“Yes, and a good one, too,” declared Joe’s room-mate. “It isn’t all howling for Yale blood. There are a lot of old grads. here to-day, as well as a lot of army men, and we’ve got our friends with us. You’ve got to play for all you’re worth.”
“I intend to,” declared Joe, “but——”
“Now there you go!” interrupted his chum. “Getting doubtful of yourself. Stop it, I tell you! Just make up your mind that you’re going to make good and you will. These fellows are only human, and, though they’ve got the game down to a fine point, and play together like machinery, on account of their drill practice, yet baseball is always uncertain. Yale luck is bound to turn up sooner or later.”
“It had better be sooner then,” remarked Joe, with a grim smile. “Two defeats, hand running, would about put me out of business. I’d resign.”
“Nonsense!” declared Spike. “You can make good all right. Remember that Weston is just hankering for a chance to displace you, so don’t give it to him. Hold on to the mound.”
“I intend to. And yet I heard something that set me thinking,” and Joe related what he had inadvertently listened to, adding:
“I may be taken out after two innings.”
“Not much!” declared Spike emphatically. “I see what’s going on. Weston is trying to work his society pull and get the trainers to pitch him. The cad!”
“Well, I can’t find the heart to blame him,” said Joe, softly.