“Great! In the First Ten――counting from the bottom! I’m still wondering how it happened.” “You’re a lucky dub, anyhow,” replied Wink unflatteringly. “I was lucky this time,” agreed Tom, with what may have seemed to the other a distinctly irritating laugh. That would have ended the conversation if Tom hadn’t remembered that he had lots of time on his hands. He didn’t particularly care for Wink, but he wanted to talk to some one and, failing another, Wink would answer. “They say it’s better to be born lucky than rich,” Tom went on. “I guess it is,” said Wink. “And I’ll say you’re sure lucky!” At last it dawned on Tom that the other was not in absolute sympathy. In fact, Wink’s tone of voice had been a trifle――well, a trifle mean! Tom became inquiring in look and speech. “Sounds like a nasty crack, Wink,” he said less genially. “What’s on your mind?” “Well,” answered Wink, eying him coldly, “I guess you were pretty lucky to land on the nine, weren’t you?” “Oh! That’s what’s eating you, eh? Yes, I guess there was some luck in that, but I wouldn’t say it was all luck. Sorry I crowded you, Wink, but I couldn’t help it, you know. Fortunes of war, and all that, eh?” “Oh, sure!” replied Wink sarcastically. “Fortunes of war and a lot of luck, Kemble.” Tom frowned. “Heck, what are you so sore about? You didn’t own that position, did you? Anyway, why don’t you tell your stuff to Steve? What’s the idea of blaming it all on me?” “Who said I was blaming you?” asked Wink. “And I guess you’re right, at that. Luck’s pretty good, but standing in with the coach is a blame sight better, I guess.” “Is that _so_?” inquired Tom. “Meaning I swiped for that job, eh? You’ve got a crust!” “Oh, I’m not saying you swiped.” Wink laughed annoyingly. “You didn’t have to, I guess. Steve has his friends, and ever since last fall you’ve been one of them. Lots of fellows thought it was mighty funny when he jumped you from the scrub, Kemble.” Tom smiled. If Wink had known him a good deal better he would have recognized that particular kind of a smile as a danger signal. “Coles,” said Tom gently, “those cracks about me don’t bother me a mite, but when you say that Steve Connover isn’t straight you’ve started something. Listen to this, and get it. You’re a dirty pup.” Wink struck swiftly, but Tom was ready. He stepped back quickly and held up a hand. “Cut it out!” he said. “I’m not going to be fired on account of you. I’ll fight you all right, but we’ll fight regularly to-morrow morning.” “You’ll fight now!” gasped Wink. “You called me a pup, you――you rotten swiper!” He struck again and landed glancingly on Tom’s neck. Tom backed away, shooting a hasty glance about. Fortunately, although there were a score or more of fellows over on the scrub diamond, no one was apparently looking toward the gymnasium steps. Wink was following, eloquent on the subject of Tom’s character. Tom shrugged.