In the meantime, Dick Merriwell, after leaving Zona, had sought his brother.
"See here, Frank," he said, as he drew him aside, "I want you to know just what that cheap dog has been saying about you."
"Eh?" said Merry. "What cheap dog?"
"Darrell."
"You mean the new man who played with the scrub?"
"Yes."
"Why, that fellow’s promising. He ought to make the eleven within a week. I was surprised to see such a good man come out at this late day."
"He’s cheap!" said Dick warmly. "I’ve known it a long time, but he proved it to-day. If you let him get onto the team you are foolish, Frank! You mustn’t let him do it."
"Why, Dick," said Merry gravely, "would you think of objecting to any man, no matter who, in case you knew he’d be a valuable addition to the team? You must not let personal feelings influence you in the least when it comes to football. If you have an enemy on the team, it is your duty to interfere for him if he carries the ball, to help him make gains, to do everything in your power to win. Personal likes and dislikes cannot enter into the game of football. The moment they do a team begins to get disorganized. You may play with a man you would not accept as a friend or associate, but you do that for the good of the team."
"Oh, you’ve told me all this before, Frank; but it’s different in this case."