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.”