THE EXPLOSION.
Jack Kenny, arrayed in his well-worn, faded football togs, sat lacing up
his shoes. He was feeling fine. His grouch of the night before had
pretty well worn off, and, as he pulled the laces tight, he warbled a
little ditty which had just been going the rounds of New Haven:
“There was a girl in our town,
And she was good to scan.
She spent her days in playing games
Where she got lots of tan.
And when she saw the tan was on,
With all her might and main,
She rushed into a beauty shop
And took it off again.”
The air was insidiously catchy, and, without realizing it, most of the
dozen fellows who thronged the locker room in various stages of undress,
hustling to clothe themselves for the afternoon practice, began to hum
it.
Kenny stood up and stamped each foot hard. Then, in his droning,
monotonous undertone—he had very little voice and less ear—he commenced
the second verse:
“There was a girl in our town
Built on a mammoth plan.”
Then the fellows woke up.
“Cut it out!”
“Shut up!”
“Close your trap, you old idiot!”
“You sound like a scissor grinder!”
Kenny ceased his musical efforts and looked around in wild-eyed
surprise.
“Thought you liked it,” he grinned. “You were all humming it to beat the
cars.”
“Of course we were!” retorted Rudolph Rose. “Why wouldn’t we when you
start us going?”
“I’d just got the beastly thing out of my head after whistling it the
whole blessed morning,” grumbled Teddy Baxter, “when you had to go and
begin it again.”
“Too bad,” Kenny sighed with suspicious meekness. “I won’t do it again.”
But the mischief was already done. All the way out to the gridiron some
one would burst out every now and then with a few bars, and then
suddenly close his jaws with a vicious snap and glare at the innocent
quarter back.
The latter took his place in the line quickly. He had resolved to keep a
good hold on his temper, and if Tempest was only halfway decent things
would go all right. He did not want to precipitate an outbreak, for he
knew that it would only make a bad matter worse.
“There are only a few days more,” he thought to himself, “and then it
will be all over. I’ll try and be good unless he shoves me too hard.”
Unfortunately, the captain of the varsity was not in the best of humors.
He had been worrying over a certain complicated pass, which he wanted to
use in the great game, but of which he felt rather doubtful. He knew its
value if it were only properly done, but he wasn’t at all sure that the
fellows were familiar enough with it to have it at their fingers’ ends.
Consequently he was a bit short in his manner when he ordered Kenny to
start out with that play.
“Fool!” grumbled the quarter back to himself. “Don’t he give me credit
for any sense? He might have known after the way things were left
yesterday that I’d start out with that pass. You might think this was a
kindergarten!”
He crouched, ripped out the signal, took the ball from Baulsir, and
slammed it to Baxter, who passed close behind him. It was a fair pass,
and the play went through successfully.
“Try it again,” ordered Tempest, as they lined up after the down.
“Little more ginger, Kenny. Don’t hold onto the ball quite so long this
time.”
Kenny flushed.
“What the mischief do you want me to do with it?” he snapped. “I can’t
very well pass it until Baxter gets within reach.”
“You know what I mean,” returned the captain shortly. “All ready, now.”
Kenny ground his teeth and bit his lips to keep back the retort which
was trembling on them.
“Gee! I’d like to give you one that would spoil that ugly mug of yours!”
he thought angrily.
This time his movements were like chain lightning. Snatching the ball
from Baulsir, he slammed it back so swiftly that Baxter, who was not
quite ready for it, clutched wildly for it, stumbled, staggered, and
only retained his hold on the slippery pigskin by a tremendous effort.
There was a momentary delay which gave the scrub a chance to lunge
forward, and the result was that the pass netted barely a yard, before
the down.
Tempest’s eyes flashed.
“Worse than before!” he exclaimed. “Why don’t you use a little judgment,
Kenny?”
The quarter back whirled around and faced him.
“Why don’t you give me a chance?” he retorted. “The way you’ve been
playing the game lately, it looks to me as if you didn’t expect any one
to have a grain of sense except yourself.”
Tempest’s face hardened. He opened his lips as though he were about to
make a sharp retort and then shut them with a snap.
