“Why, to tell the bally truth, old topper,” he declaimed to Joe, “I didn’t have to come to Chicago at all, don’t you know! I just drummed up the excuse that I ought to look over our branch in this city, and the guv’nor fell for it. It’s rippin’, simply rippin’, the way you’ve been pitchin’ and battin’ ever since the season opened, and I’d been countin’ on seem’ you stand the blighters on their heads. And just when I got here, the old leg had to go bad! It’s disgustin’!”
“Hard luck, old boy,” laughed Joe. “But you’ll see many a game yet through that blessed monocle of yours. If you feel sore, think how much sorer I am and take comfort.”
The crowning disgrace of having the Cubs take four games in a row was happily spared the Giants. McRae put in Jim again, and this time the team gave him better support and he pulled out a victory.
“Great stuff, old man,” congratulated Joe, as Jim, after the game, came up to the box in which Joe and Mabel were sitting.
“You pitched beautifully, Jim,” was Mabel’s tribute, as she smiled upon him.
“Awfully nice of you to say so,” responded Jim, in a sort of lifeless way. “But most of the credit was due to the team. They played good ball to-day. Guess I’ll go and dress now and see you later.”
Joe and Mabel looked at each other, as Jim stalked away across the diamond to the clubhouse.
“Doesn’t seem very responsive, does he?” remarked Mabel.
“No, he doesn’t,” said Joe thoughtfully. “Generally he’s bubbling over with enthusiasm after the Giants have won. He’s been very quiet since our talk last night.”
“Do you think he suspected there was anything wrong?” asked Mabel, anxiously.