Joe went to his baseball practice with a vim in the days that intervened before the game that was to be so important to him. Tom Davis helped him, and several times cautioned his chum about overdoing himself.
“If your arm gets stiff—it’s good-night for you,” he declared, in his usual blunt way. “You’ve got to take care of yourself, Joe.”
“I know it, but I want to get up more speed.”
“That’s all right. Speed isn’t everything. Practice for control, and that won’t be so hard on you.”
And, as the days went on, Joe realized that he was perfecting himself, though he still had much to learn about the great game.
It was the day before the contest when our hero was to occupy the box for the first time for the Stars. He and Tom had practiced hard and Joe knew that he was “fit.”
Joe wondered how Sam Morton had taken the news of his rival’s advance, but if Sam knew he said nothing about it, and in the practice with the scrub he was unusually friendly to Joe. For Darrell decided not to have the new pitcher go into the box for the Stars until the last moment. He did not want word of it to get out, and Joe and the catcher did some practice in private with signals.
The last practice had been held on the afternoon prior to the game, and arrangements completed for the team going to Fayetteville. Joe was on his way home on a car with Tom Davis, for Riverside boasted of a trolley system.
“How do you feel?” asked Tom of his chum.
“Fine as a fiddle.”