Practice was resumed Monday morning, and Joe could note that there was a tightening up all along the line. The orders from the manager and his assistant came sharper and quicker.
“I want you boys to get right on edge!” exclaimed Gregory. “We’ll play our opening game in Pittston in two weeks now. We’ll cross bats with Clevefield, last season’s pennant winners, and we want to down them. I’m getting tired of being in the ruck. I want to be on top of the heap.”
Joe, from his study of the baseball “dope,” knew that Pittston had not made a very creditable showing the last season.
The practice was sharp and snappy, and there was a general improvement all along the line. Joe was given several try-outs in the next few days, and while he received no extravagant praise he knew that his work pleased. Jake Collin still held his enmity against Joe, and perhaps it was but natural.
Wet grounds, a day or so later, prevented practice, and Joe took advantage of it to call on the girl he had rescued. He found her home, her wrist still bandaged, and she welcomed him warmly, introducing him to her mother. Joe was made to feel quite at home, and he realized that Reggie had said nothing about the articles missing from the valise—or, at least, had not mentioned the accusation against Joe.
“Will you tell me how, and when, you met my brother?” asked Mabel, after some general talk.
“Hasn’t he told you?” inquired Joe, with a twinkle in his eyes.
“No, he keeps putting it off.”
“Then perhaps I’d better not tell,” said Joe.
“Oh, Mr. Matson, I think you’re horrid! Is there some reason I shouldn’t know?”