“I see,” he returned, taking another sip from his glass. “That’s true enough. I’m not very well up on this football business, so I have to trust to you. But are you sure you can work this boy so there’ll be enough of a split in the team to make any material difference in their playing.”
Carr nodded.
“I think so,” he answered. “He’s got a pretty hot temper, though he has kept it under control until now. He’s a bit sore, too, that he wasn’t elected captain instead of this Tempest. If the latter only keeps on with his bullyragging, even a little, the game is ours. Already the team is taking sides in the quarrel. Some are for Tempest, some for Kenny; and that means reduced efficiency in their playing. I can keep the quarter back stirred up, all right, and by Saturday they ought all to be at sixes and sevens.”
“Don’t he suspect your game?” queried the stout man.
Carr laughed.
“Trust me for that,” he returned. “He thinks I’m all for Yale winning. He hasn’t a notion that there’s any motive in what I’ve said to him, except the natural dislike of a man to see a good fellow thrown down.” His face clouded swiftly and his heavy brows drew down into a frown.
“Blow me if I’m stuck on the job, though, Edge!” he went on in a petulant tone.
The fat fellow’s smooth forehead puckered anxiously.
“What’s the matter?” he asked quickly. “Not getting cold feet, I hope.”
“Oh, it’s not that,” Carr exclaimed; “but the boy is such a decent fellow and thinks I’m all to the good. I feel like a snake when I think of what I’m trying to bring about. If Yale loses, it will be blamed on him, in a way. Why, I believe the fellow really likes me!”