“I’ll do my best, Mr. Matson,” he promised, “and give you and the team all I’ve got. If I fall down, it won’t be for the lack of trying.”
Pittsburgh was the first stop on the Giants’ schedule, and Forbes Field was crowded to repletion when the teams came out on the field. The local fans had been worked up to a high pitch of enthusiasm by the closeness of the race, and they looked to see their favorites put the Giants to rout, as they had on the first visit of the latter to the Smoky City.
“Look who’s here,” said Jim to Joe, as the two friends drew near to the grandstand before the preliminary practice.
“Meaning whom?” asked Joe, as his eyes swept the stands without recognizing any one he knew.
“In the second row near that post on the right of the middle section,” indicated Jim.
Joe glanced toward that part of the stand, and gave a violent start of surprise, not unmixed with a deeper emotion.
“That lob-eared scoundrel, Lemblow!” he ejaculated. “And confabbing with Hupft and McCarney.”
“Evidently as thick as thieves,” commented Jim. “A precious trio. I wonder they have the face to show themselves at a baseball game when they’ve done the best they could to bring the sport into disgrace.”
“Three of the worst enemies we have in the world,” murmured Joe, as his mind ran over the exciting events of the previous season.