“Lately? Three or four days, yes. That doesn’t mean anything. Put him in against Kenly and he’ll play as rotten as ever.”
“Oh, forget it, Tommy. And get out of here before I lam you with a book.”
“I’m going. Don’t be so jumpy. Say, you want to look after your nerves for a couple of days, Bert, or you’ll be shot to pieces by Saturday. You ought to take long walks and—”
“I’m going to take a short walk in just about three seconds,” answered Bert grimly, “and it’s going to end where you’re standing, Tommy.”
“No, but honest, Bert. Long walks are what you need.” Bert pushed back his chair and Tommy moved with a celerity no one would have suspected him capable of. “All right, all right! Keep your dickey on! But, say, let me tell you something, will you?”
“Yes, if you make it mighty short.”
“Well, it’s this. I don’t approve of Johnny starting Chick next Saturday and I’m going to see that he doesn’t.”
“You are! You are! Don’t make me laugh, Tommy! How are you going to do it?”
“I know a way. I warned you a week ago that I didn’t intend to see the Team beaten, when it doesn’t need to be, by playing second-raters. You tell Chick for me that I’m out to get him. I don’t want to tell tales, but when it’s a duty—”