“I see,” said Dick, with traces of wonderment in his voice. “But what—what does it all lead to? You may bring defeat to Hillton, but how will that better things? You wanted the captaincy; I can understand that; I—I think I’m sorry you were disappointed——”
“Cut it out!” growled Taylor.
“But it’s too late now, isn’t it? Haven’t you made trouble enough? As far as I’m concerned personally I don’t care a row of buttons whether you have it in for me or not, but what’s the use in taking your spite out on the whole school?”
“Maybe it isn’t too late,” answered Taylor, smiling oddly. “You see, I know pretty well what sort of a chap you are; you’re one of those conscientious dubs; you’d do all kinds of stunts and be tickled to death if you thought you were helping the school. And you’re honest all through; if you lied to any one—even yourself—you’d go off into a corner somewhere and throw a fit! I’ve taken all that into consideration.”
“Drop that,” said Dick stiffly, “and say what you mean.”
“All right. Look here; do you want Hillton to win the race? Very well; and do you think she can do it with the material she’s got now?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Oh, no you don’t; and if you do you’re mightily mistaken. I said a while ago that you’d find a man for my place at seven, but you won’t; there isn’t one to be found; there isn’t a fellow that’s heavy enough for it. I know; I’ve watched what’s going on, and I know who you’ve got. And you’ll lose other men before long; I’ve fixed that. Now, listen; there’s just one way you can turn out a crew that will run away from St. Eustace: that’s by getting me back into the boat, keeping all the experienced fellows you’ve got, and getting one or two good men that will only go in for crew work when I ask them to.”
Taylor paused and smiled triumphantly. Dick clenched his hands, fighting down an almost overpowering impulse to leap across the width of the hearth, and—yes, as Trevor had suggested—punch Taylor’s head!