Tommy observed him with patent incredulity. “After that chow?” he asked jeeringly. “Yes, you are! Better have some. They’re fresh.” Then, as Bert again declined: “Say, you got your oar in at last, didn’t you?” he asked.
“Got my oar in? What are you talking about, Tommy?”
“Why, this afternoon. Pshaw, I knew you’d show them how it’s done if they’d let you. And you did, too, Bertie. Yeah, you pulled off something rather neat. I’ve been watching you right along; ever since last fall. Been expecting you’d bust in before this, but I guess you’ve got some pretty fair guys to run against. Savell, for instance. He’s good. I said he was first time I saw him play. Just like with you, Bert. I generally manage to pick the winners!”
“Are you trying to tell me that I’m a winner?” laughed Bert. Tommy emptied the remaining peanuts from the sack to his mouth and contented himself with a nod. “You’re a humorist, Tommy. Going my way?”
Tommy nodded again and fell into step. “You’re right about Fitz Savell, though,” said Bert warmly. “Fitz is a winner and no mistake. Wasn’t that a corking run of his to-day? Gee, but that fellow can twist!”
“Sokayou,” said Tommy.
“Come again?”
Tommy swallowed convulsively and obliged. “So can you, I said. Listen. Savell’s mighty good, Bert, but he isn’t a bit better than you are. Only thing is, he’s getting a chance to show and you aren’t. Say, know what I told the fellows at our table the other night? Well, I told them that by the end of the season you’d be the guy who’d be doing most of our scoring.”
“Me!” Bert looked searchingly at his companion’s countenance, but he failed to detect sarcasm therein. Instead, Tommy appeared to be quite serious, even earnest. “What did the other fellows do?” inquired Bert. “Hoot?”
“Oh, they didn’t believe it,” replied Tommy easily. “But we should worry, eh?”