There were all sorts of baseball politics discussed in the dormitories, on the campus, and at Glory’s and other resorts that night.
“It begins to look as if the coaches didn’t quite know where they were at,” declared Ricky Hanover. “They make a shift at the last minute.”
“A good shift—according to the way the game went,” declared Hen Johnson, who held down second base.
“That’s yet to be seen,” asserted Jimmie Lee. “Amherst was fruit for us to-day.”
The opinions went back and forth—pro and con—and it was, after all, a matter of judgment. Yet back of it all was the indomitable Yale spirit that has often turned defeat into victory. This was to hearten up those who picked flaws in the playing of the blue, and who predicted a slump in the following week, when the strong Cornell team would be met.
“Oh, Cornell may row us but she can’t play ball us,” declared Jimmie Lee. “We’ll dump ’em.”
“We may—if Joe Matson pitches,” spoke Spike, in a low voice.
“Here! Cut that out,” advised Joe, in a sharp whisper.
Meanwhile no more had been heard about the red paint matter, and it looked to be but a flash in the pan—what the News had printed. The Senior committee of investigation was not in evidence—at least as far as could be learned.
Baseball practice went on, sometimes Joe pitching for the ’varsity, and again one of his rivals being called on. There was a tightening up on the part of the coaches—they were less tolerant—the errors were less excused. Bitter words were the portion of those who made mistakes, and Joe did not escape.