Afterward the club was agreed that many things might have happened
differently, had it not been for the affair of the class secretary.
But the affair took place, and in its effects had an importance beyond
anybody’s expectations.
As a matter of fact, class officers had little to do except in Senior
year, when the ceremonies and festivities of graduation increased their
duties. Several weeks before the troubles of the Trojan and his friends
began the Juniors’ secretary had left school, but it had been supposed
that the class would not elect a successor for the balance of the term.
There was, therefore, more or less surprise when a notice was posted,
calling a class meeting to fill the vacancy.
Sam Parker was especially disturbed. There had been some mention of
the Trojan as a candidate for secretary at the regular election at
the beginning of Senior year, and though Sam himself, as well as some
of the other members of the club, expected to transfer to St. Mark’s,
a famous fitting school, for the last year of their preparation for
college, Walker had intended to finish the course at the high school.
In the call for a special election Sam saw a hostile move: the Trojan,
in official disgrace, could hardly hope to be chosen, while the
successful candidate would, doubtless, seek reëlection in Senior year
with the prestige of one victory.
Sam had been having his full share of difficulty, anyway, in dealing
with the Trojan. Walker had taken greatly to heart what he considered
the essential injustice of his treatment, and though he kept his
pledge not to leave the school, there was little energy in his work.
From Latin recitations he was barred, as we know. In the case of the
others he did little more than file appearance. Sam, doing his best to
encourage his chum, was alarmed by the probable results of the class
meeting and the almost certain slight upon the Trojan.
The club held council, and bade Sam have charge of the campaign.
Accordingly, he took special care to be early at the meeting, and, as
soon as it was opened, to offer a resolution to delay action on the
choice of a temporary secretary. Step lost no time in seconding the
motion.
But if the club had laid its plans, so, too, had the opposition. Two or
three boys spoke against postponement. They were influential fellows as
it chanced, and their words carried weight. Then one of the girls took
the floor, and made a strong plea for immediate action. Sam, keenly
watching his classmates, gained two distinct impressions. One was that
sentiment was overwhelmingly against him; the other, that though Zorn
took no part in the debate, he was the guiding spirit of the other
side; for once or twice questioning glances were turned upon him and
were met by a nod or a shake of the head, as the case might be.
When Sam’s motion was put to a vote, it met defeat. The chorus of
“Noes” gave unmistakable evidence of the prevailing sentiment. Then the
class president called for nominations for secretary.
Somebody in the rear of the room sang out “Scrub Payne!” Two or three
others seconded the nomination almost simultaneously.
“Anybody else?” inquired the president.
Jack Hagle rose to his feet. “I--I want to nominate Trojan Walker,” he
said, unsteadily.
Sam whirled in his seat to stare at Hagle, who took special pains to
avoid his eye.
“Nomination seconded?” asked the president briskly.
Sam sent a warning glance at his club-mates. His wits were working, and
realizing that the Trojan could not be elected, he meant to do his best
to spare him the humiliation of a defeat.
“Seconded!”
Again it was a contribution from the back of the room; Sam was not sure
which of a group of half a dozen boys spoke.
“Any further nominations?” queried the president. “If not, we will
proceed to vote.”
Sam sprang up. “I wish to withdraw Walker’s name,” he said. “He is not
a candidate.”
A murmur of surprise greeted the statement. Plainly enough, this was an
unexpected development.
The president’s face betrayed perplexity. Sam made a shrewd guess
at the situation: Joe Carson had won the presidency by courting
popularity, and this seemed to be turning into an affair in which that
popularity might suffer.
“Yes, I withdraw Walker’s name,” Sam repeated.
“Why--why--I hardly know----” the president began.
“Wait a minute, Carson--Mr. President, I mean,” interposed Zorn. “Let
Walker speak for himself.”
“He isn’t here--as you mighty well know!” cried Sam hotly.
The chairman rapped sharply with his gavel. “Order, please! Let’s do
this according to the rules. Zorn has the floor.”
