Bert, who was a star football player, had given up active participation in the game to act as coach for Kentfield. But, as his chums well knew, he had not the necessary time to devote to the work of telling them what to do and how to do it, and the team suffered in consequence.
However, the mention of this gave Dick an idea. He did not want to hurt the feelings of Bert, and, when the coach entered the club a little later the matter was mentioned to him.
"Go ahead, grand idea," he declared and his enthusiasm was not forced. "I know I haven't been keeping you fellows up to the mark, and I'll be glad to see some one here who can. Besides, I need all the time I can get to bone away at my maths."
"Then I'll go ahead," declared the young millionaire. "I'll have the new coaches here in a week if I can get them, and I'll meet any financial demand they make."
"That's the way to talk!" cried Paul, clapping his chum on the back with such energy that Dick uttered a protest.
When our hero turned in at taps that night, his mind was filled with two main thoughts. One was the future of the football team, and the other was the trouble that threatened his father. Then another remembrance came to him.
"I wonder who that Mr. Duncaster is that we so nearly ran over?" mused Dick. "He must know dad. He's a queer sort of a character, I guess."
Dick little thought of what an important part in the future of himself and his father this same Mr. Duncaster was to play.
"Well, I'll see if I can get any more information from Porter about the deal his father is in," said Dick to himself, as he turned over to compose himself for sleep. "There must be more than one man in the game, and it's up to me to find out who the others are, so dad can be on his guard. I hope he doesn't lose control of the trolley, for a lot of small investors have put all their money in it, and if other interested men get hold of it the investors might lose all they have. I guess that's why dad is so worried. I'll cultivate the acquaintance of Porter and Weston, though I don't care much for them."
A better day for football practice could not have been desired. There was just enough crispness in the air, and the gridiron, newly marked with its chalk-lines was green under the autumn sun as a crowd of cadets released from drill and studies, flocked over the campus, shouting and laughing.