“A copper-riveted cinch,” agreed McRae. “But I was mightily encouraged at the way young Barclay mowed them down. The ball didn’t look any bigger than a pea as it came over the plate.”
“He certainly had lots of stuff on the ball,” admitted Robson. “I wonder if he can stand the gaff for a full game.”
“I don’t know whether he’s seasoned enough for that yet,” said McRae, thoughtfully. “But it’ll stand a lot of thinking about. We’ll see first though how Hughson’s feeling when we get back to New York.”
The return journey to New York was not by any means so joyful as the trip out had been. Still, there was no discouragement in the Giants’ camp. They had played good ball and with the lead they had and the way Jim was pitching would probably have won if it had not been for the rain. And on the theory that the good and bad luck of the game usually struck an average, they felt that they were due to have the break in their favor the next time.
As for Joe and Jim, although, of course, they shared the chagrin of their mates, their cloud had plenty of silver lining. They had played their own parts well so far in the Series, and had no painful recollections to grow moody about. And then, too, were they not in the company of the two girls whom they devoutly believed to be the most charming in the world?
They made the most of that company in the quiet Sunday that followed. Mr. and Mrs. Matson smilingly declined Reggie’s cordial invitation, on the ground that they were feeling the need of rest after the excitement. The young people bundled into the car and they had a delightful ride through the woods of Westchester, whose trees were putting on their autumn tints of scarlet and russet and gold. A supper at the Claremont put the finish to a day in which the blind god with his bow and arrows had been extremely busy, and the drive home through the twilight was something none of them ever forgot.
The next morning, Joe, scanning the paper, gave a delighted exclamation.
“What’s the matter?” asked Jim, disturbed in a pleasing reverie that had nothing to do with baseball.
“Matter enough,” returned Joe, handing him the paper. “Hughson’s going to pitch. McRae must have fixed it up with him yesterday.”