"You don't like him any better than I do, that's plain. You thought you liked him once, but you've found him out. He's a conceited pup. Strange how everybody seems to fall for him, even Lela Barker. Now she's just about the nicest little clipper around these parts, but she's got country ideas, and she can't see the difference between a gentleman and a common cowpuncher—which latter Grant is, and mighty common, at that. Your sister is Lela's chum; I should think you might get your sister to open Miss Barker's eyes to that fellow. Couldn't you show him up somehow and fix it so your sister would put Lela wise to him?"
"If I could, I wouldn't take all that trouble," replied Phil, who had seated himself and was puffing at the cigarette in a way that threatened to demolish it in short order. "He isn't worth it."
"Perhaps not, but I should think you'd want to get back at him after the turn he's done you. I never saw anything dirtier—never. After you coached him he simply wormed his way into Eliot's favor and crowded you out as soon as he could. He's got everybody saying that he's a better pitcher than you ever were or ever could be. You bet he doesn't miss a chance to sneer about you behind your back; that's him. I'm glad you've shown spirit enough to resent it, and not to go crawling around after him or any of the rest of that bunch."
"You'll never see me cuc-crawling after anybody!" cried Springer fiercely; "and Grant better keep a decent tut-tongue in his head! He needn't think because he happens to have an ugly temper and belongs to a fighting family that everybody is afraid of him. I can stand a lot, but there's a limit."
Herbert turned his head away for a moment to conceal the gleam of satisfaction that sprang into his eyes, coughing behind his hand.
"You're made of different stuff from that soft slob Hooker," he said. "I did think that Hook had some sand and spirit, but I've changed my mind; he has just about as much backbone as a jellyfish. He can talk and blow, but it's all wind. You're a fellow with genuine spirit and pride; nobody wipes his feet on you."
"Not if I know it," growled Phil, flattered by the words of the crafty fellow.
"Of course not; and that's the way to be. It's only the marks who let themselves be used for footmats; Hooker's a mark. They'll use him, all right. He'll do the dirty work they would have given you if you'd let them, while Grant will get all the glory."
Springer laughed. "Perhaps he won't get as much glory as he expects. Clearport came near batting him out. Wait until he goes against Wyndham next Saturday."
"Now you're talking!" exclaimed Rackliff with enthusiasm. "There will be something coming to him then. I fancy it may be possible that you would enjoy seeing Wyndham beat Oakdale?"