"What good would it do? Sam would get on his ear, and say I was away off. Then, too, almost everyone would say I was doing spite work. No, I guess I'll just keep out of the game."
"No, you won't!" exclaimed Jack with a laugh. "You'll come out to practice, and Bert and I will watch Sam as a cat does a mouse. He'll get no chance to try any of his tricks."
Thus urged, Tom gave in, and donned his suit. The practice was hard and snappy that afternoon against the scrub. The regular eleven, made desperate by the recent drubbings administered to it, played fiercely, with the result that several touchdowns were scored.
"This is something like!" exulted the coach.
"Yes, if they'll only keep it up and play like this on Saturday," assented Captain Morse Denton. "But I'm afraid of a slump."
"Oh, I guess not. Say! Look at Tom go through with the ball."
"Yes. He's playing better. I'm sorry he and Sam are on the outs. I'm always afraid of a clash."
"Yes, that's likely. See him go! Say! if he'll play that way Saturday we'll wipe up the gridiron with Holwell."
"Let's hope so!" exclaimed the captain.
Indeed, Tom was playing as he had seldom played before. And Sam was passing the ball to him accurately. There was not a fumble.