“I won’t answer now,” returned Joe, slowly. “Let’s see if we can get there on time.”
Joe was doing some hard thinking. There was just one man on the Pittston nine who would have perpetrated a trick like this, and that man was Collin. He disliked Joe very much because of his ability, and since the game of yesterday, when Collin, unmercifully batted, had been taken out to let Joe fill his place, there was more cause than ever for this feeling of hatred—no good cause, but sufficient in the eyes of a vindictive man.
Joe realized this. He also realized that Collin might even throw away the chance for his team to win in order to gratify a personal grudge. Other players had said as much to Joe, and it was almost an open secret that Gregory intended giving Collin his release at the end of the season. But Joe had not believed his enemy would go to such lengths.
“He must be afraid I’ll be put in first to-day,” thought Joe, “and that he won’t get a chance at all. Jove, what a mean trick!”
Joe had no “swelled head,” and he did not imagine, for a moment, that he was the best pitcher in the world. Yet he knew his own abilities, and he knew he could pitch a fairly good game, even in a pinch. It was but natural, then, that he should want to do his best.
For Joe was intensely loyal to the team. He had always been so, not only since he became a professional, but while he was at Yale, and when he played on his school nine.
“Hold on now!” called Reggie, suddenly breaking in on Joe’s musings. “I’m going to speed her up!”
The car sprang forward with a jump, and Joe was jerked sharply back. Then the race was on in earnest.
The young pitcher quickly made up his mind. He would say nothing about the slowed watch, and if he arrived too late to take part in the game—provided he had been slated to pitch—he would take his medicine. But he resolved to watch Collin carefully.
“He might betray himself,” Joe reasoned.