"You bet we won't," laughed Tom. "When that crowd finds out what we have to show in the running line they'll open their eyes."
"Get to work, boys," ordered the coach. "Hello, Lou Mercer!" He extended his hand toward a good-looking boy, manager of the club. "I hear Professor Hopkins is going to see the game."
"That's so," said Mercer, gleefully; "and Mr. Rupert Barry'll be with him. And say, what do you think? Professor Ivins actually said he'd come, too."
"What?" cried Tom.
"Fact. Surprised me, I can tell you. Heard him say once he never could see anything in the game."
"He'll see something in this game." Tom selected a bat from several which an exuberant freshman was lugging about. "Get out a bit further, Dave!" he yelled. "I'm going to knock some cloud swipers."
"Hey! Who's seen the Stars practicin'?" asked one boy of another.
"Not I. Struck me they did all of their practicing over at Guffin's."
"That's where you're wrong, son. Leslie Glinn—he's one of their crowd—unloosened his tongue long enough to say they went through their little turns in a field about two miles out the pike. Oh, Nat's cute, all right; knows every trick of the game."
"So does Bob Somers," growled the other. "Say, if we win this game won't the crowd give him a big hand to-night!"