said Jimmy.

"Except a good-looking face," said Fletcher.

"And several touchdowns last season, if I remember correctly," added the senator. "So now we know who the enemy is, let's start working on our friends. First, you must pick an inner circle-six, eight at most. They only need two qualities, energy and loyalty- if they've got brains as well, that's a bonus. How longis the campaign?"

"Just over a week. School reassembles at nine o'clock on Mon-61 day, and the vote takes place on the Tuesday morning of the following week."

"Don't think week," said the senator, "think hours, 192 of them, because every hour will count."

Jimmy began making notes.

"So who's allowed to vote?" was the senator's next question.

"Every student."

"Then make sure you spend as much time with the boys in the lower grades as with your contemporaries.

They'll be flattered that you're taking so much interest in them. And, Jimmy, get your hands on an up-to-date list of the voters, so that you can be certain to make contact with every one of them before election day. And don't forget, new boys will vote for the last person who speaks to them."

"There are 380 students," said Jimmy, unfolding a large sheet of paper on the floor, "I've marked the ones we already know in red, everyone I feel confident will support Fletcher in blue, new boys in yellow and left the rest blank."

"And if you're in any doubt," said the senator, "leave them blank, and don't forget younger brothers."

"Younger brothers?" said Fletcher.

"I've marked them in green," said Jimmy. "Every one of our supporters who has a brother in a lower grade will be appointed a rep. Their only job will be signing up support in their class and reporting back to their brothers."

Fletcher looked on with admiration. "I'm not sure it shouldn't be you who's running for president,"

he said. "You're a natural."

"No, I'm a natural campaign manager,"

said Jimmy, "it's you who should be president."

Although the senator agreed with his son's assessment, he didn't offer an opinion.

"How do you think it's going?" asked Fletcher as they walked around the lake.

"Can't be sure," Jimmy replied. "A lotof the upper-mids are telling both camps that they'll be supporting their candidate, sim-62 SONS OF FORTUNE ply because they want to be seen backing the winner.

Just be thankful that the vote isn't on Saturday evening," Jimmy added.

"Why?" asked Fletcher.

"Because we play Kent on Saturday afternoon, and if Steve Rodgers scores the winning touchdown, we could kiss goodbye to any chance of you becoming president. It's just a pity it's a home game.

If you'd been born a year earlier or a year later, it would have been an away match, and the impact would have been negligible. But as it is, every voter will be in the stadium watching the encounter, so pray we lose, or at least that Rodgers has a bad game."

By two o'clock on Saturday, Fletcher was seated in the stand, prepared for four quarters that would make up the longest hour of his life. But even he couldn't have predicted the outcome.

"I'm not sure how it will affect the vote," said Jimmy, as the two of them ran toward the exit to join up with the rest of the team. "At least Steve Rodgers can't shake hands with everyone as they leave the stadium."

"I wonder how long he'll be in the hospital." Fletcher said.

"Three days is all we need," said Jimmy.

Fletcher laughed.

Fletcher was delighted to find that his team were already well spread out by the time he joined them, and several boys came up to say they would be supporting him, although it still felt close. He never moved beyond the main exit as he continued to shake hands with any boy over the age of fourteen and under the age of eighteen, including, he suspected, a few supporters from the visiting team. Fletcher and Jimmy didn't leave until they were sure the stadium was empty of everyone except the groundsmen.

As they walked back to their rooms, Jimmyadmitted that no one could have predicted a tie, or that Rodgers would have been on his way to the local hospital before the end of the first quarter. "If the vote was tonight he'd win on sympathy. If no one sees him again before Tuesday at nine o'clock, you'll be the president."

"Doesn't ability to do the job come into the equation?"

"Of course not, you fool," said Jimmy. "This is politics."

Fletcher was invited to read the lesson in chapel that Sunday morning making it abundantly clear who the principal would have voted for. During lunch, he and Jimmy visited every dorm, to ask the boys how they felt about the food. "A sure vote winner," the senator had assured them, "even if you can't do anything about it." That evening, they climbed into bed exhausted. Jimmy set the alarm for five thirty.

Fletcher groaned.

"A master stroke," said Jimmy as they stood outside assembly the following morning waiting for the boys to go off to their classrooms.

"Brilliant," admitted Fletcher.

"I'm afraid so," said Jimmy. "Not that I can complain, because I would have recommended that you do exactly the same thing, given the circumstances."

The two of them stared across at Steve Rodgers, who was standing on crutches by the exit to the hall allowing the boys to sign their autographs on his plastered leg.