“That’ll about do for you!” he said, in a hard voice. “Go over that pass
again, and do it right this time.”
Jack Kenny’s face was scarlet. His lips trembled and he was evidently
having a struggle to contain himself. Finally, with tightly clenched
fists, he turned his back to the captain and crouched in his place.
“By thunder!” he muttered. “I can’t stand much more of that. Just about
one more of those remarks and something will happen.”
This time the pass went through without any criticism on the part of Don
Tempest. He seemed to realize that he had been rather too hasty, and for
a time he restrained his very evident desire to dictate to the quarter
back.
Kenny kept at the pass until the fellows had it down like clockwork. For
a time he was obstinately determined not to leave it until Tempest gave
the word. The latter had been running things to suit himself. Let him
decide what he wanted done.
Presently, however, the quarter back realized the childishness of such
methods of procedure. Tempest’s interference was the very thing which
had made him so sore, and now he was simply playing into the captain’s
hands by his foolishness.
Consequently, when he was sure that the pass had been thoroughly
mastered, he gave the signal for the crisscross play which had used up
so much time the day before. He did not consider it of very much value.
From its very nature, they could not use it more than twice at the most,
during the entire game; but so much stress had been laid on it yesterday
that he went through it a number of times until he felt that the men had
it thoroughly in their heads. Then he branched out into something else.
For a time Tempest made no comment, though the fellows noticed that he
was getting more and more uneasy. They could see no particular reason
for it. Kenny seemed to be doing well enough. He was going through all
the passes and runs and formations which had been practiced so much for
two weeks back, alternating them with skill and judgment. It was a sort
of general review of the plays which they would use against Harvard, and
the quarter back felt that it was good season they went through it;
instead of spending all their time on one or two formations.
The shadows began to lengthen across the field. Presently the sun
dropped behind the west grand stand, and twilight swiftly gathered.
Still Kenny kept up his general tactics without returning to the double
pass or the crisscross which had used up so much of the afternoon. At
length, just as they were lining up after a round-the-end run, Tempest
spoke up again.
“Give us that crisscross again,” he said shortly.
“Bah!” grumbled Kenny, without turning. “You and your old crisscross!”
Tempest’s ears seemed to be abnormally sharp.
“What did you say?” he snapped.
His nerves were a little on edge from the mental strain and worry he had
been under for the past few weeks, and probably his voice was sharper
and more domineering than he realized. At all events, it was the last
straw. Kenny straightened up and turned slowly around to face the
captain. His face was a little pale and his lips firmly set.
“I said, ‘Hang you and your old crisscross,’” he returned deliberately.
“We’ve wasted three-quarters of an hour on it already this afternoon,
and the fellows couldn’t get it any smoother if they tried.”
Tempest’s face grew hard and set.
“Who’s running this team, Kenny?” he demanded. “You or I?”
“You seem to be making a pretty good stab at running the team and
everybody on it!” the quarter back burst out, throwing caution to the
winds. “You make me sick with your eternal butting in. You don’t give a
fellow credit for a grain of sense. It’s ‘Kenny do this, Kenny do that,’
the whole enduring time. You might think I was a machine that wouldn’t
work until you turned the crank. How do you expect to make out in the
game, I’d like to know? You’ll have to keep your mouth shut then. If you
don’t think I’m good enough for the job, why in thunder don’t you throw
me out and take it yourself? But no, that wouldn’t do. The trouble with
you, Don Tempest, is that you want to run the whole lot of us as if we
were a flock of sheep without any ideas of our own, and a nice mess
you’ll make of it. Look at the Princeton game! I’ve stood about all of
your domineering ways I’m going to for one afternoon. You can turn to
and be quarter yourself, and see how you like it!”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and started toward the track
house at a rapid stride.
For a moment not a sound broke the stillness. Tempest glared after the
retreating Kenny as if he would liked to throttle him. The other members
of the team stood silent, shifting from one foot to the other, waiting
for the explosion with mixed expressions. Some seemed rather pleased
than otherwise at the turn things had taken, while others, realizing the
gravity of the situation, looked serious.
“You blamed little runt!” exploded Tempest as soon as he got his breath.
