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!"