"A master stroke," repeated Jimmy. "It brings a new meaning to the sympathy vote. Perhaps we should ask the question, do you want a cripple for president?"

"One of the greatest Presidents in the history of this country was a cripple." Fletcher reminded his campaign manager.

"Then there's only one thing for it," said Jimmy, "you'll have to spend the next twenty-four hours in a wheelchair."

Although everyone knew the result wouldn't be announced until nine o'clock, the assembly hall was packed long before the principal made his entrance.

Fletcher sat in the back row, with his head bowed,while Jimmy stared directly in front of him.

"I should have got up earlier every morning" said Fletcher.

"I should have broken your leg," Jimmy responded.

The principal, accompanied by the chaplain, marched down the aisle as if to show God was somehow involved in who became president of student government at Hotchkiss. The principal Walked to the front of the stage and cleared his throat.

"The result of the election for student government president,"

said Mr. Fleming, "is Fletcher Davenport 207 votes, Steve Rodgers 173 votes. I therefore declare Fletcher Davenport to be the new president."

Fletcher immediately walked across and shook hands with Steve, who smiled warmly, looking almost relieved. Fletcher turned around to see Harry Gates standing by the door. The senator bowed respectfully to the new president.

"You never forget your first election victory," was all he said.

They both ignored Jimmy, who was leaping up and down, unable to contain himself.

"I believe you know my vice-president, sir," Fletcher replied.

"Will anyone bother to stand against you?" asked Diane Coulter.

"No one I can't beat."

"What about Nat Cartwright?"

"Not while it's known that he's the principal's favorite, and if elected will simply carry out his wishes; at least that's what my supporters are telling everyone."

"And don't let's forget the way he treated my sister."

"I thought it was you who dumped him? I didn't even realize he knew your sister."

"He didn't, but that didn't stop him trying to make a move on her when he came around to the house to see me."

"Does anyone else know about this?"

"Yes, my brother Dan. He caught him in thekitchen with his hand up her skirt. My sister complained bitterly she just couldn't stop him."

"Did she?" He paused. "Do you think your brother would be willing to back me for president?"

"Yes, but there's not much he can do while he's at Princeton."

"Oh yes there is," said Elliot. "To start with.

"Who's my main rival?" asked Nat.

"Ralph Elliot, who else?" said Tom.

"He's been working on his campaign since the beginning of last term."

"But that's against the rules."

"I don't think Elliot has ever cared much about rules, and as he knows you're far more popular than he is, we can look forward to a dirty campaign."

"But I'm not going down that road. ."

"So we'll have to take the Kennedy route."

"What do you have in mind?"

"You should open your campaign by challenging Elliot to a debate."

"He'll never accept."

"Then you win either way. If he does accept, you'll wipe the floor with him. If he doesn't, we can play the "he flunked it" card."

"So how would you set up such a challenge?"

"Send him a letter, a copy of which I'll post on the bulletin board."

"But you're not allowed to post notices without the principal's permission."

"By the time they take it down, most people will have read it, and those that haven't will want to know what it said."

"And by then I'll have been disqualified."

"Not while the principal thinks Elliot might win."

It was six thirty on the first day of term when Nat and Tom stood alone in the parking lot. The first vehicle to come through the gates was the principal's.

"Good morning, Cartwright," he barked, as he climbed out of his car, "from your excess of enthusiasmat this early hour, am I to assume that you're running for president?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent, and who is your main rival?"

"Ralph Elliot."

The principal frowned. "Then it will be a fiercely fought competition, because Elliot won't roll over easily."

"True," admitted Tom as the principal disappeared toward his study, leaving the two of them to greet the second car. The occupant turned out to be a terrified new boy, who ran away when Nat approached him, and worse, the third car was full of Elliot supporters, who quickly fanned across the parking lot, obviously having already been through a dress rehearsal.

"Damn," said Tom, "our first team meeting isn't scheduled until the ten o'clock break.

Elliot obviously briefed his team during the vacation."

"Don't worry," said Nat, "just grab our people as they get out of their cars, and put them to work immediately."

By the time the last car had disgorged its occupants, Nat had answered nearly a hundred questions and shaken hands with over three hundred boys, but only one fact became clear. Elliot was happy to promise them anything in exchange for their vote.

"Shouldn't we be letting everyone know what a sleaze-bag Elliot really is?"

"What do you have in mind?" Nat asked.

"How he cajoles new boys into parting with their allowances?"

"There's never been any proof."

"Just endless complaints."