“I know, but——”
“‘But me no buts,’ now Joe. Just brace up. This is only one of the championship games. There are more to come, and we’ll get enough to put us on top of the heap. I only wish I had your chances to perform in public.”
“I wish you had, Spike. But I guess this was my last chance.”
“Nonsense! They’ll play you again. Why Weston—or Avondale either, for that matter—wouldn’t have done half as well, I think.”
“Oh, so that’s your opinion; is it?” snapped a voice behind them. There was no need to turn to know that Weston was there, and it took but a glance to show that he was frowning and sneering.
“It sure is,” retorted Spike, sturdily, for he was not afraid to air his opinions.
“Well, you’ve got another think coming,” snapped Weston. “I’ll pitch a game pretty soon, and show you what’s what.”
Joe did not make reply, but he wondered if Weston’s words held significance.
“Maybe they won’t let me pitch after this,” he mused. Spike, reading his thoughts, said:
“Now don’t you go to thinking gloomy thinks, Joe. You’re all right if you only believe so. Have some confidence in yourself.”