Merriwell’s keen sense of observation took in what Kenny either would not or could not see—that Tempest was the better man of the two for the place. His judgment was sounder and his knowledge of the tactics and stratagem of the game better than Kenny’s. It was only his methods of handling the men which were at fault and which prevented him from obtaining perfect results. Dick had worried a good deal over the matter, for he knew how much depended on there being perfect concord among the members of the team. To do their best, it was necessary for each individual to throw aside all personal feelings and subordinate himself to the general good. The slightest rift in the lute showed itself promptly in the lowered _esprit de corps_ of the organization. As yet he had not said anything definite to Tempest. He knew the fellow was doing his best to secure results. His whole heart was fixed on gaining a victory in the great game of the season, and to that end he strained every effort. Merriwell had tried several times by means of gentle hints to bring about an improvement in the condition of affairs, but he was afraid that he should very soon feel like seeking recourse in other methods. Thinking the matter over at the table that night made him, too, rather silent, and added to the general impression of uneasiness and disquiet which prevailed. Kenny was one of the first to finish supper and leave the table. Phil Keran caught up with him as he was walking back through “Grub Alley.” “What’s your hurry?” he questioned. “Oh, nothing special,” the quarter back returned shortly. “I just didn’t feel like hanging around there and hearing Tempest shoot off his face.” Keran laughed. “I should think you had had about enough of him for one day,” he rejoined. “Got anything on to-night?” “No. What’s up?” “I just thought you might like to come around to our rooms and meet Clarence Carr, Archie’s brother,” Keran answered. “You remember Archie Carr, who graduated two years ago, don’t you?” “Surest thing you know,” Kenny returned, brightening up a little. “He substituted on the varsity the year I was captain of the scrub. I don’t ever remember his brother, though.” “Nice chap,” commented Keran. “Broker, I understand, and is taking a few days off to rest up after a bear raid on the market. He’s stopping at the New Haven House.” “Yale man?” “Nope, Brown. But he’s all for old Eli on his brother’s account. Crazy about football, and is going to stay over for the game Saturday.” They crossed Elm Street and struck into the campus by Durfee. Keran and Kenny both had quarters in Vanderbilt, and five minutes later they were settled in the latter’s comfortable sitting room on the third floor. Carr had not yet arrived, but presently a couple of other fellows strolled in, and about half-past seven there came a brisk knock on the door.