“Now for the post-mortem,” remarked his room-mate. “The coaches and captain will get together and talk it over.”
“Then we might as well vamoose,” said Joe. “They won’t need us.”
“I guess not. Come on.”
The boys strolled from the diamond. As they passed a group of the ’varsity players surrounding the coaches, Joe saw Mr. Hasbrook step forward. He had a bat and seemed to be illustrating some of the weak points of the plays just made, or to be about to demonstrate how properly to swing at a ball. As Joe came opposite him the head coach stepped out a little and saw our hero.
For a moment he stared unrecognizingly at him, and then a smile came over his rugged face. His eyes lighted up, and, stepping forward, he held out his hand.
“Why, how do you do!” he exclaimed. “I know you—I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before, and under queer circumstances, too, but I can’t just recall—hold on, wait a moment!” he exclaimed, as he saw Joe about to speak. “I like to make my brain work.
“Ah! I have it! You’re the young fellow who drove me to the station, in time to catch the New York train, the day my carriage wheel broke. Well, but I’m glad to see you again! That was a great service you did me, and I haven’t forgotten it. Are you attending here?”
“Yes,” said Joe, glad that he had not been forgotten.
“Good! Are you playing ball?”
“Well—er—I—that is I haven’t——”