“That’s what I keep telling myself,” said Joe. “All the same there’s a great big if behind it, and I can’t help thinking what it may mean if the worst comes to the worst.”
“There isn’t going to be any worst,” declared Jim stoutly. “In a couple of days this will be only like a bad dream and we’ll be laughing over the worry we’ve had for nothing.”
“Here’s hoping that you’re a true prophet,” said Joe. “Well, I’m not going to grizzle over it anyway. It isn’t for myself I care so much. It’s what it will mean to Mabel! To mother, too, and to Clara and to dad. They’d take it to heart more than I would myself. And then—there’s the Giants!”
“It would be a terrible blow to the chances of the team,” Jim admitted. “It would mean more to them than the loss of any other three men. Why, you could take the Yannigans, just as you did this afternoon, and with you pitching and batting you could lead them to the pennant.”
“I’m afraid it’s just your friendship that’s talking now,” deprecated Joe. “But honest, Jim, the old team is more to me than anything on earth except my family. My heart is bound up in its success. They’ve done an awful lot for me. They’ve given me my chance, they’ve backed me up, they’ve helped me make whatever reputation I have. And to think of failing them now—well, I don’t dare think of it.”
“I know just how you feel about it,” replied Jim sympathetically. “All the same, don’t forget that if you owe a lot to the Giants, they owe still more to you. There have been years when they wouldn’t have been anywhere at all in the race if it hadn’t been for you.
“And don’t forget, Joe,” his friend went on earnestly, “that even if your right arm did go back on you, that wouldn’t put you out of baseball. What’s the matter with that left arm of yours? In a little while you could develop that so that you would become as great as a southpaw as you are as a right-hander.”
“I suppose I might do something with it,” said Joe, brightening a little. “By Jove, I hadn’t thought of that!”
“And even leaving that out of the question,” pursued Jim, “there’s that old noddle of yours, full of baseball brains and able to out-think any other on the diamond. Why, there’s any number of clubs in the league that would fight each other to a frazzle to get you as manager at any salary you might want to ask. It would be a matter of writing your own contract.”
“Oh, I don’t suppose I should starve,” said Joe, with a whimsical smile. “But it would be a mighty wrench to get out of the active part of the game. The roar of the crowds, the thrill of striking out a batter with the bases full, the crash of the bat when you knock out a homer! Gee, it’s the breath of life!”