“Not a one,” said Gregory, and Joe thought he spoke sharply. “What’s the matter? Where have you been?”
Joe gaspingly explained. When he spoke of the slow watch he looked at Collin sharply. For a moment the old pitcher tried to look Joe in the face. Then his eyes fell. It was enough for Joe.
“He did it!” he decided to himself.
“How many out?” was Joe’s next question.
“Only one. We have a chance,” replied Gregory. “Get into a uniform as fast as you can and warm up.”
“Are you going to pitch me?”
“I guess I’ll have to. They’ve been knocking Collin out of the box.” Gregory said the last in a low voice, but he might as well have shouted it for it was only too well known. Collin himself realized it. He fairly glared at Joe.
As Joe hurried to the dressing room—his uniform fortunately having been left there early that morning—he looked at the bases. Bob Newton was on second, having completed a successful steal as Joe rushed in. Charlie Hall was at bat, and Joe heard the umpire drone as he went under the grandstand:
“Strike two!”
“Our chances are narrowing,” thought Joe, and a chill seemed to strike him. “If we lose this game it practically means the loss of the pennant, and——”