“Hurt much?” the man asked, as he massaged the strained muscles.
“Some,” admitted Joe, trying not to wince as the pain shot along his arm. “How are we making out?”
“We win,” declared McLeary, as a scout brought him word. “And you did it.”
“Not by pitching,” asserted Joe.
“No, perhaps not. But every game isn’t won by pitching. There are lots of other plays besides that. Now you’ve got to take care of this arm.”
“Is it bad?”
“Bad enough so you can’t use it right away. You’ve got to have a rest. You’ve torn one of the small ligaments slightly, and it will have to heal. No baseball for you for a week.”
“No!” cried Joe aghast.
“No, sir! Not if you want to play the rest of the season,” replied the trainer.
Now Joe did want to finish out the season, whether he came back to Yale or not, for there were big games yet in prospect, particularly that with Princeton, and, if it was necessary to play a third one, it would take place on the big New York Polo Grounds.