"Ah, ha! So it's that Hamilton soldier fellow!" exploded Enos Duncaster, as he saw our hero. "It was your dog; eh? You should know better than to let unmuzzled and unlicensed dogs run loose in the streets. But it's what might be expected of a young man who goes to school to learn a murdering trade. Bah! I'm glad it was your dog!"
"The dog is licensed, and was running loose because the cadet who took him without my permission did not take care of him," answered Dick quietly.
"Hum! I can't help that young man! The law is the law and I'm entitled to my five dollars. It will keep me in groceries for a week. I don't eat much!" and the old man chuckled grimly as he pocketed the bill, and tottered off on his cane.
"Come on Grit, old boy!" called Dick, as he paid over the other five dollars, and led the now rejoicing animal away.
The young millionaire tried not to feel any resentment against Porter, but it was hard work. Not so much on account of the ten dollars, as because of what might have happened to Grit. On his part Porter was cooler than ever toward Dick, but it did not so much matter as our hero had learned all he could about the financial operations of the rich lad's father,—and since he knew who held the large number of shares of electric stock.
"Not that it's doing dad much good to know," mused the young millionaire, "for Duncaster will be more against me than ever now, I'm afraid. He won't even listen to me."
Fortunately the necessity for hard work on the gridiron gave Dick so much to think about that he did not have much time to worry over this matter, though he made up his mind to aid his father whenever opportunity presented.
Hard practice was called for, in preparation for the Blue Hill game, and the young captain and the coaches were glad to see the snappy playing, and the aggressive spirit manifested.
"I think we can defeat them, after what we did to Haskell," said Dick.
"I do also," agreed Mr. Martin, and Mr. Spencer was no less positive.