“Does that mean I’m going to be taken out of the box?” asked the chief pitcher, stalking angrily over to the manager.
“It means just that, son. I can’t afford to lose this game, and we sure will the way you’re feedin’ ’em in to ’em. I guess you drew it a little too fine the last few days. You need a rest.”
“But—I—er—I——” protested Collin.
“That’ll do,” said Gregory, sharply. “Joe Matson will pitch. It’s a chance, but I’ve got to take it.”
“What’s the matter with Tooley?” demanded Collin. “What do you want to go shove this raw college jake in ahead of us for? Say!”
“Go to the bench!” ordered the manager. “I know what I’m doing, Collin!”
The pitcher seemed about to say something, and the look he gave Joe was far from friendly. Then, realizing that he was under the manager’s orders, he stalked to the bench.
“You won’t do this again, if I can prevent it!” snapped Collin at Joe, as he passed him. “I’ll run you out of the league, if you try to come it over me!”
Only a few players heard him, and one or two whispered to him to quiet down, but he glared at Joe, who felt far from comfortable.
But he was to have his chance to pitch at last.