“If I don’t——”
He broke off abruptly as Dick Merriwell stepped quickly to his side and
touched his arm warningly. A few swift, whispered words passed between
the two. Dick seemed to be urging something to which the captain at
length reluctantly agreed.
“That’ll do for to-day,” he said shortly, his eyes sweeping over the
faces of the waiting men. “Three o’clock to-morrow, sharp!”
The group instantly melted away, most of the men being eager to get out
of earshot to talk over this new, and not altogether unexpected,
development. Dick, Tempest, and the coaches remained behind.
“It’s a case of insubordination, pure and simple!” the captain burst
out. “He’ll have to go!”
There was no word of acquiescence from the men around him, and Tempest
flashed a swift glance of surprise at their serious faces.
“You don’t agree with me?” he questioned shortly.
“Where are you going to get another quarter at this stage of the game?”
growled Bill Fullerton, the head coach.
“Why, Gillis, of the scrub,” Tempest answered. “He knows all the signals
and has the plays down pat.”
Almost in spite of himself, however, there was an undercurrent of doubt
in his voice.
“Punk along side of Kenny,” Fullerton said tersely.
“But I can’t take that line of talk and do nothing,” protested Tempest.
“In twenty-four hours there wouldn’t be any discipline left.”
He glanced at Merriwell questioningly, expecting confirmation of his
views, but Dick slowly shook his head.
“It wouldn’t do, Don,” he said slowly. “At least, not at this late day.
If we had a couple of weeks before the game, Gillis might be hammered
into shape; but it would be suicidal to put him in Kenny’s place now.”
He hesitated a moment and then went on quietly:
“I hate butting in, old fellow, but once in a while a chap’s got to. You
don’t mind if I speak rather freely, do you, Don?”
Tempest shook his head, but it was plain from the expression on his face
that advice was not especially palatable.
“Spit it out, Dick,” he returned shortly.
“It’s just this, Don,” Merriwell explained. “I think that, in a way,
you’re a little to blame for Kenny’s flare-up. He’s been sore for quite
some time. I’ve been watching him closely, and I rather expected the
outbreak would come before this. The reason why it didn’t was because
Jack was doing his best to keep his temper. I think he realized, as well
as you or I could, the folly, even danger, of a split in the team at
this juncture; and I honestly believe that he kept a grip on himself
until he simply couldn’t hold in any longer.”
Tempest’s face darkened.
“That’s a pretty hard one on me, Merriwell,” he said quickly. “You imply
that I practically drove him to the wall.”
“In a way, yes,” Dick answered. “Of course it wasn’t intentional on your
part. I don’t mean that, at all. I don’t suppose you’ve realized it, old
man, but you have been putting in your oar lately a little bit more than
is wise. No doubt you’ve seen the value of certain plays, which,
perhaps, haven’t appealed to Kenny, and have consequently harped on them
more than you have any idea of. You’ve lost track of the fact that Jack
is one of the ablest, most brainy quarters we’ve ever had, and that he
should be entitled to do a little thinking on his own hook. Besides, no
fellow, no matter how much of a dub he may be, likes to be constantly
pounded and hammered at before the whole team. Most men have to be
handled with a little diplomacy and tact—taken aside, you know, and
perhaps asked their advice as to the value of a certain play or
formation, instead of being ordered to do thus and so without having any
reason given them. Perhaps that method doesn’t appeal to you, but I have
found it much the simplest and effective way of getting results.
“The fellow is a bit flattered at having his opinion consulted. He does
what you want willingly, and half the time he thinks that it is his own
idea. Everybody is happy and the goose hangs high. Of course, you
haven’t realized it, but really, Don, you’ve been pretty sharp and
domineering for the past two weeks. I have a notion that the big game
has got on your nerves a trifle, and that, in your anxiety to prepare
against any contingency, you’ve gone at the fellows in a way which has
made others than Jack Kenny sore.”
He stopped, and for a time no one spoke. Then Bill Fullerton nodded his
head emphatically.
“That’s the talk!” he said decidedly. “Lead ’em, don’t try to drive ’em,
and you get better results. Let me do the driving when it is necessary.”
