"Count on me!" he said, and turning, he left the coach abruptly.

"Hey, there, Burleigh, hold on a minute," Trench, the right guard, called,
as Vic was striding up the steep south slope of the limestone ridge.
"Say, wind a fellow, will you! You infernal, never-wear-out, human
steam engine. I'm on to some things you ought to know. Even a lazy
old scout like I am gets a crack at things once in a while."

"Well, get rid of it once in a while, if you really do
know anything," Vic responded.

"Say, you're nervous. Coach says you spend too much time in your nursery;
says you'd better get rid of that little kid."

"Tell the coach to go to the devil!" Vic spoke savagely.

"Say, Coach," Trench roared down from the hillslope, "Vic says
for you to go to the devil."

"Wait till after tomorrow," the coach shouted back, "and I'll
take you fellows along if you don't do your best."

"Now, that's settled, I'll tell you what I know," Trench drawled lazily.
"First, Elinor Wream, what Dean Funnybone calls `Norrie,' is heading
the bunch that's going to shower us with roses tomorrow, if we win.
And you know blamed well we'll win. They came in from Kansas City
on the limited, just now, the roses did. The shower's predicted
for tomorrow P. M."