“I sure hope so. I want to see what sort of meat these Newkirk fellows are made of since we played against ’em last.”
“Oh, they’re husky enough, as we found, Charlie,” for there had been several league games between this team and the Pittston nine, but in the latter town. Now the tables might be turned.
“They’ve got some new players,” went on Charlie, “and a pitcher who’s said to be a marvel.”
“Well, you’ve got me,” laughed Joe, in simulated pride.
“That’s right, old man, and I’m glad of it. I think you’re going to pull us to the top in this pennant race.”
“Oh, I haven’t such a swelled head as to think that,” spoke Joe, “but I’m going to work hard—I guess we all are. But what does it look like for Clevefield to-day? You know she’s got to lose and we’ve got to win to put us on top.”
“I know. There wasn’t any report of rain there, so the game must be going on. We ought to get results soon. Come on over to the ticker.”
It was after luncheon, and the game in Clevefield, with the Washburg nine, would soon start. Then telegraphic reports of the contest that, in a way, meant so much for Pittston would begin coming in.
After the delightful dinner Joe had had with Mabel his pleasure was further added to when he went with her to the theatre. Reggie telephoned that he could not get back in time, and asked Joe to take his sister, she having the tickets.
Of course the young pitcher was delighted, but he could not get over the uneasy feeling that young Varley was suspicious of him.