“Oh, I see. You’re trying for your team. Good! I’m glad to hear it. It’s a great game—the greatest there is. And so you are at Yale—Matson—you see I haven’t forgotten your name. I never expected to meet you here. Do you know the other coaches?”
“I’ve met them,” murmured Joe, and he half smiled in a grim fashion, for that was about as far as his acquaintanceship had progressed. He had met them but they did not know him apart from many others.
“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Hasbrook. “Well, I’ll see you again. And so you’re at Yale? Look me up when you get time,” and he turned back to his instruction, murmuring to the other coaches: “He did me quite a service some time ago. I’m glad to see him again. Seems like a nice lad.”
The others murmured an assent, and then gave their whole attention to the man who had, more than anyone else, perhaps, mastered the science of baseball as it ought to be played.
“Well, say, you’ve got a friend at court all right!” exclaimed Spike, as he and Joe strolled along. “If I had your chance I’d——”
“Chance!” exclaimed Joe. “What better chance have I than I had before?”
“Why, you know Horsehide! Why didn’t you say so?”
“I didn’t know I did until a little while ago. I had no idea that the man I picked up and took to the station would turn out to be the Yale coach. But if you think he’s going to put me in ahead of the others just on that account you’re mistaken.”
“Oh, I don’t say that.”
“It wouldn’t be square,” went on Joe.