"The nerve of that Tom Clifton is getting my nerve," he commented, in a low tone. "It beats me how some of the chaps are willing to swallow all he hands out."
"He doesn't seem to like the idea of us swallowing pie," laughed Roycroft.
By this time the tallest senior in the school had almost reached the group. Tom Clifton, bubbling over with good spirits, eyed Nat quizzically.
"Still making the pies over at Guffin's do the disappearing act?" he asked.
"Yes! And the doughnuts are following the same route."
"How is it that Kirk Talbot didn't come over to see us practicing?"
"Kirk had something more important on hand. He went to a moving picture show instead."
"I'll bet it was a nickel one," snickered Tom. "We're getting ready for your crowd, Nat. Thanks, Roycroft! I can go some. I'll do better yet. Wait till you see me making the circuit of the bases. And when we get that new field—well! We'll make some of the 'Pie-eaters and doughnut crowd' lose their appetites."
Tom Clifton's gaze roved over the rather uneven field, which was situated some distance from the rear of the Kingswood High School. Great patches of weeds and small saplings had been leveled to the ground and hollow places filled in by the willing hands of the boys. But even all the zeal and enthusiasm with which they had worked could not make the result of their labor a joy and delight. This particular field seemed to have a grudge against all athletic sports. Treacherous little bumps or depressions, as well as other irregularities, had often spoiled what might have been brilliant plays.
And now, Tom reflected, after a whole winter of neglect, conditions looked more unpromising than ever. It did not at all fit in with his ideas of what the Kingswood High School boys deserved, especially when he considered the new lease of life which Bob Somers, ably assisted by his friends, had injected into the athletic affairs of the school.