Reaching the track house, he slipped lightly to the ground and started to go inside.
All at once he felt a hand on his shoulder, and, turning swiftly, looked into Dick Merriwell’s eyes.
“That was a clever pass, Jack,” the latter said quietly. “Did you hurt your ankle much?”
Kenny flushed and dropped his eyes.
“Not very,” he returned, in a low tone. “I—I stumbled, and—er—er——”
“I thought it couldn’t be very bad,” Merriwell put in quickly. “You seem to have gotten over it pretty soon.”
“It wasn’t so very bad,” the quarter back answered. “But I didn’t want to run any chances, so I passed the ball to Don.”
There was a momentary pause, during which the slim fellow seemed to find an absorbing interest in arranging with his foot three loose pebbles in a triangle.
“You old bluffer!” Merriwell exclaimed suddenly.
With a gasp, Kenny raised his head and looked straight into Dick’s eyes, which were watching him with an expression of satisfaction and perfect friendship.