“Gosh!” he lamented, one night after Larry had been putting him through a regular course of sprouts on some of the back work in Math., “I’d been meaning to try out for one of the track teams this spring, and now look at me――handcuffed to a pencil and a pad, and with my nose glued into a book! Makes me think of old Johnnie Mawker oiling the train trucks in the Brewster station. Recollect how he used to grin and show his bad teeth when he’d jerk open a housing and prod in it with his hook, and say: ‘Shore enough, b’ys, the way of the train’s greaser is hard’? How’s the practice coming along? I haven’t so much as looked over the fence of the field this year.” “We’re doing fairly well. If there’s anything in hard work, Brock means to put a good team into the fight next fall. Wally Dixon’s coming out fine. I’m mighty glad Brock picked him. He’s got all-star stuff in him if he can take on a little more swiftness.” “Wally’s all sorts of a good fellow,” said Dick, half musingly. “We call him ‘The Butcher’ in the house――I suppose because his Dad’s in the packing business, but that, or his Dad’s money, doesn’t hurt him any.” “No,” Larry agreed. “‘Dad’s money’ doesn’t always spoil a fellow. There’s Ollie McKnight, for example.” Dick smiled. “Getting rid of a few of the old grouches, aren’t you?” “Trying to,” Larry confessed. “But when I run up against a fellow like Bryant Underhill it comes pretty hard.” “Yes, Underhill,” said Dick, and his eyes darkened. “He and his bunch of Snitty-Crawford boot-lickers! You give that gang a wide berth, Larry. They’re all bad medicine, as you and I both have reason to know.” Larry sat back in his chair, and the wide-set eyes were half-closed. “Do you remember, one time last summer when we were on the railroad job, I told you I had a bad temper, Dick? Well, I’ve got it yet, and a sore of the Underhill sort comes as near to getting my goat as anything can. You know how he tried to make me ‘bust’ last winter?” “Sure I do.” “Well, he’s at it again, in another way. He’s trying now to get me shoved off the team.” Dick straightened up hot-eyed. “That’s because you told the fellows what he and Crawford were doing the night of the flood,” he snapped. “But he’d better keep his mouth shut! I could tell things about him that would get him fired out of college so quick it’d make his head swim!” “Easy, you old firebrand,” said Larry; “you’ve got your own quarrel with Underhill on that ‘Mixer’ business, but this one is mine, and I’m big enough to fight my own battles.” “What’s he doing now?” Dick demanded. “Telling lies about me, chiefly. Purdy gets onto everything of that sort”――little Purdick was out somewhere, and the two had the big room in the Man-o’-War to themselves. “What sort of lies?”