“Suits me,” said Steve.  “Tear up some pieces of paper, Perry.  We’ll each vote for the three officers, writing the names in order, then the fellow getting the most votes—­”

“I don’t know as I ought to vote,” said Neil Fairleigh, “because I’m not sure I can go.  Maybe I’d better not, eh?”

“Oh, shucks, never mind that,” replied Perry.  “You can join the club, anyway, and be a sort of non-resident member.  Here you are, fellows.  Who’s got a pen or something?”

During the ensuing two or three minutes there was comparative silence in Number 17, and while the seven occupants of the room busy themselves with pens or pencils let us look them over since we are likely to spend some time in their company from now on.

First of all there is Steve Chapman, seventeen years of age, a tall, well-built and nicely proportioned youth with black hair and eyes, a quick, determined manner and an incisive speech.  Steve was Football Captain last Fall.  Next him sits George Hanford.  Han, as the boys call him, is eighteen, also a senior, and also a football player.  He is big and rangey, good-natured and popular, and is president of the senior class.

Joe Ingersoll’s age is seventeen.  He is Steve’s junior by two months.  He is of medium height, rather thin, light complexioned and has peculiarly pale eyes behind the round spectacles he wears.  Joe is first baseman on the Nine, and a remarkably competent one.  He is slow of speech and possesses a dry humour that on occasion can be uncomfortably ironical.  Beside him, Perry Bush is a complete contrast, for Perry is large-limbed, rather heavy of build, freckle-faced, red-haired and jolly.  He has very dark blue eyes and, in spite of a moon-shaped countenance, is distinctly pleasing to look at; he is sixteen.

Neil Fairleigh and Phil Street are of an age, seventeen, but in other regards are quite unalike.  Neil is of medium height, with his full allowance of flesh, and has hair the hue of new rope and grey-blue eyes.  He is even-tempered, easy-going and, if truth must be told, somewhat lazy.  Phil Street is quite tall, rather thin and dark complexioned, a nice-looking, somewhat serious youth whose infrequent smile is worth waiting for.  He is an Honor Man, a distinction attained by no other member of our party save Steve.  The last of the seven is Oscar Brazier, and Ossie, as the boys call him, is sixteen years old, short and square, strongly-made and conspicuous for neither beauty nor scholarly attainments.  Ossie has a snub nose, a lot of rebellious brown hair, red cheeks and a wide mouth that is usually smiling.  Renowned for his good-nature, he is nevertheless a hard worker at whatever he undertakes, and if he sometimes shows a suspicious disposition it is only because his good-nature has been frequently imposed on.

When the last pencil had stopped scratching Joe gathered the slips together and after a moment’s figuring announced that Steve had been elected Number One without a dissenting vote, that he himself had been made Number Two and that Phil was Number Three.  If Perry felt disappointment he hid it, and when Phil declared that in his opinion Perry should have been elected instead of him, since Perry was, so to say, a charter member, Perry promptly disclaimed any desire of the sort.