“I never had one. Neither have you. Don’t be an idiot, Buster. Just do as I tell you.”
“You bet I will!” They were back on the bench now. “What gets me, Joe, is why I never thought it might be my eyes!”
“I guess a fellow thinks of his eyes the last thing of all,” replied Joe wisely. “I know when I was having those headaches——”
But a further account of his experiences was interrupted by the coach.
“Faulkner, you take first. That’ll do for today, Foley. Hale, you go back to third. Peddie, see what you can do at second.”
Joe played four innings at the first sack that afternoon, conscious all the time of Frank Foley’s malevolent glare from the bench. But he didn’t allow that to worry him much and covered the base in good shape. The following afternoon it was Joe who started at first and Foley who took his place later on. Perhaps the fear of being superseded began to wear on Foley, for he played poorly during the three innings he was on duty, and Jack exulted on the way home.
“You’ve got him on the run, Joey,” he said. “Keep it up, old man! Remember that bat-case is yours every Sunday!”
“Hang your old bat-case, Jack! I wish they’d put me on the second. This thing of taking a chap’s job away isn’t funny.”
“To the victor belong the spoils,” replied Jack untroubledly. “Frank won’t let sentiment interfere with getting his place back if he can, Joey, so why should you——”