“Um!” growled Collin, surlily.
The team played the game all over again at the hotel that night. Of course it was not much of a victory, close as it was, but it showed of what stuff the players were made, and it gave many, who were ignorant of Joe’s abilities, an insight into what he could do.
“Well, what do you think of my find?” asked Jimmie Mack of his chief that night.
“All right, Jimmie! All right! I think we’ll make a ball-player of him yet.”
“So do I. And the blessed part of it is that he hasn’t got a swelled head from his college work. That’s the saving grace of it. Yes, I think Joe is due to arrive soon.”
If Joe had heard this perhaps he would have resented it somewhat. Surely, after having supplanted a veteran pitcher, even though of no great ability, and won his first professional game, Joe might have been excused for patting himself on the back, and feeling proud. And he did, too, in a sense.
But perhaps it was just as well he did not hear himself discussed. Anyhow, he was up in his room writing home.
The next day was Sunday, and in the afternoon Joe went for a long walk. He asked several of the men to go with him, but they all made good-enough excuses, so Joe set off by himself.
It was a beautiful day, a little too warm, but then that was to be expected in the South, and Joe was dressed for it. As he walked along a country road he came to a parting of the ways; a weather-beaten sign-post informed him that one highway led to North Ford, while the other would take him to Goldsboro.