But if the Jennings contest decided favorably the fortunes of Kendall it also brought disaster to the ambitions of another of our acquaintances. Charles Cotton was dropped on that Monday. Others went with him in that final cut, and I doubt if any deserved banishment more than Cotton; and I’m sure none took it less gracefully. Cotton’s soul was filled with bitterness and wrath and his speech with condemnation. Since that first unsuccessful visit to Number 28 Cotton had called many times. Gerald bore with him for the sake of Kendall, and Kendall, secretly weary to death of him and disliking him more and more each time, tried his best to blame himself for the distaste he felt for Cotton and, for fear he was doing that youth an injustice, was as nice as pie to him. Cotton always seemed to know when Captain Merriwell or other influential football fellows were in Number 28, and timed his visits by such knowledge. He “swiped” frankly and assiduously. He tried his hardest to make a hit with Merriwell, but only succeeded in making the captain loathe the sight of him. He was boastful, sarcastic and far from kind-hearted, but for a while he managed to make even Merriwell and, in a lesser degree, Gerald believe in his football prowess. He never hesitated to praise himself and his playing, and if one does that often enough and with sufficient enthusiasm one will impress the audience. Unfortunately, however, Cotton was unable to prove on the gridiron what he proclaimed in the dormitory, and as elocution doesn’t win football games Cotton’s career came to an end. He selected the evening of the day of his demise to call on Kendall. Perhaps he hoped to find Merriwell there and to make a plea for reinstatement. If so he was disappointed, for only Gerald and Kendall were in the room when he made his appearance. “Well, I see you struck it, Burtis,” he announced after greetings were over. “Very glad, I’m sure. You can play all around Fayette.” “Thanks,” murmured Kendall. “It was just because I am a bit handier at kicking than Fayette is that they gave me his place. He may have me out again before the big game.” “Pshaw, don’t you worry! Payson loves you; Merriwell does, too; you’re popular. That makes a difference.” “Just what do you mean by that?” asked Gerald, with a frown. “Oh, you know well enough what I mean. A fellow hasn’t much show here to make anything unless he’s got plenty of friends. Look at me. I can play end as well as Fox can; better, for that matter; but I get pitched out and he stays in. Fox has been here two years and has a pull. I’m a new fellow and haven’t. That’s all.” “If you can play better than Fox,” exclaimed Gerald impatiently, “why the dickens don’t you?” “I have! All the Fall! Ask any one.” “I don’t need to. I’ve watched practice myself almost every day until a week ago, and I’ll tell you frankly, Cotton, you never showed anything when I was looking!”