“Oh, well, I noticed that we held you fellows twice inside our thirty. Hold your horses. We’ll be beating you badly by the end of the month!”
“Rather fancy yourself, don’t you?” jeered Arnold. “By the way, was that your friend Tubbs who played left end for you in the last half?”
“Tubb is the gentleman’s name. What did you think of him?”
“Why, he acted like a crazy Indian! He made me nervous looking at him, and hearing him!”
Toby laughed. “That’s his style, Arn. It’s psychological, you see. He distracts the attention of the opponent from the game. All that jumping and up and down and running around and talking is just to get your goat!”
“Well, he came near getting it, all right! He made as much row as a Broadwood shortstop with the bases full and two down! But he seemed to me to be playing a pretty good game, just the same. He was into everything!”
“Beech says he’s a comer, Arn. If he could only get over the idea that he’s being imposed on by every one he’d get on a heap better.”
“He’s a chronic sorehead and kicker, I suppose. I’ve met one or two like him. Maybe he will get over it in time. How’s that other protégé of yours, the tennis fiend?”
“Ramsey? I don’t see much of him nowadays. But I know that he’s got in with a fairly decent lot of chaps and looks about fifty per cent better than he did. I told you about his freezing me one night when I went to see him? Had both windows wide open and told me he couldn’t get along without plenty of fresh air. Bet you anything he’d never slept with a window open in his life until Muscles got at him! You know, I think I can take a bit of credit for the—the rejuvenation of friend Ramsey!”
“Well, that’s some word, but I dare say you’re right. Now all you’ve got to do is make Mr. Tubbs over and you’re through.”