“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.”