“Yes; I mean he talks as though he didn’t want the crew to be a success; haven’t you noticed it?”
“The trouble with Roy Taylor,” answered the other gravely as they passed into Number 16, “is that he hates to have any one else win out at anything. He has a mighty high opinion of Roy Taylor, you know. He wanted to be captain, and I don’t think he has ever forgiven me for beating him; but I guess he’ll come round in the end and do his best for the crew.”
Trevor didn’t look impressed with this last remark. He studied the flames awhile thoughtfully as he held his hands up to the warmth. Then:
“I see. I don’t fancy, then, he loves me much after the way I beat him Saturday night, eh?”
“I guess not,” answered Dick laughingly. “I ‘fancy’ we’re both down in his black book.”
“Yes.” Trevor turned away and rummaged among the débris of the study table. “Seen my algebra? Never mind, here it is.” He drew a chair up before the fireplace and opened the book, only to lay it down again and deliver himself forcibly of the following declaration:
“Taylor may be as waxy with me as he likes, Hope, but he’s got to understand that if he interferes with this crew business there’s a plaguy lot of trouble ahead for him!”
“And for me, too,” thought Dick, as he gazed despondently at the slim list of candidates.