Tempest’s face was a study. Chagrin and anger struggled with a dawning
realization that Merriwell had spoken the truth. He was a fellow who
hated to be given advice, but he was also fair-minded enough to know
that Dick was not the sort who would speak as he had unless there was a
great need for it.
“I suppose you’re right, Merriwell,” he said slowly, at length. “A
fellow looking on can get a much better idea of the real state of
affairs than one who is taking part in them. Perhaps I have been too
sharp and quick in the way I’ve handled the boys, but, somehow, it isn’t
my way to get around a man in the manner you suggest. If I’m running the
team, well and good. But if the fellows begin to question my orders,
it’s about time I stepped out.”
“Nonsense!” Merriwell exclaimed. “You don’t get what I mean at all. I
hadn’t the slightest notion of your submitting to dictation from anybody
in your management. But there are more methods than one of getting your
way, and I think you’ll find that a little persuasion will go
considerably farther than downright bullyragging. You don’t mean it that
way, of course, but that’s how it appears to some of the men. Don’t
let’s have any more talk about your stepping out. Nobody’s going to do
that. This thing has got to be patched up or we’ll lose the game on
Saturday, the surest thing you know. All you’ve got to do is to take
things a little easier. Don’t try to run the whole team. It’s a wonder
you’re not a wreck now, the way you’ve tried to take everything on your
shoulders.”
“But I can’t help worrying about things,” Tempest protested. “I can’t
help seeing where they don’t go right, and trying my best to remedy
them.”
“You try too hard,” Dick retorted. “If you think it over, you’ll realize
that Kenny’s got brains enough to come out all right if he’s let alone.
You’re not going to try any more new stunts, and the boys have got the
others down to a point where their work couldn’t be very much improved
on. At least, try my plan, Don. Let Jack have his own way for a day or
so, and see if I’m not right—see if he doesn’t show results. He’s got to
play the game practically alone on Saturday. And it’s only fair that he
have his chance for the rest of the week.”
In his eagerness to make his point of view plain, Dick had spoken rather
more emphatically than he intended. He realized this, and went on
quickly:
“You mustn’t mind if I’m a bit sharp, Don. I haven’t minced matters
because I wanted to put things plainly to you. If we can only keep
things running smoothly and prevent such disagreements as this, there
isn’t a doubt in my mind that we’ll put it all over Harvard. But you
know yourself that with a team at loggerheads, when every fellow is
taking sides and questioning the ability of the man at the helm, there
isn’t a ghost of a show for good work. Think it over, old fellow, and
see if I’m not right. It’s only three days now before the game. See if
you can’t manage to hold in for that short time, and we won’t have any
more trouble.”
Tempest looked up with a wry smile on his face.
“I reckon I’ll have to,” he said slowly, “or there won’t be any team
left. How about Kenny, though? Will he come back?”
Merriwell’s lips straightened out in a firm line.
“I’ll see to him,” he said quickly. “I don’t think there’s any doubt
about that.”
Fullerton gave a grunt of relief as they started toward the track house.
Thanks to Merriwell, it looked as if serious trouble had been averted.
Jack Kenny did not appear at the training table that night. His absence
was not commented upon by the other men, who knew the reason quite well.
There was an atmosphere of doubt and suspense over everything, which
persistently refused to be cleared away. Had the quarter back left the
team for good? Had he been fired off? What had taken place between
Merriwell, Tempest, and the coaches after the majority of the men had
left the field that afternoon?
These and a dozen other vital questions were whispered by various
fellows to their neighbors; but no one felt like propounding them to the
principals in the affair, who did not volunteer any information.
Directly the gloomy meal was over, Dick hurried across the campus to
Vanderbilt and ascended to Kenny’s rooms. He found the quarter back sunk
into the depths of a big chair, his face black as a thundercloud.
He looked up quickly as Merriwell entered in response to his gruff
invitation, and shook his head emphatically.
“Isn’t a bit of use, Dick,” he said positively. “You’re just wasting
your time.”
Merriwell smiled.
“You old idiot!” he exclaimed, dropping down in a chair opposite Kenny.
“Have you any idea what you’re talking about?”
The quarter back pursed up his lips firmly.
