CHAPTER XXVIITHE BREACH WIDENS.
Dick Merriwell appeared on the athletic field the next afternoon in a somewhat anxious state of mind. After the straight talk he had given Tempest the day before, and his subsequent interview with Kenny, he hoped that things would go smoothly, but he knew that nothing was ever certain.
He was too good a judge of character to imagine that a mere quarter of an hour’s talk, no matter how emphatic it was, could be the means of changing utterly the methods and point of view of a fellow like Tempest. He felt sure that the captain of the varsity would do his best to follow the advice which had been given him, but whether he would succeed was quite another matter.
He had less anxiety in regard to Kenny. He felt that the quarter back was sincere in his desire to have peace and harmony in the team, and after their talk last night he was sure that the hot-tempered, good-hearted chap would even put up with a little of Tempest’s nagging without breaking out again.
But, strangely enough, the practice had barely begun, before he found prevailing a condition which was quite the opposite from what he had confidently supposed would be the case.
Almost at once he perceived that Tempest had a firm grip on himself and was doing his best to preserve harmony, whereas Kenny acted as if he had a chip on his shoulder which he was almost anxious for the captain to knock off.
He was as nearly sullen as such a naturally good-tempered fellow could be, taking his part in the game in a perfunctory manner without his usual snap and vim; and, instead of going ahead on his own hook with the various plays which had to be practiced, he was constantly pausing and asking Tempest’s advice in a pointed, sarcastic manner which would have driven anybody wild.
Naturally the latter got hot under the collar. Here he was straining every effort to keep the peace, and Kenny, instead of meeting him halfway, was doing his best to aggravate him and provoke a verbal battle.
The result was that, before an hour had passed, the two were at daggers’ points, and a feeling of unrest and uneasiness had come over the whole team, which seriously interfered with its efficiency, and prevented it from doing anything like the good work it should have done.
Merriwell was puzzled as well as decidedly angry. What in the world possessed Kenny? What had come over him since their talk of the previous evening, when the quarter back had shown such a very evident and sincere desire to see things go well, and, more than that, had promised that he would do his best to that end.
Instead of keeping his word, he had gone to quite the opposite extreme and was very evidently bent on rousing Tempest to a fury. Merriwell could not understand it, and he was so angry with the little quarter back that it would have given him the greatest pleasure to take the sulky fellow by the shoulders and shake him, as one would a spoiled child.
Luckily Tempest refused to be dragged into a verbal encounter. It was evident to him that Kenny was deliberately working to that end, and, his blood aroused, the captain strained every effort to keep a grip on himself. It was one of the hardest things he ever did. His words grew sharp and snappy, his face flushed and angry; but he tried to ignore the quarter back, and managed to get through the afternoon without an open clash.
Dick saw all this with regret, and, also, with an infinite admiration for Tempest’s surprising self-control; and, as soon as the practice was over, he stepped to the captain’s side.
“That was bully, Don,” he said, in a low tone. “You held in splendidly. But that little rat ought to be turned up and spanked. I never saw anything so aggravating in my life.”
“Aggravating!” foamed Tempest, who, now that he was alone with Merriwell, gave full vent to his fury. “Aggravating isn’t the word for it! By thunder, Dick, it was all I could do to keep my hands off the little devil! I wouldn’t go through another afternoon like this for a thousand dollars!”
Merriwell’s face wore a puzzled look.
“I can’t think what’s got into him,” he said thoughtfully. “I had a long talk with him last night, and he promised to stop his foolishness and behave himself.”
“And you see how he’s kept that promise!” Tempest said bitterly. “He’s worse than I ever knew him to be. Honestly, old fellow, I can’t go on this way. I’d go off my nut. Look here, Dick, let me hand in my resignation and you take my place. You can pull things together and do something with them. They’ll do anything you want them to, but if I try to stick it out Heaven knows what will happen. Another day like this and they’ll all be up in open rebellion.”
