“I wouldn’t have my father know I lied to him for anything.”
“What if somebody told him?” grinned Bentley.
Don had the fellow by the collar in a moment. “Don’t you dare peach on me!” he hissed. “If you do, I’ll give you the worst thrashing you ever had.”
“Oh, I won’t say a word!” promised the frightened fellow. “Don’t choke! Ain’t I your friend? What’s the matter with you?”
“That’s all right,” said Don, releasing his hold. “But you want to remember what I said. If it gets to my father in any way, and I find out who caused it, I’ll do just what I said.” Then he entered the academy.
“Oh, yes, I’m your friend!” whispered Leon, glaring after Scott with a sidelong look and showing his yellow teeth. “I’m your friend just as long as it’s any advantage to be. I don’t like you. You’re too ready with your threats to thrash somebody.”
That night Don practiced with the team again, and, as Leon had expected, Carter was given the position of left tackle, Smith played in his original position on the right end, and Bentley was left off the eleven. Leon left the field in a huff, and the boys did better work after he departed.
“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” said Dennis Murphy, as Leon departed. “Talk about yer hoodoos, begorra, he’s it.”
Don practiced with all the vim and vigor he could command, and during the final brush with the scrub he particularly distinguished himself in various ways.
When the boys left the field that night confidence had returned to them in a great measure, and Sterndale praised them freely. There had been nothing like a clash between Renwood and Scott, which had been dreaded, and every one felt relieved.