“I won’t need it long,” said Zorn coolly. “My point is a simple one.
When a fellow has been nominated and seconded, he has to be voted
on unless he himself withdraws. And if Walker doesn’t want to be
considered, he ought to have been willing to take the trouble to come
here and say so. Everybody knows his crowd has been booming him for
this job. If he’s changed his mind, why isn’t he here to let us know
about it?”
Now, as it chanced, Sam had not urged the Trojan’s attendance, and,
indeed, had deemed it wiser that he stay away from the meeting. This
was hardly a matter for public discussion, however. Step saved the
situation by creating a diversion. Up he shot like a jack in the box.
“This is a shame!” he shouted. “It’s a set-up job! I won’t stand for
it! Everybody knows Zorn’s a trouble maker, but I didn’t know till now
he could bamboozle nearly the whole class into helping in his dirty
work!”
The chairman’s gavel was beating a tattoo on his desk. Sam caught
Step’s coat and dragged him down into his seat. Zorn scowled, but kept
his head.
“I say that in Walker’s absence nobody is entitled to speak for him
without his authority--ought to be in writing, at that.”
The president caught at the suggestion. “You make that a point of
order?”
“Yes,” said Zorn.
Carson turned to Sam. “Have you any authority?”
“Sure he has!” Step broke in; but the declaration went unheeded.
“I’ve no authority, in writing,” Sam said quietly. “But I don’t need
it. I don’t admit Zorn’s point is well taken.”
“I rule it is,” said the president.
“Then I’ll appeal to the class.”
But the class was not with Sam. The vote against him and in support of
the chair was five or six to one.
Step groaned loudly. Then informally but perfectly audibly he expressed
his opinion of plots and plotters. Angry murmurs rose from the other
side. The chairman pounded the desk lustily.
Orkney with difficulty gained recognition.
“I move we adjourn,” he said.
“Second the motion!” cried Poke.
“Mr. President, that’s out of order,” Zorn objected.
“Motion to adjourn’s always in order,” Sam insisted.
“Not with the vote on a secretary pending--you can’t side-track it that
way.”
By this time half a dozen members of the class were on their feet.
Parliamentary practice was supposed to be one of the benefits of these
meetings, and this day the Juniors were trying to put to use all they
knew about methods of procedure.
Carson was not enjoying his authority as presiding officer, but in his
desire to stand with the majority made up his mind to rule Orkney’s
resolution out of order.
Tumult greeted his announcement. Zorn and his followers applauded;
Step, Poke, Herman Boyd and Orkney made loud protest. The Shark,
unmoved, calmly watched the proceedings through his big spectacles. Sam
was busy with plans for the next move. He understood perfectly that
the voting strength was against him; that a carefully arranged plan to
humiliate the Trojan, and through him the Safety First Club, was being
carried out; that he could not avert the election of a secretary, and
that all that was left for him was to soften the blow so far as he
might.
“Vote! Vote now!” Somebody raised the cry, and many voices repeated it.
The Shark rose in leisurely fashion. Somehow, though he did not seem to
raise his voice, he managed to make himself heard.
“Written ballots, then--do it the right way!”
“No, no!” “What’s the use?” “Make it a standing vote!” There was a
medley of objections.
Sam gratefully caught at the Shark’s hint. He had no hope, now, of
avoiding defeat, but it flashed upon him that a secret vote would give
opportunity to learn the real division of sentiment in the class.
There might be a number of boys and girls who would yield to popular
clamor, if called upon to declare themselves openly, but who would vote
according to their true preferences under the protection of a secret
ballot.
“Except by unanimous consent otherwise, elections have to be by
ballot,” he declared, vigorously.
Carson hesitated. Before he could speak, the Shark cut in:
“Of course! Rule--rule everywhere!”
“Show us the rule!” somebody called out.
“No need--if you know anything, you know I’m right,” said the Shark
contemptuously, and sat down.
