“You’d think it knew everything about it to read it,” answered Gerald sadly. “Who _is_ going to win, anyhow?” “Little old Yardley,” replied Harry unhesitatingly. “Cheer up! You’re full of fog. Isn’t this a peach of a day?” “Fine!” They laid their books on a radiator near the entrance and backed up to the warmth. “What are your reasons for thinking so?” “Thinking what? Oh, about the game? Why, we always do win, don’t we? What’s to keep us from doing it again?” “The luck has to change,” answered the other unconsciously quoting the _News_. “They say Broadwood has a dandy team this year.” “Of course; she always has. But what of it? So have we.” “The _News_ says we haven’t.” Harry seized the paper and dropped it behind the radiator. “If you wouldn’t read such stuff you wouldn’t be worried. They have to fill the paper up with something, and they might as well say one thing as another. How’s Kendall?” “Blooming. Have you noticed anything about him the last three or four days?” “No, what? I haven’t seen very much of him.” “Well, he seems――different, somehow. Has more――more assurance. Why, I came across him yesterday talking with Perry Whitehall, as thick as two thieves. And Wednesday he actually got into a discussion with Simms about something and threshed it right out with him and made Simms back down. Something about some formation in football. And he looks different, too.” Gerald frowned thoughtfully at the bust of Pallas across the corridor. “Looks as though he kind of thought more of himself.” “Well,” laughed Harry, “there’s no harm in that. But what about the campaign? Do we make progress?” “We surely do; but a whole lot depends on what Kendall does in the next two games. If he will do a star act or two he can’t help getting the captaincy. I’ve been sort of sleuthing around, Harry. None of the fellows seem to have picked a candidate yet. There’s talk of Crandall, but it’s only talk. What I’m wondering is whether it wouldn’t be a good idea to casually suggest Kendall’s name to one or two of the football bunch; just offhand, you know.” “I suppose it would. Only the fellows mustn’t think we want him for captain. It ought to be done mighty carefully.” “Yes, and I guess it would be a good idea to wait until after to-morrow’s game and see what happens then. If Kendall kicks a couple of field goals or distinguishes himself any other way perhaps we won’t have to say a word.” “He won’t, though,” answered Harry. “Just because we want him to, he will get hurt at the beginning of the game and have to be laid off. You see if he doesn’t! That’s the way things happen.” “Who’s full of fog now?” laughed Gerald. “You’re as pessimistic as an owl. And you’re all wrong, too. Something tells me that we are going to win to-morrow and that Kendall is going to make a blooming hero of himself. Still, if he doesn’t it will be up to us to start the ball rolling. We might each drop a hint, you know. Who do you know best on the team? Charlie Merriwell?”