"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 _protégé_ 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.