Page 53 - The Adventures of a Freshman

CHAPTER XI

THE TROUBLE WITH BEING A HERO

The winter, with its jolly long evenings about cosey fire-places, was over, and the Freshman-Sophomore
snowball fight was almost forgotten. The University baseball candidates had left the "Cage" and were
practising outdoors on the diamond. The glorious spring term had come, and the Seniors had begun twilight
singing on the steps of Old North. The elms were putting on their new leaves; the undergraduates their new
flannel trousers.

The Invincibles were on their way from the club, to stretch out under the old elms and hear the Seniors sing
the old songs.

Powelton was saying: "I don't see why you are so anxious to put him up for any office. To tell the truth, the
old chump has been disgusting me lately."

"I'm not anxious," returned Todd, "but you see, he'll take with the poling element."

"But will he, now? He isn't such a gospel shark as we all thought at first."

"Of course, he's no saint, but they don't know anything about the Deacon, except his high stand and his
serious-looking face, and the reputation he made with that C. C. business. Now, as we're running you and
Ashley for president and vice-president, I think it would be foxy to put up somebody like the old Deacon for
the secretary-treasurership." It was drawing near the time for the election of class officers for the next year,
and Todd was somewhat of a politician.

"Maybe you're right, but I don't care to serve with him. He's so uncouth."

Powelton need not have worried about that; he did not have to serve with Young. Powelton was not elected;
Young was the only nominee of the Invincibles that was.

The club had gained a reputation, not altogether deserved, for snobbishness. They were also considered,
rightly perhaps, the sportiest crowd in the class; and either of these is dangerous, and the two together are fatal
to a crowd's chances when it comes to class elections. Besides, the Invincibles had been running class affairs
long enough, and the class thought it would be just as well to distribute authority and prominence.

The Invincibles had made the error of taking it for granted that they would continue to run the class, and bitter
was their chagrin when they found how very mistaken they were. They did not know how to take it; for
several days nobody said very much at the table; they only looked glum and sour--except Deacon Young.

"Oh, cork up that tuneless whistle," growled Minerva Powelton; "you make too much noise." They were
familiar with him now.

Young laughed noisily, but kept on whistling and looked about the table, as he had seen the others do. Then
lighting a cigar, he arose, said, "So long, fellows--see you later," and walked up the street with his hands deep
in his pockets, his body inclined forward in a kind of slouch, like a certain upper-classman he admired.

"Look at him," said Powelton from the window. "My, but he makes me tired when he tries to do the
dead-game act."

He made them all more or less tired, though most of them liked him somewhat still, but in a very different
way now. He was not a hero any more.