These were only a few of the comments that were being heard on all sides. The Yale team looked somewhat amazed, and then, lest their enemies find out that they feared they had a weak spot, they braced up, smiled and acted as if it was a matter of course. And, as far as Cornell was concerned, they knew that there was rivalry between Weston and Joe, but as a pitcher is an uncertain quantity at best, they were not surprised that the ’varsity twirler whom they had faced the season before should again occupy the mound. It might be a part of the game to save Matson until later.
“Tough luck, Joe,” said Spike, as he passed his friend.
“Yes—Oh, I don’t know! I hadn’t any right to expect to pitch!”
Joe tried to be brave about it, but there was a sore feeling in his heart. He had hoped to go into the game.
“Sure you had a right to expect it!” declared Spike. “You’re the logical pitcher. There’s been some funny work going on, I’m sure. Weston has pulled off something.”
“Be careful, Spike.”
“Oh, I’m sure of it. Why, look at Horsehide’s face!”
Joe glanced at the head coach. Indeed the countenance of Mr. Hasbrook presented a study. He seemed puzzled as he turned away from a somewhat spirited conversation with Mr. Benson. For an instant his eyes met those of Joe, and the young pitcher thought he read in them pity, and yet a trace of doubt.
“I wonder if he has lost confidence in me?” thought Joe. “I wonder if he thinks I can’t pitch in a big game?”
Yet he knew in his own heart that he had not gone back—he was sure he could pitch better than he ever had before. The days at Yale, playing with young men who were well-nigh professionals, had given him confidence he had not possessed before, and he realized that he was developing good control of the ball, as well as speed and curves.