“I shall be the first to congratulate you when you are elected, Parker,” said Dick Merriwell quietly. “As you know, I have no voice in the election. As you probably know, also, if I had a vote, I should cast it against you, as matters stand. But, if you are elected, I shall do my best to work with you to turn out a winning team.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Parker hotly. “The captain of the team selects the head coach, you know, and, universal coach or no, I’ll decide on who is to be in full charge of the football team. If I want your advice, I shall ask you for it, you may be sure.”
And he walked off angrily, leaving Sherman and Taylor to give vent to their rage. But Dick Merriwell himself only smiled.
“He’s very young,” he said. “I don’t know what he’s got against me—but I imagine a guilty conscience may have something to do with his feelings.”
“Conscience!” exclaimed Sherman satirically, although he was one of the mildest and gentlest men in Yale. “I don’t believe he has one.”
At his rooms, Dick Merriwell learned that a caller had been waiting some time to see him. To his surprise it was Bowen, the Harvard catcher and captain.
“Hello, Bowen!” exclaimed Dick. “I’m glad to see you. But I thought you’d be back in Cambridge, coaching your batters on how to knock Phillips out of the box by this time.”
“I wish I were there,” said Bowen gloomily. “I can’t say I’m glad to see you, Mr. Merriwell. I’m more sorry that I can say to have to be here. I’ve got the most unpleasant duty to perform I ever tackled. Mr. Merriwell—I hardly know how to say it. But I’ve got to file a formal protest against your playing Phillips against Harvard, on the ground that he is a professional, and has accepted money for playing baseball.”
It took a good deal to startle Dick Merriwell, but Bowen’s amazing charge accomplished it.
“What!” he cried. “You can’t be serious, Bowen. It’s too absurd even to merit a denial.”