“Are you trying to tell me that I’m a winner?” laughed Bert. Tommy emptied the remaining peanuts from the sack to his mouth and contented himself with a nod. “You’re a humorist, Tommy. Going my way?” Tommy nodded again and fell into step. “You’re right about Fitz Savell, though,” said Bert warmly. “Fitz is a winner and no mistake. Wasn’t that a corking run of his to-day? Gee, but that fellow can twist!” “Sokayou,” said Tommy. “Come again?” Tommy swallowed convulsively and obliged. “So can you, I said. Listen. Savell’s mighty good, Bert, but he isn’t a bit better than you are. Only thing is, he’s getting a chance to show and you aren’t. Say, know what I told the fellows at our table the other night? Well, I told them that by the end of the season you’d be the guy who’d be doing most of our scoring.” “Me!” Bert looked searchingly at his companion’s countenance, but he failed to detect sarcasm therein. Instead, Tommy appeared to be quite serious, even earnest. “What did the other fellows do?” inquired Bert. “Hoot?” “Oh, they didn’t believe it,” replied Tommy easily. “But we should worry, eh?” Bert laughed, not amusedly but with slight irritation. “You may mean well, Tommy,” he said, “but I rather wish you wouldn’t make crazy remarks like that, if you don’t mind. It makes me look rather an ass, you know.” Tommy’s slightly protuberant eyes expressed perplexity. “How do you mean, ass?” he inquired. “How do you mean, crazy remarks? How do you mean--” “I mean that fellows might think that I agreed with you, of course,” answered Bert, grinning in spite of himself. “I don’t want to look like a conceited fool, Tommy.”