“You’re after me to make it up with that fool Tempest,” he returned
quickly. “But I won’t do it! I’ve stood about all of his lip that I’m
going to. It’s nearly drove me insane.”
Dick crossed his legs and linked his hands loosely over one knee.
“It was pretty trying, wasn’t it?” he said quietly. “But you know, old
man, Tempest didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just his way. He’s so keen
about the game Saturday, and so afraid we won’t get those plays into our
nuts, that he forgets everything else.”
“The deuce he does!” retorted Kenny. “He’s done nothing but hammer and
pound at me since he came back on the field. You might think I didn’t
have any sense at all. It’s nag, nag, nag the whole time. ‘Do this, do
that,’ without giving a fellow a chance to do it himself. What am I
quarter for, I’d like to know, if I can’t use a little judgment? I’ve
played football as long as he has, and been on the varsity longer, yet
he treats me like a perfect kid. I tell you, Dick, I won’t stand for it
any longer. I—don’t care if I am—out of the game—Saturday.”
Despite his accents of bravado, Kenny’s voice faltered a little at the
end. Merriwell leaned forward earnestly.
“Jack, you don’t mean that,” he exclaimed; “you can’t mean it!”
The quarter back nodded emphatically.
“Yes, I do,” he said.
But there was almost a sob in his voice. Angry and excited as he had
been up to this point, leaving the team seemed the only natural thing to
do.
Merriwell’s face grew very serious.
“You can’t realize what you’re saying, Jack,” he said, in a low, clear
voice. “You can’t possibly be in earnest when you talk about leaving the
team four days before the great game of the season. Surely you know, old
fellow, that such a step would give Harvard the victory as certain as
fate. We haven’t any one who could possibly take your place and run
things the way you do. Gillis hasn’t got the head. That isn’t soft soap;
it’s the truth.”
Kenny’s slim fingers were busy tracing intricate patterns on the
upholstered arm of the chair. His eyes were averted.
“Gillis could do what I’ve been doing for the past two weeks,” he
muttered, in a low tone. “Any dub could do that. Tempest don’t want a
fellow to think for himself.”
“Did you ever try and put yourself in Don Tempest’s place, Jack?” Dick
asked swiftly. “Did you ever try and figure out what sort of a man he
was—what kind of a mind he has, I mean?”
The quarter back shot a swift glance at Merriwell’s face and then
dropped his eyes.
“He’s got a cursed domineering mind, I know that much,” he growled.
“That’s the way it might appear sometimes,” Dick returned; “but you
haven’t got deep enough. He’s a fellow with splendid executive ability,
with a wonderfully far-seeing mind and immense talent for the strategy
of football. Surely you’ll admit that.”
“He has doped out some pretty good stunts,” Kenny acknowledged
grudgingly.
“Of course he has. He’s amazingly clever at that. And it’s about those
very stunts that he makes his great mistake. His mind is so wrapped up
in the results he wants to get that he doesn’t care how he gets them.
Moreover, he’s intolerant of advice——”
“And mighty quick about giving it to others,” flashed Kenny viciously.
Dick repressed a quick smile. The quarter back’s manner was so like that
of a peevish child that he could not help being amused. But the feeling
was only momentary. The situation was far too serious for trifling.
“I know that,” he returned quickly, “and that’s what I told him this
afternoon.”
“Humph!” grunted Kenny, looking up swiftly. “I’m glad you did that much.
I’m glad he realizes that somebody besides me has noticed the way he’s
been going on. What did he say to that?”
“He hadn’t realized how far his enthusiasm and earnestness had carried
him,” Merriwell explained. “You see, Jack, Don is a fellow who commands
by sheer force of will. We have made him captain of the team, and he
expects to be obeyed implicitly and without question when he has decided
what he thinks is the right course. Another man might get his way by a
more sympathetic, tactful appeal; but Don can’t—he doesn’t know how.
