"Joe said he would be on hand the first thing to-morrow morning to put the club through its final practice," he reasoned. "He ought to be home to-night getting a sound sleep. He can't rest quite as well in a strange bed."
By nine o'clock on Saturday morning Harry had finished up his chores and he also did the work generally assigned to his brother. Every moment he looked for Joe, and when the clock struck his face took on a gloomy look.
"Hullo, there!" came from the fence, and the next instant Link leaped the pickets and walked across the garden. "All ready for the great game?"
"Yes, I am ready, but I don't know about Joe. Have you seen Fred this morning?"
"No, he isn't home."
"He and Joe went off yesterday. They were to come back in the evening, but sent word that they were going to stay over until nearly noon to-day. I don't like that much."
"Humph! neither do I. It will break up our practicing."
"Well, we've got to do the best we can."
By ten o'clock all of the members of the club but Fred and Joe were at the clubroom, and a little later they marched to their grounds. In the absence of Joe, Link, who was a fairly good pitcher, was put in the box, and the shortstop, Matt, was placed behind the bat.
Harry felt that he must do his best with the team, and he coached them all he could, and explained to them certain new signs he and his brother had been talking over. As each minute went by all of the players looked for Joe and Fred, and when the saw-mill whistle blew twelve o'clock and the practicing came to an end each looked at the others in a doubtful manner.