"Don't worry," laughed Tom, turning away.
During the next few days, whenever the weather was suitable, the boys practiced out-of-doors. Owen Lawrence worked as hard as any of the others. There was no doubt about his being a good player—even Tom Clifton admitted this fact to Harry Spearman.
"Joining that 'Pie-eating' crowd won't do him a bit of good, though," he added.
"Strikes me he'd be a rather hard chap to manage," confided Harry. "Awful set in his opinions, isn't he?"
"Owen makes me tired," confessed Tom. "He actually tried to jump on Dave this morning. But Dave only grinned—that's all. Couldn't get him going."
"How did it happen?"
"He's seen that Dave is chummy with the coach—asked him to put in a good word in his behalf. 'Can't,' said Dave. 'We're leaving it all to Steele.' Seemed to make Owen hot."
"If he doesn't get on the team he'll be hotter yet," chuckled Spearman. "You seem to be getting some of those base-stealing stunts down fine, Tom."
"Steele's put me onto a lot of tricks. 'Tisn't all in the sprinting, he says. Even a slow man who knows how has a chance. He's got the list of players about made up now. Next Monday he'll submit it to the athletic association."
"We've been talking things over with Roger for a long time," remarked Harry. "From what I've seen, I'd say he's struck the list about right. But there'll be a lot of kicks coming, son."