That quick, sharp manner, which seems so imperious and domineering, is
unfortunate, but it’s just as much a part of his make-up as any
unpleasant traits of character which you or I possess are parts of ours,
and it’s just as hard to overcome. He doesn’t really mean anything by
it, and I think after the talk we had to-day he’ll do his very best to
modify it, if not cut it out altogether. I’ve been expecting you’d flare
up before this, Jack. If you hadn’t had great self-control, you would
have, for there was every provocation in the world; but you’ll find
things pleasanter from now on. You’re not thinking about deserting the
bunch now, are you?”
Kenny hesitated an instant and then looked up at Merriwell, with a
rather shamefaced expression.
“No, I reckon not,” he replied, in a low tone. “I don’t suppose I really
could have left the team in cold blood, but I was so blazing mad with
Tempest I was ready to do anything. Besides, I was pretty sure he’d fire
me off after what I said on the field.”
Dick wisely refrained from telling him that such had been Tempest’s
first intention. Springing to his feet, he gave the quarter back a
hearty slap on the shoulders.
“I knew you weren’t the sort to throw us down that way,” he smiled.
“Well, I must run along. Practice at three to-morrow.”
“All right, I’ll be there,” Kenny said, with a return of his usual
cheerful manner; “only, Dick——”
He paused, and Merriwell turned back from the door.
“Yes?” he questioned.
“You know I can’t promise to behave myself if Tempest starts in on his
old tricks,” the quarter back said hesitatingly. “I’ve held in so long
that my nerves are worn to a frazzle, and it wouldn’t take a whole lot
to start me going.”
“Don’t worry,” Dick smiled. “I don’t think there’ll be any more trouble,
but if Don should get a little aggravating try and remember what I told
you. It isn’t really his fault, and he doesn’t mean anything by it. Just
grin and bear it. We all have our troubles, you know.”
“Sure,” grinned Kenny. “Well, I’ll try my best. Good night.”
When the door had closed behind Merriwell, Kenny dropped back into his
chair, a smile still on his lips. The change of heart which Dick had
brought about was a distinct relief to the quarter back.
Looking at it in cold blood, he shuddered at his narrow escape. What an
awful thing it would have been if he had really thrown up his place on
the varsity. The thought of having the contest with Harvard take place,
and he not on the team, was appalling and sent an icy shiver up and down
his spine. That was the event to which they all looked forward eagerly
from the very beginning of the season. It was the culmination—the finish
of all things; and this game would indeed be the finish for him. It was
his last year. Never again would he have a chance to face the wearers of
the crimson. Not to have played on Saturday would have broken his heart.
He was still turning the matter over in his mind when there came a quick
knock at the door.
“Come in,” he called.
The door swung open and Clarence Carr, blithe, brusque, and smiling,
entered the room.
“Hello!” greeted Kenny, springing to his feet. “Come in and rest your
face and hands.”
“Didn’t expect to see me quite so soon, did you?” smiled the older man.
“But I had an hour to spare, so I thought I’d take advantage of your
invitation and look you up.”
“Glad you did,” Kenny returned cordially, taking the other’s overcoat
and hat. “Sit down and smoke one of your own cigars. That sounds pretty
inhospitable, but, not indulging in them, I don’t keep any on hand.”
Carr dropped into a chair and took out a weed.
“You didn’t put your foot into it the way one of the boys down in Wall
Street did the other day,” he remarked. “He’s a pretty gay bird
generally, but doesn’t happen to smoke. One of the brokers offered him a
cigar, which he declined with a virtuous air. ‘No, thanks,’ he says,
‘I’m not addicted to the vice.’ That naturally got the other fellow’s
goat. ‘It isn’t a vice,’ he snapped back, ‘or you probably would be.’
The drinks were on Harry that time.”
Kenny laughed and settled down comfortably on the couch. He had taken a
decided fancy to this fresh, breezy man of the world, who seemed to go
through life in such a jolly, good-tempered way.
“Well, how’d things go to-day?” Carr asked presently, in a casual tone.
“Any more rows?”
Kenny hesitated and a slow flush crept into his face.
“We did have it pretty hot toward the end,” he confessed. “I flared up
and gave Tempest a piece of my mind, and then left the field just about
ready to throw the whole thing up.”
A look of genuine anxiety flashed into Carr’s face.
“Oh, thunder!” he exclaimed quickly. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?
Why, it would just about give Harvard the game!”
