Joe indicated his valise, into which he had hastily stuffed, at the hotel, one of his old suits.
“Well, slip it on—take any dressing room that’s vacant there,” and Jimmie motioned to the grandstand. “Then come out and I’ll have you meet the boys. We’re only doing light practice as yet, but we’ll soon have to hump ourselves, for the season will shortly open.”
“Is Mr. Gregory here?” asked Joe, feeling that he ought to meet the manager of the team.
“He’ll be here before the day is over. Oh, Harrison!” he called to a passing player, “come over and meet Joe Matson, one of our new pitchers. Harrison tries to play centre,” explained the assistant manager with a smile.
“Quit your kiddin’!” exclaimed the centre fielder as he shook hands with Joe. “Glad to meet you, son. You mustn’t mind Jimmie,” he went on. “Ever played before?”
“Not professionally.”
“That’s what I meant.”
“Joe’s the boy who pitched Yale to the championship this year,” explained Jimmie Mack.
“Oh, ho! Yes, I heard about that. Well, hope you like it here. I’m going out in the field. See you there,” and Harrison passed on.
Joe lost no time in changing into his playing togs. The dressing rooms in the Montville grandstand were only apologies compared with what Joe was used to.