A RIVALRY
"What are you going to do?" asked Dick of the auto driver, as the three
walked out of the yard of the mean man, watched all the way by the
squinting eyes of Mr. Duncaster.
"Oh, I'll go to some place down the road where they're not so careful of
their water," was the answer.
"Have you enough to run on?" asked Paul, and the chauffeur assured them
that he had. The next resident was a cheerful farmer, who not only gave
permission for them to take all the water they needed, but even drew it
from the well for them.
"And if your machine needs a drink, perhaps you will too," said the
farmer's wife. "I've just made some hot coffee, and I'd like you all to
come in and have some."
"We will!" assented Dick, and most grateful was the beverage, for riding
in the open car was chilly.
"What a difference in people," commented Paul, as they started off
again.
The young millionaire felt almost as badly at sending the discouraging
news to his father as Mr. Hamilton must have felt on receiving it. But
he immediately wired back a cheerful telegram to his son.
* * * * *
"Don't worry," he advised, "we'll try some other way, and perhaps you
may be able to get around Duncaster later. I'd come on and tackle him
myself, but I can't spare the time."
* * * * *
Thereupon Dick began to devise ways and means of inducing the miserly
and crabbed financier to part with the stock. He even thought of taking
part of the money that was in his own right, and making an offer higher
than the one authorized by his father, but he reflected since Mr.
Hamilton had not told him to go more than ten points above par value,
perhaps there might be a special reason for this.
"I might take a crowd of the fellows out to his house some night and
haze him," ventured our hero.
"Let me go along if you do," begged Paul eagerly. "I'd like to get even
with him for calling us tin soldiers."
"I'm afraid it can't be done," and Dick sighed. "I'll have to think of
something else."
Football practice now occupied all the spare time the cadets had. Early
and late they were on the gridiron, playing under the watchful eyes of
the two coaches, who still found many faults to correct.
"No team is perfect," declared Mr. Spencer, "but we want Kentfield to be
as nearly so as possible. You boys must do better on kicking though, for
you may meet some team where you'll have to depend on your
leg-and-foot-work to pull you out of a hole."
"And they're not quite as fast as I'd like to see them," added Mr.
Martin. "They don't snap back into place quickly enough after each play.
Now try it again. Get in the habit of running back into place instead of
walking. Be lively!"
They lined up again, to run through some new plays and formations, and
then were ready for the scrub, against whom they made such a good
showing that both coaches warmly congratulated their charges.
"I wish poor Teddy was back on the Varsity," confided Dick to Paul, as
they finished the day's practice. "He's feeling it very much, and he's
falling off in form."
"Yes, I was afraid of that. I wonder if we couldn't do something?"
"I'm afraid not. Porter is playing well on the scrub though. He's much
faster than he was in getting down on kicks, and he tackles fiercely.
Did you ever have him come at you?"
"Indeed I have," answered Paul ruefully. "I've got a lump on my head
yet where he threw me down last week. But that's the way to play the
game."
"Sure. Say, don't you think it's rather queer not to have a captain?"
"Yes, and it's evident that Teddy isn't going to stand any show for it
now. It will be some one of the present team, I fancy."
"Probably. Have you heard any rumors?"
"Well, George Hall would like it--in fact every fellow would, but Dutton
is the hottest after it. He's pulling wires all he can--in a legitimate
way, of course, and lots of the fellows like him."
"I don't blame him. Well, I'll vote for him, when the election is held."
"I won't!" declared Paul stoutly.
"Why not?"
"Because I'm going to vote for you, old man."
"Nonsense! I don't know as I want it."
"You deserve it, which is more. No one has done as much for the
Kentfield eleven since the academy was started as you have this one
season, and you ought to be captain. Then you couldn't kick when they
called it Dick Hamilton's football team."
"Oh, get out!" cried the young millionaire, yet he was not displeased at
his chum's sincere words. And what normal healthy lad would not want to
be captain of an eleven?
There was much buzzing talk the next few days concerning the captaincy,
and when the coaches announced that the present Varsity eleven would
stand, at least for the present, and that in order to play match games a
captain would be needed, the excitement grew apace.
"Nominations to-morrow night!" cried Paul one afternoon as he burst into
the room he and Dick shared. "Dutton's name is sure to go up. I'm going
to nominate you and I've got the promise of nearly enough votes to put
you through."
"Look here!" began Dick, "I don't want----"
"It doesn't matter what you want!" cried Paul, clapping his chum on the
back, and doing a sort of war dance around him, "you haven't anything to
say in this matter. You just come to the meeting and see what happens."
It was a lively session, for several matters cropped up that needed to
be settled. There was also a manager to be chosen, and, as Beeby did not
want the place, preferring to spend more time in practice and training,
it was practically decided to have some one not on the team to look
after business ends.
Dan Hatfield was talked of for manager, and his name met with such
instant favor that none other was considered. But when it came to the
captaincy that was a different matter.
The little boom that started in favor of George Hall was so feeble that
he himself saw that he had no chance, and nipped it. There was much
talking and putting together of heads when Mr. Martin arose to announce
that nominations for captain were in order, and that the names would be
posted three days, and then voted on.
"I nominate Ray Dutton!" sung out John Stiver, who was the particular
chum of the former.
It was quickly seconded, and then up jumped Paul Drew.
"I nominate Dick Hamilton!" he sung out.
"Second it!" came promptly from Dutton himself, a courtesy that Dick
acknowledged with a bow.
The former rivals--now rivals again--faced each other with smiles, but
there were anxious feelings in the hearts of both.
"Three cheers for the candidates!" cried Jim Watkins, and they were
given heartily, with a tiger added.
"Any more nominations?" asked Mr. Martin.
"Well there's luck in odd numbers, I nominate Frank Rutley!" called out
Porter with a laugh. "We might as well have a good choice while we're at
it."
Weston seconded this name, and there were no comments. Thereupon the
three names were posted on the bulletin board, and the meeting
adjourned.
"Well, what do you think of it, Dick?" asked Paul, as they strolled back
to their room.
"I'm glad I'm nominated, of course, but----"
"Well, but me no buts, what is it?"
"Dutton is very popular, and I can't help remembering how he was against
me when I first came here. But I'll take my chance with him!"