“I’m not going to—no,” Kenny returned. “I’ve seen since then that I
couldn’t, of course; but I was so blooming mad at the time that I was
ready for anything.”
The broker sank back in his chair with a sigh of relief.
“Gee! You gave me a start,” he confessed. “I thought for a minute you
still meant that, and I certainly don’t want to see old Yale licked.”
He took a meditative puff on his cigar and then went on rather casually:
“Well, what was the trouble to-day? That captain of yours been
interfering again?”
“He sure has,” Kenny returned. “It would take the patience of Job to put
up with him.”
His face darkened at the remembrance of Tempest’s nagging. Though he had
promised Dick he would remain with the team, and was more than thankful
he had done so, his dislike for Tempest was not in the least lessened.
The feeling of soreness and sense of unfair treatment had grown so
gradually, and had been resolutely repressed for so long, that when it
finally broke forth into a flame it was far too strong to be quenched
readily, and, almost before he knew it, the quarter back found himself
narrating the whole unpleasant series of incidents to this new friend
who seemed so interested and so sympathetic.
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Carr, when the story was finished. “I certainly
don’t blame you for raising a row. This Tempest must be a fearful
aggravating blade. What are you going to do about it?”
“Well, I’ll have to put up with it, I reckon,” Kenny said hesitatingly.
“Merriwell says he gave him a good talking to and thinks he’ll hold his
jaw and keep his hands off for a while; but I tell you this much, if he
starts in with his nagging to-morrow I shan’t be responsible for what I
do.”
“I should say not!” the broker exclaimed. “It’s a wonder to me you’ve
held in as long as you have. I’m afraid I’d have blown up when he first
started in to bulldoze.”
“I felt like it, you’d better believe,” Kenny returned; “but I didn’t
want to start a row. That sort of thing doesn’t do any good to the work
of a team.”
“No, of course not,” agreed Carr.
He smoked for a few moments in thoughtful silence.
“How’d he ever come to be made captain?” he mused presently. “I should
think your temperament was much better suited for the position than
his.”
Kenny flushed with pleasure at this remark.
“It was pretty close,” he answered; “but the fellows must have thought
he was better qualified. There’s certainly no doubt about his ability as
a strategist, or his thorough knowledge of the game.”
“But that’s very far from being everything,” Carr said quickly. “The
captain of a football team, or any other, for that matter, should have
tact. He should know more than anything else, almost, how to handle his
men to get the best results from their working together as a single
unit. Apparently Tempest doesn’t possess this qualification, but, from
even the little I know of you, I should imagine you would have no such
difficulties as he has run up against in that regard. You don’t mind my
talking in this frank way, I hope. You see, I’m very much interested in
it all.”
“No, of course not.”
Again the quarter back felt that pleasant glow of satisfaction stealing
over him. Clarence Carr was evidently a man of keen insight and
understanding. It was gratifying to meet a fellow of such perfect
appreciation.
The broker stayed somewhat later than he had at Phil Keran’s rooms the
night before. A good part of the time was spent in discussing the
football situation. Clarence Carr was a wonderfully clever man, and,
moreover, he had a distinct object in view.
Little by little, his insidious words penetrated to Jack Kenny’s mind
and stayed there. It was all so cleverly done that the quarter back did
not realize for a single moment that there was anything underneath the
pleasant, jovial broker’s discourse, punctuated now and then by witty
stories and amusing anecdotes.
But the result was that, by the time Carr took his leave, Kenny’s
dislike for Don Tempest had been fanned into a flame of hatred. His
sense of unfair treatment rankled bitterly, while his contempt for the
captain’s methods reached a point where he began to entertain serious
doubts of the fellow’s ability as a leader. Under such a man’s guidance,
he reflected, how was it possible that the team could work to any
advantage? Already the fellows were grumbling against his exactions.
What would it be like on the day of the game, when nervousness and
self-doubt is always rampant?
Carr’s hearty “good night” floated upward from the stairs, and Kenny
closed the door with a sigh and stood thoughtfully by the table. Nothing
seemed sure, now. He was even growing doubtful of their ability to wrest
a victory from the crimson.
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