“We’ll let that depend on the way they keep up with the stick,” said McRae. “That will be a spur to them. Neither Curry nor Wheeler nor Bowen will want to sit on the bench, and they’ll work their heads off to keep on the batting order. There again it will be a good thing for the team. Every man will be fighting to make the best showing possible.”
“Talking about Jackwell and Bowen,” remarked Robbie. “Have you ever noticed anything queer about those birds?”
“They don’t seem to be as husky as they might be,” observed McRae. “Just the other day they begged to be let off because they said they were sick. Over eating, perhaps. That’s a common fault with young players when they first come into the big League and eat at the swell hotels.”
“It wasn’t that I meant,” explained Robbie. “They seem to be nervous and jumpy. Looking around as though they expected every minute to feel somebody’s hand on their shoulder.”
“I’ve noticed that,” said Joe. “It was only the other day I was speaking to Jim about it. Probably it will wear off when they get a little better used to big-league company. I’ll have a quiet little talk with them about it.”
For another hour they discussed matters bearing on the welfare of the club, and then Joe went back to Mabel.
“I thought you’d forgotten all about poor little me,” she said, with an adorable pout of her pretty lips.
Joe looked around to see that no one was observing them, and straightened out the pout in a manner perfectly satisfactory to both.
“Well, did McRae fire you, as you call it?” asked Mabel.