Warne had not spoken.
“Well, I’ll be hanged!” muttered Brad Buckhart, the truth dawning upon him. “That takes the prize! Why, he shut ’em up so they wouldn’t bother him during the last half!”
It was plain that Arlington and Warne had decided that it was best for them to avoid making a scene, but Dick knew well enough that they were not the kind of fellows to forego a chance for revenge.
That night the talk of the academy was the football-game. It had become known that the athletic committee were responsible for the shifting about of the players in the first half of the game, and not a few of the students criticized this interference with Dick’s part of the business. He had demonstrated beyond a doubt in the last half of the game that he knew the positions to which the men were adapted and that he could run the team successfully if not interfered with.
In the evening Dick and Brad went into town. As they approached the post-office, Dick suddenly grasped his companion’s arm and drew him into a doorway.
“What is it?” asked the Texan.
“Look across the street.”
“Where?”
“See those two fellows over there?”
“Yes. Why, one of them is—it’s Arlington!”