There was no apparent reason why they should be given, for Jerry was not on the team.
But they were given with resounding echoes, for the story of how Jerry had saved Bart to the team was all over the school by then. Only one lad refrained from joining in the cheers for Jerry, and he was Frank Watson.
“Oh, forget your grouch,” suggested Bill Hamilton. “Jerry and his chums aren’t such bad fellows, Frank.”
“I’ve got my own opinion,” was the answer of the headstrong lad.
There was a great celebration that night over the football victory, and if there were midnight lunches, Proctor Thornton did not surprise any of the feasters. Perhaps he purposely kept away.
Life went on at Boxwood Hall. It became too cold for motor boating, and the _Neboje_ was hauled out, for the lake would soon be frozen over. But the automobile was kept in use.
The Christmas holidays came, bringing a vacation which enabled the motor boys to go home, where they had glorious times.
It was a week after their return to Boxwood Hall, and the new year’s schedule of lessons was under way. President Cole, on the reassembling of the college classes, had made a plea for harder mental work, and most of the boys were buckling down to their lessons, at least for a time.
Bob, Ned and Jerry were sitting in their rooms, or rather, in Jerry’s room, one evening, studying. Finally Jerry flung his book away from him, upsetting a tumbler of water over Bob, who yelled out:
“It means I’ve just thought of something,” said Jerry.
“Well, I wish you’d keep such thoughts to yourself,” grumbled the stout lad, as he sopped up the water.
“This,” replied Jerry. “Things have been too slow around here of late. Everything has a flat taste. We are getting into a rut. No one has brought a cow, or even a goat, into a class room.”
“I was a goat in French to-day,” declared Ned. “I couldn’t get a single verb right. But go on.”
“Merely this,” said Jerry. “Let’s do something.”
“You know the Boxwood picture that hangs in chapel; don’t you?”
“That big oil portrait of Ebenezer Boxwood, founder of the college?” Ned inquired.
“Yes,” nodded Jerry. “That’s the sacred cow I refer to. Now what is the reason we can’t take that picture and hang it where all who wish may admire it? Say hoist it up on the flagpole, where it can be seen. It hangs in such a dark corner in chapel that the full beauties of it are not brought out. On the flagpole they could be seen.”