“We’re playing good ball,” said Weston. “I don’t say that because I’m pitching,” he added quickly, as he saw some looking at him curiously, “but because we have got a good team—mostly old players, too,” and he glanced meaningly at Joe, as though he resented his entrance as an aspirant for the mound.
“One thing—we’ve got to tighten up considerably,” declared Captain Hatfield. “We’ll play our first match game with Amherst in two weeks, and we want to swamp ’em.”
“Oh, we will,” said Weston easily.
“Not unless you pitch better—and we all play better,” was the grim answer.
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. You’ve got to strike more men out, and play a livelier game.”
“Well, I guess I can,” answered the pitcher, sullenly.
There was only light practice the next day, and Joe was told to perfect himself in signals with the class captain. Then came another hard practice contest, and, somewhat to Joe’s surprise, he was not called on to pitch, as he fully expected. But he resigned himself cheerfully when Avondale went to the mound. Had our hero but known it, Mr. Hasbrook had deliberately omitted to start Joe, wishing to discipline him, not, however, because of anything Joe had done.
“I think there’s championship material for one of the big leagues in that lad,” mused the head coach, to justify himself, “and he’s got a hard row ahead of him unless he learns to take disappointment. I’ll start him on the right track, though I would like to pitch him steadily.”
And so Joe sat on the bench, while his rival pitched. Whether it was on this account, or because the ’varsity had tightened, was not at once apparent, but the fact was that the first team began to pound out runs, and the scrub did not.