"I didn't come over to hear any boasting."
"His figure rounded out in pretty poor shape years ago, so I'm told," put in a tall, aggressive-looking lad to whom Nat had just beckoned.
Mr. Barry turned sharply upon him, took a good look, and then remarked:
"I don't think I ever saw you before, boy."
"I don't think I ever saw you before, either."
"And what might your name be?"
"Owen Lawrence. You see, our folks just moved to Kingswood. Of course I had to go to school somewhere, and so I'm a student at the High."
"And if you have any sense you'll stick there until you get a good education," snapped the irascible old gentleman. "Drat that confounded dog! Keep still, Canis! If you boys have as much spirit in training as he has out of training you'll do. Now don't stand around gaping as if you'd never seen a man before. Go back to practice."
Mr. Barry had a way about him which impelled obedience to his will. For fully fifteen minutes, under his critical observation, the boys played with a dash and vim that might have brought a smile of approval from almost any one else.
Then, without a word of comment, he waved his knotty stick in the direction of the captain of the nine, and, closely followed by the yellow dog, stalked back in the direction from whence he had come.