Terry liked to play tricks on the men who made so much of him, and late that first afternoon he stole up behind Jake Collin, who had fallen asleep, and tickled his face with a bit of paper. At first the pitcher seemed to think it was a troublesome fly, and his half-awake endeavors to get rid of it amused Terry and some others who were watching.
Then, as the tickling was persisted in, Collin awoke with a start. He had the name of waking up cross and ugly, and this time was no exception. As he started up he caught sight of the little mascot, and understood what had been going on.
“You brat!” he cried, leaping out into the aisle. Terry fled, with frightened face, and Collin ran after him. “I’ll punch you for that!” cried the pitcher.
“Oh, can’t you take a joke?” someone asked him, but Collin paid no heed. He raced after poor little Terry, who had meant no harm, and the mascot might have come to grief had not Joe stepped out into the aisle of the car and confronted Collin.
“Let me past! Let me get at him!” stormed the man.
“No, not now,” was Joe’s quiet answer.
“Out of my way, you whipper-snapper, or I’ll——”
He drew back his arm, his fist clenched, but Joe never quailed. He looked Collin straight in the eyes, and the man’s arm went down. Joe was smaller than he, but the young pitcher was no weakling.
“That’ll do, Collin,” said Jimmie Mack, quietly. “The boy only meant it for a joke.”
Collin did not answer. But as he turned aside to go back to his seat he gave Joe a black look. There was an under-current of unpleasant feeling over the incident during the remainder of the trip.