf last year that I would, and he says he’s going to hold me to it. But I’m a poor skater and what I don’t know about hockey would fill a book, and a pretty big one.”

“I wish you would,” said Gerald. “When do they start practice?”

“Oh, some time in December; about the middle, I think. But there isn’t usually much doing until after Christmas vacation. I suppose it’s a question of ice. Alf’s got a scheme of flooding that bit of meadow near the river just this side of the boat house and having the rink there. He says the trouble with playing on the river is that the ice is always cracking. Well, I’m going to bed. You’d better, too, Gerald.”

“All right,” replied Gerald, coming out of his dreaming. “I’m awfully glad they made you captain, Dan. But I knew they would.”

“Did you? That’s more than I knew,” laughed Dan, as he pulled the bed clothes up and stretched his aching limbs. “I thought it might be Roeder. He deserved it.”

“No more than you,” asserted Gerald stoutly. “Not as much. Look what you did last year!”

“Well, what interests me now is next year. The fact is, chum, I’m in rather a funk about it. I never realized until to-night what a feeling of responsibility goes with the captaincy. I almost wish that Roeder had got it!”

“I don’t. You’ll make a bully captain, Dan. Everyone likes you, you’re a dandy player and you know how to boss folks. Do you suppose Muscles will let me play next year?”

“Oh, I guess so.”

“He ought to. I’ll be sixteen then, and in the second class. Do you think I’d stand any show of making it, Dan?”

“You go to sleep. Sufficient unto the day is the football thereof. Good night, Gerald. I’m dead tired.”

“Good night,” answered Gerald. After a pause he added: “You don’t have to be very heavy to play quarter, do you?”

“Not very, I guess. Thinking of quarter?”

“Yes. I’ve――I’ve been sort of watching Alf and I think I could play quarter, Dan.”

“What?” asked Dan drowsily. “Oh, well, cut out the conversation, Gerald, and take a fall out of Morpheus. Gee, but this old bed feels good!”

Two days later, on Monday the twenty-third, Cambridge and Oxford held their elections and Gerald went through with flying colors and became a member of Cambridge, with the right to wear the Light Blue in the shape of button or hat ribbon. Hiltz accepted what couldn’t be helped with apparent good grace. He and Gerald always managed to be looking the other way when they met and they had not spoken since the cross-country meet. Hiltz also avoided Dan, since he had not forgiven the latter for beating him at election, but they nodded or spoke when they met. Arthur, too, was in Hiltz’s bad books, for Arthur had never made any secret of his assistance to Dan. But neither Dan nor Arthur nor Gerald was troubled about it.

“We’re not very popular with Jake nowadays,” observed Arthur one evening in Cambridge as Hiltz entered and passed without apparently discovering the presence of Arthur and Dan. “I’ll bet he will make trouble for Gerald before the year is over.”

“I don’t just see how he could,” said Dan, “although I don’t doubt that he would like to. The fellows are rather tired of Hiltz, I think.”

“Maybe, but he isn’t tired of himself so that you can notice it. And he thinks he has a grievance. We’ll have trouble with him yet, or I miss my guess, Dan.”

Dan yawned frankly.

“Well, I guess we can attend to him when the time comes,” he said indifferently. “He’s most all bluff.”

Thanksgiving Day dawned clear and crisp. Dan, Alf and Tom were to dine with Mr. Pennimore and Gerald at Sound View in the evening and so they had decided to cut out the Thanksgiving dinner at school in the middle of the day.

“We won’t be able to do justice to Gerald’s party if we fill up on turkey at two o’clock,” declared Alf. “I tell you what, Dan; let the four of us get some grub and have a picnic.” Tom groaned, but Gerald hailed the proposition with delight. Dan looked doubtful.

“Rather chilly, isn’t it, for picnics?” he asked, looking out of the window at the breezy landscape.

“No, that’s where the fun comes in,” answered Alf. “We’ll wear sweaters and take some rugs. Then we’ll build a dandy big fire――――”

“Where’s this going to be?” inquired Tom from where he was stretched out on the window seat with a magazine in his hands.

“Up the river somewhere. We’ll take a couple of canoes――――”

“You’re always suggesting schemes that demand physical exertion,” protested his roommate. “Why don’t you ever think up something easy? Why not stay just where we are and have a good, sensible time? It’s warm here and I’m quite comfortable.”

“What do you say, Dan?” asked Alf, turning his back on Tom and his objections.

“I’m game,” said Dan. “I love these pleasure exertions. How about you, Gerald?”

“I’d love to go. It seems a shame to stay around school when we have a holiday. What time would we get back? You know we’re going for an automobile ride at four.”

“That’s something I like,” said Tom approvingly. “That’s my idea of pleasure――just as long as I don’t have to blow up any tires.”

“We’d be back by three, easy,” declared Alf. “What time is it now? Twenty of eleven? Come on then, fellows. I’ll go down and see what I can get in the kitchen. You find those football rugs, Tom, and the rest of you hustle into your sweaters. We’ll meet at the boat house in a quarter of an hour.”

“In that case,” murmured Tom, “I have ten minutes more of comfort.”

“I’ll have to telephone my father,” said Gerald. “He doesn’t want me to go canoeing, you know, after what happened last spring.”

“That’s so,” said Dan. “You tell him you’re going in my canoe, Gerald, and I guess he will let you go.”

So the three hurried off, leaving Tom to settle himself more comfortably on the cushions and take up his magazine again with a sigh.