Zorn shrugged his shoulders, as if the point at issue had little
interest; and the president, upon whom the demonstration was not lost,
reached decision.
“We’ll take a ballot. I’ll appoint Bert Brown and Herman Boyd tellers.
They can prepare the slips, and then collect and count them.”
As the two boys named went forward to the desk, Step whispered to Sam:
“What shall we do? Cast blanks? We’re licked, anyway.”
Sam shook his head. “No; we’ll see how many friends we have left. If it
had been a standing vote, we might have let it go by default, but now I
want to find out what the line-up is.”
With Sam, Orkney, Step, Poke, Herman and the Shark, the club could
count upon six votes for the Trojan. The tally gave him five
more--eleven in all. Scrub Payne had forty-one.
The meeting was over, and the club had fared badly. Sam and his
friends were close together when they left the room; and it is to be
related that nobody tried to force his company upon them. Just then
the line was very sharply drawn between the two factions into which
the class had divided. In fact, as if to emphasize the division, while
the club kept on the right side of the street, the great body of the
other party chose the left in leaving the school grounds. Step, in a
fine rage, was vowing vengeance on Zorn and the rest, Herman and Poke
occasionally adding suggestions of ways and means. Orkney and the Shark
trudged along in silence, which in the case of the former had a touch
of doggedness. The Shark appeared to be merely indifferent. Sam began
to lag a little. There were perhaps a dozen stragglers, who could not
be said to have attached themselves to either of the rival groups, and
among these, no doubt, were the five outsiders who had voted with the
club. Sam tried to puzzle out which had been his allies. The meeting
had made it evident that the feud which had developed in the class was
serious enough to indicate a long struggle; and he was anxious to know
whom he could depend upon.
As a matter of fact, his observations brought him little light. Some
fellows whom he had deemed his very good friends were openly with Zorn;
two or three others--among them Jack Hagle--with whom he had not been
on especially good terms, were among the stragglers. So busy was he
with his problem that he failed to notice that he had fallen quite a
distance behind his club-mates, and had been passed by one or two of
the strays. He did observe, however, that Hagle was beginning to sidle
toward him.
Wondering what might be in the wind, Sam slackened his pace. Hagle
drew nearer. What Sam sometimes had called his “hang-dog” manner was
peculiarly in evidence. For a moment or two the pair walked side by
side. Then Hagle spoke, nervously, propitiatingly:
“Say, Parker! I--I voted for Walker.”
Sam turned and stared at him. “You? You----”
“Yes, I did!”
“Well, why in thunder shouldn’t you?” Sam demanded with sudden heat.
“You’d got him into the mess by nominating him, hadn’t you?”
“I--I thought he ought to have it.”
Sam laughed harshly. “Tell that to somebody else! Much you thought
about what he ought to have! All you and your crowd wanted was to put
him up so that you could knock him down!”
“But I voted for him, I tell you!” Hagle protested.
“Then Zorn ordered you to do that, too.”
Hagle reddened, but would not meet Sam’s gaze.
“’Tisn’t so! He didn’t want me to----” There he checked himself.
“He--he--I mean, I acted on my own hook. Zorn didn’t make me do it. The
class has been talking Walker for secretary for weeks, and--and--say,
Parker, I figured that because he’s down on his luck, he--he’d feel
better if something came his way. I was square about it.”
“Bosh! You knew the game had been fixed to beat him!”
Hagle wriggled. “I knew Scrub Payne was going to run, but I thought
Walker ought to have his show. Look here! I--I’m awfully sorry about
the whole business--about all Walker’s troubles. It--it’s mighty hard
luck for him.”
“It surely is!” said Sam drily.
Hagle began to edge away. “I voted for him, and I wanted to tell you
so. That--that’s all.”
“You’ve told!” Sam growled.
The other widened the distance between them. “Well, that--that’s all
I’ve got to say,” he mumbled.
Sam made no answer. Hagle seemed to expect none, for he continued to
draw away from the leader of the Safety First Club, and did not look
back.