“No,” Larry agreed. “‘Dad’s money’ doesn’t always spoil a fellow. There’s Ollie McKnight, for example.”
Dick smiled.
“Getting rid of a few of the old grouches, aren’t you?”
“Trying to,” Larry confessed. “But when I run up against a fellow like Bryant Underhill it comes pretty hard.”
“Yes, Underhill,” said Dick, and his eyes darkened. “He and his bunch of Snitty-Crawford boot-lickers! You give that gang a wide berth, Larry. They’re all bad medicine, as you and I both have reason to know.”
Larry sat back in his chair, and the wide-set eyes were half-closed.
“Do you remember, one time last summer when we were on the railroad job, I told you I had a bad temper, Dick? Well, I’ve got it yet, and a sore of the Underhill sort comes as near to getting my goat as anything can. You know how he tried to make me ‘bust’ last winter?”
“Sure I do.”
“Well, he’s at it again, in another way. He’s trying now to get me shoved off the team.”
Dick straightened up hot-eyed.