“His very words,” repeated Dick. “I’ve worked Kenny every minute I could be with him, and kept that grouch of his nursed as if it was a precious hothouse flower. The poor fool never suspected me for an instant. Thinks I have a sweetly sympathetic nature.” Suddenly the slim fellow’s face grew purple. “Blazes!” he almost shouted. “The thundering, double-faced liar! I’ll smash up that face of his so his own brother won’t know him! I’m going down there this minute. I don’t care where he is.” Without waiting to pick up his hat, he started toward the door, his fists clenched and his eyes wild with rage. Dick caught his arm in a grip of iron. “Stop, Jack!” he said sternly. “You’ve got something more important than that to do.” Kenny struggled to release his arm. “Let me go, Dick!” he pleaded. “The dirty scoundrel used me! I’ve got to——” “You’ve got to come to the gym with me,” Merriwell broke in swiftly. “You’ve got to set things right with Tempest. The fellows are all in a blue funk because of what you’ve done. They don’t believe in Don any more, and you’ve got to make them believe. I don’t care what you do to this sneak after to-morrow, but until then your duty is to Yale. I tell you, Jack, the very game is at stake, and you’re the only man who can stir the fellows up and give them back the confidence in Tempest which you have taken away. Perhaps it’s too late now. I don’t know, but you’ve got to try.” While he was speaking, Kenny’s face grew calmer, and into his eyes crept a look which was like fear. What if he had spoiled Yale’s chances for victory by his idiotic behavior? What if it were too late for reparation? A bitter pang, sharp as a dagger point, pierced him to the heart. He saw himself branded as a traitor to the _alma mater_ which he loved so well, and for whose success he would have willingly given up his last breath. The thought sobered him like a dash of icy water and made him forget everything but the desperate need for reviving the drooping spirits of the team and restoring their confidence in Don Tempest, the man he had wronged. The quarter back ceased his struggles instantly. “You’re right, Dick,” he said, in a strained voice. “I’ve been a blind, beastly fool; but I understand now. I’ll do my best to straighten things out with the boys. It can’t be too late—it simply can’t!” He looked imploringly at Merriwell, whose face was very serious. “I hope not,” the latter said soberly. “Lost confidence is a pretty hard thing to restore, sometimes but we’ve got to do it to-night. Come, let’s hurry.” Without a word, Kenny snatched up his hat, switched off the light, and together the two hastened down the stairs and out into the street. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXX THE MORNING OF THE GAME.