families and there had been Trasks at Tate since the Civil War, Rhoades came from obscure origins, had worked his way through college and was not even a fraternity man. Thus, though he had been a better football leader than Trask would ever be, he did not make the same appeal. He was even resented somewhat as an outsider. Without wasting any superfluous gestures, he made a straightforward speech and took his seat again amid mild acclaim and a perfunctory "short cheer." Harold, trying to enjoy one of the few cigarettes he had ever smoked, found himself conspicuous by the heartiness of his hand-clapping.
There followed a halting dissertation by the baseball captain on prospects for next year on the diamond. Then a fat, unctuously smiling man, "colyumist" on a Cleveland newspaper and a professional after-dinner speaker with no collegiate affiliations, made some humorous remarks about football and other sports, using material that Harold had already read in his "colyum," but laughed at nevertheless. There was more singing and jazzily rendered numbers by the undergraduate music-makers. But the formal part of the program was about over. The company had split up into little conversing, bantering groups.
