Part 8 (1/2)
”Well, I guess he was in better trim then,” answered Cowan. ”Besides, he's built well, you see--most of his weight below his waist; when a chap's that way it's hard to pull him over. I remember last year in the game with Erstham I got through their tackle on a guard-back play, and--”
But Neil had already heard that story of heroic deeds, and so lent a deaf ear to Cowan's boasting. When they reached Main Street a window full of the first issue of the college weekly, The Erskine Purple, met their sight, and they went in and bought copies. On the steps of the laboratory building they opened the inky-smelling journals and glanced through them.
”Here's an account of last night's election,” said Cowan. ”That's quick work, isn't it? And you can read all about Livingston's brilliant career, Gale. By the way, have you met him yet?”
Paul shook his head. ”No, and I'm bearing up under it as well as can be expected.”
”You're not missing much,” said Cowan. ”h.e.l.lo, here's the football schedule! Want to hear it?” Paul said he did, Neil muttered something unintelligible, and Cowan read as follows:
”E.C.F.B.A.
”SCHEDULE OF GAMES
”Oct. 12. Woodby at Centerport.
” 16. Dexter at Centerport.
” 23. Harvard at Cambridge.
” 26. Erstham at Centerport.
Nov. 2. State University at Centerport.
” 6. Arrowden at Centerport.
” 9. Yale at New Haven.
” 16. Artmouth at Centerport.
” 23. Robinson at Centerport.”
”By Jove!” said Cowan. ”We've got seven home games this year! That's fine, isn't it? But I'll bet we'll find Woodby a tough proposition on the 12th. Last year we played her about the 1st of November, and she didn't do a thing to us. And look at the game they've got scheduled for a week before the Robinson game! That'll wear us out; Artmouth will put just about half of our men on the sick-list. And--h.e.l.lo!” he said, dropping his voice; ”talk of an angel!”
A youth of apparently nineteen years was approaching them. He was of moderate height, rather slimly built, with dark eyes and hair, and clean-cut features. He swung a note-book in one hand, and was evidently in deep thought, for he failed to see the group on the steps, and would have pa.s.sed without speaking had not Cowan called to him. Housed from his reverie, Fanwell Livingston glanced up, and, after nodding to Cowan and Neil, turned in at the gate.
”I suppose you want congratulations,” said Cowan. ”Well, you can have mine.”
”And mine,” added Neil. ”And Gale here will extend his as soon as he's properly introduced. Mr. Gale--Mr. Livingston.”
”Victory--Defeat,” added Cowan with a grin. The two candidates for the freshman presidency shook hands, Paul without enthusiasm, Livingston heartily.
”Congratulations, of course,” murmured the former.
”Thank you,” answered the president. ”You're very generous. After all, I dare say you've got the best of it, for you'll have the satisfaction of knowing that if the fellows had chosen you you would have done much better than I shall. However, I hope we'll be friends, Mr. Gale.”
Livingston's smile was undeniably winning, and Paul was forced to return it.
”You're very good,” he answered quite affably. ”I hope we will.”
Livingston nodded, smiled again, and turned to Cowan.
”Well, they tell me you fellows are in for desperate deeds this year,”
he said.
”How's that?” asked Cowan.