"You're not going to talk prepared ballots and all that rot, are you?"
The guard nodded.
"I wouldn't if I were you. You've been a three-ringed pest on this thing, George, but a lot of the fellows are going to vote for you for class president. You'll just about kill your chances if you sing that song again to-day."
Praska ate in silence. Perry, construing this as acceptance of his own logic, was intensely gratified.
"I thought you'd be sensible about it," he said.
"How do you know a lot of the fellows are going to vote for me?"
"How do I know? Now, that's a question, isn't it? Haven't I been campaigning for you? Haven't I lined up about enough votes to put you over? I've done a job on this, I'll have you know."
"Getting to be a regular politician, aren't you?"
Perry swelled out his thin chest. "I'm going to make the talk in favor of having everybody just write his choice."
"I'm afraid I'll have to fight you on that. I'm still for a formal ballot."
The wind of optimism was knocked from Perry in a breath. His eyes, incredulous, searched his