“Great Scott, man!” Dick cried aghast. “Why, you’re crazy! The idea of changing captains at such a time as this! It couldn’t be done, even if I’d consider it—which I won’t for a minute. You’ve got to keep on, Don, and pull things through. And we’ve got to win that game Saturday. It would be better for Kenny to go than you, but we can’t afford to lose either of you. You must stick it out, old fellow. I’ll see Jack again and give him fits. He’s got something on his mind which wasn’t there last night, and I mean to find out what it is.”
Without delay he proceeded to the track house and hustled into his other clothes. He couldn’t tackle the quarter back in the midst of the crowd who thronged the place, but he meant to catch him as he was leaving.
Quick as he was, however, he barely managed to get into his things before he saw his man hurrying out of the door.
“Jack!” he called, snatching up his overcoat and hat. “Wait a minute.”
Kenny turned rather reluctantly. It almost seemed as if he wanted to avoid Merriwell, but the latter did not propose to let him get away.
“What’s your hurry?” he inquired, as he joined the other outside the door.
“Oh, nothing,” returned Kenny, his eyes averted. “I just wanted to get back to the dorm, that’s all.”
They were out in the street by this time, and, as they turned and walked along the high board fence, Dick looked his companion squarely in the face.
“What in the mischief has got into you, Jack?” he asked quickly. “You told me you’d behave, and yet you’ve acted like a perfect kid all afternoon.”
Kenny hesitated.
“I can’t stand that Tempest!” he burst out the next moment. “He makes me daft.”
“Makes you daft,” repeated Dick. “Why, you’re the one who makes him, and all the rest of us, hot, going around with a sour face and a chip on your shoulder. If I’d been Don I’d have felt like giving you a good thrashing. You never gave him a chance to be decent.”
The quarter back looked a little sheepish.
“I knew he couldn’t be,” he returned quickly, “so I just got in my licks first. I thought I’d give him a dose of his own medicine and see how he liked it.”
“You little idiot!” Merriwell retorted. “Do you know what you’re going to do if you keep on this way? You’re going to lose the game for us Saturday. If you can’t take a brace, we’ll be licked as sure as fate, and there won’t be a person to blame for it but yourself.”
Kenny’s face flushed and he made a quick, dissenting motion with one hand.
“Look here, Dick,” he protested. “That’s putting it pretty strong, isn’t it?”
“It’s a fact,” Merriwell returned emphatically.
His words seemed to sober Kenny and bring him to a partial realization of the gravity of the situation. All the way back to the campus Dick kept up his argument, and by the time they got off the car at Church and High Streets he had brought the quarter back into a contrite and fairly repentant frame of mind.
At the same time, it seemed to him that Kenny was not so pliable as he had been the night before. It had been harder to bring him to a realization of the error of his ways. Somehow, Dick felt almost as if there was a counter influence which was pulling against his own—something which was encouraging Kenny in his rebellion and egging him on in the disagreement with Tempest.
What it could be he could not imagine. Who among the quarter back’s friends or acquaintances could encourage him in his fatal folly? For any sane person must realize that if the fellow persisted in his course a victory on Saturday would be seriously imperiled.
He was turning this over in his mind all through supper, and afterward, walking along Church Street with Brad, Keran, and several others, it was still puzzling him.
All at once his eyes fell on Kenny himself, walking down the street on the other side, in earnest conversation with a slim, brisk man of about thirty.
“Who’s that fellow with Kenny?” he asked quickly.
They all glanced over the way, and Phil Keran answered the question.
“Clarence Carr,” he said readily. “He’s Archie Carr’s brother. He came in to see me the other night, and Kenny met him there. Nice chap, too. Crazy about football. He played at Brown. He and Jack seem to hit it off pretty well.”
Dick took in the man with a swift, appraising glance. He remembered Archie Carr perfectly as a good football player and red-hot Yale man. There was absolutely no reason why he should question his brother’s loyalty and integrity, but still a tiny germ of doubt was generated in his mind at that moment—something which sprang into being quite without rhyme or reason, and which persisted in remaining despite its seeming absurdity and incongruity.