"How—how did they get it? I thought Dick had it a moment ago. He was running with it."
"Dick? I presume you mean Mr. Merriwell?" said Hal Darrell, his face flushing. "I didn’t suppose you were well enough acquainted with him to speak of him in such a familiar manner."
"Everybody calls him Dick," she said. "I suppose it’s because he has a brother who is so well known."
"Oh, is that how it happened?" said Darrell, with just the slightest touch of sarcasm in his voice. "Well, I do not call him Dick. He did not have the ball at all. It was Nunn who had the ball. Merriwell was running ahead as an interferer, but a poor fellow he proved for the work that time."
"I don’t see why."
"Because he didn’t keep that Viewland chap from getting to Nunn on the jump."
"Could he have done it?" asked Zona.
"Of course, he could! That’s what he was there for. He should have blocked the tackler. But you will notice that Merriwell does not put himself in much danger unless he is given the ball to advance. He never does much in helping any one else to advance the ball. It’s plain he hankers for all the glory, and I will say that he has a way of getting the biggest part of it. He’s continually thrust forward by his brother and by Nunn till all Fardale is coming to believe him far superior to what he really is."
"Why should you be jealous of him?" asked Doris, suddenly turning on Hal, her eyes flashing.
"I—jealous?" said he, as if astonished.