tion day. "We need something," he said, "that will give a fellow an idea where he's at." But the home room, enjoying the excitement of expansive, spontaneous debate, would not listen. "The trouble with George," Hammond, the quarterback, had said plaintively, "is that he takes things too serious; you'd imagine we were going to elect a President of the United States." But Praska continued to agitate. He broke into arguments that were going on happily and merrily, and won only scowls or sighs. And then he began to find groups scattering at his approach. His eyes clouded at that, but did not lose their determination. There was something of the bulldog about him.
The train came to Northfield, but he sat at the window lost in his thoughts. Hammond called: "Come on, George; here's the place where we vote." Some of the others laughed. He roused himself, and came down the aisle with his suit case banging against his knees. He was the last of the team to reach the platform. The others were already half-way to the street. He called to Perry; but Perry, waving a hand in mock horror, hurried on.
"Good game, wasn't it?" said an apologetic voice at his elbow. Even when stating facts Johnny Baffin did not seem sure of himself.
