In the intervals of catching and returning punts the acquaintance ripened.  When, at the end of three-quarters of an hour, Devoe gave the order to quit and the trainer sent them twice about the gridiron on a trot, Neil found Foster ambling along beside him.

“Phew!” exclaimed the latter.  “I guess I lived too high last summer and put on weight.  This is taking it out of me finely; I can feel whole pounds melting off.  It doesn’t seem to bother you any,” he added.

“No, I haven’t much flesh about me,” panted Neil; “but I’m glad this is the last time around, just the same!”

After their baths in the little green-roofed locker-house the two walked back to the yard together, Paul, as Neil saw, being in close companionship with a big youth whose name, according to Foster, was Tom Cowan.

“He played right-guard last year,” said Foster.  “He’s a soph; this is his third year.”

“Third year!” exclaimed Neil.  “But how—­”

“Oh, Cowan was too busy to pass his exams last year,” said Foster with a grin.  “So they let him stay a soph.  He doesn’t care; a little thing like that never bothers Cowan.”  His tone was rather contemptuous.

“Is he liked?” Neil asked.

“Oh, yes; he’s very popular among a small and select circle of friends—­a very small circle.”  Then he dismissed Cowan with an airy wave of one hand.  “By the way,” he continued, “have you any candidate for the presidency of your class?”

“No,” Neil replied.  “I haven’t heard anything about it yet.”

“Good; then you can vote for ‘Fan’ Livingston.  He’s a protege of mine, you see; used to know him at St. Mathias; you’ll like him.  He’s an awfully good, manly, straightforward chap, just the fellow for the place.  The election comes off next Thursday evening.  How about your friend?”

“Gale?  I don’t think he has any one in view.  I guess you can count on his vote, too.”

“Thanks; just mention it to him, will you?  I’m booming Livingston, and I want to see him win.  Can’t you come round some evening the first of the week?  I’d like you to meet him.  And meanwhile just talk him up a bit, will you?”

Neil promised and made an appointment to meet the candidate the following Saturday night at Foster’s room in McLean Hall.  The two parted at the gate, Foster going up to his room and Neil traversing the campus and the common to his own quarters.  As he opened the study door he was surprised to hear voices within.  Paul and his new acquaintance, Tom Cowan, were sitting side by side on the window-seat.

“Hello,” greeted the former.  “How’d it go?  Like old times, wasn’t it?  Neil, I want you to meet Mr. Cowan.  Cowan has quarters up-stairs here.  He’s an old player, and we’ve been telling each other how good we are.”