“And, oh! if I could only pitch before that crowd!” thought Joe, in a moment of anticipated delight.
“There, I guess you’ll do, if you keep it well wrapped up, stay out of draughts and don’t use it,” said the trainer finally, as he bound up Joe’s twirling wing. “No practice, even, for a week, and then very light.”
Joe half groaned, and made a wry face, but there was no help for it, he realized that. He was surrounded by his mates, as the game ended, and many were the congratulations, mingled with commiserations, as they greeted him.
Weston even condescended to say:
“Hope you won’t be knocked out long, old man.”
“Thanks,” replied Joe dryly. “It’ll be a week anyhow.”
“A week!” exclaimed Weston, and he could not keep the delight from showing on his face. Then he hurried off to see one of the coaches. Joe had little doubt what it meant. Weston was going to try for his old place again while Joe was unable to pitch.
“Well,” remarked De Vere, as his crony came out of the dressing rooms, whither he had gone. “I should think you could drop your other game, now that’s he out of it.”
“Not much!” exclaimed Weston, with some passion. “This won’t last. He’ll be back pitching again, and do me out of it. What I’m going to do won’t hurt him much, and it will give me a chance. I’m entitled to it.”