“Well, I guess you haven’t forgotten how to pitch,” exulted Tom, as he sat beside his chum on the bench.
Behind them, and over their heads, sat the spectators in the grandstand, and when the applause at a sensational catch just made by the left fielder, retiring the third man, had died away the voices of many in comment on the game could be heard.
“Oh, I’m not so very proud of myself,” remarked Joe. “I can see lots of room for improvement. But I’m all out of practice. I think I could have held ’em down better if we’d had a few more games to back us up.”
“Sure thing. Well, this is a good way to wind up the season. I heard a little while ago that the Resolutes came over here to make mince-meat of us. They depended a whole lot on their pitcher, but you made him look like thirty cents.”
“Oh, I don’t know. He’s got lots of speed, and if he had the benefit of the coaching we got at Excelsior Hall he’d make a dandy.”
“Maybe. I’m going over here to have a chin with Rodney Burke. I won’t be up for a good while.”
“And I guess I won’t get a chance this inning,” remarked Joe, as he settled back on the bench. As he did so he was aware of a conversation going on in the stand over his head.
“And you say he’s going to Yale this term?” asked someone—a youth’s deep-chested tones.
“I believe so—yes,” answered a girl. Joe recognized that Mabel Davis was speaking. “He’s a chum of my brother’s,” she went on.
“They’re talking of me,” thought Joe, and he looked apprehensively at his companions on the bench, but they seemed to be paying no attention to him, for which he was grateful. They were absorbed in the game.