“It’s going to take away a lot of confidence from our boys,” said Joe, “and in a critical series like that, confidence is half the battle. We could have lost two or three other men and yet have a better chance than we will have with Hughson out of the game.”
“Isn’t there any chance of his recovering in time to take part in some of the games?” asked Mabel.
“A bare chance only,” Joe replied. “I saw the old boy yesterday, and he’s getting along surprisingly fast. You see, he always keeps himself in such splendid physical condition that he recovers more quickly than an ordinary man would. We’ve got over a week yet before the Series starts, and he may possibly be able to go in before the games are over. If he does, that will be an immense help. But McRae had figured on having him pitch the first game, so as to get the jump on the other fellows at the very start. Then he could have gone in at least twice more, perhaps three times, and it would have been all over but the shouting.”
“It’s lucky that McRae has you at hand to step into Hughson’s shoes,” declared Reggie.
“Step into them!” exclaimed Joe. “Yes, and rattle around in them. Nobody can fill them.”
“I don’t believe a word of it,” cried Mabel warmly—so warmly in fact that her brother looked at her in some surprise.
“Yes,” she repeated, holding her ground valiantly, “I mean just what I say. It’s awfully generous of you, Joe, to praise Hughson to the skies, but there’s no use in underrating yourself. I don’t think Hughson can pitch one bit better than you can. Look at that game this afternoon. I heard lots of people around me say that they never saw such pitching in all their lives. And what you did to-day you can do again. So there!”—she caught herself up, smiling a little confusedly, as though she had betrayed herself, but finished defiantly—“if that be treason, make the most of it.”
Joe’s heart gave a great leap, not only at the tribute but at the tone and look that had gone with it. So this was what Mabel thought of him! This was how she believed in him!
His head was whirling, but in his happy confusion one thought kept pounding away at his consciousness, a thought that never left him through all the tremendous test that lay before him:
“I’ve got to make good! I’ve got to make good!”