“Don’t you care, as long as you can pitch,” said Clara. “I’m going to the game and I’m going to take Mabel Davis and Helen Rutherford. They both want to see you pitch, Joe.”
“That’s good,” said her brother with a smile.
“Now we’ll take another trip to the doctor’s and see what he says,” was Tom’s next order. The physician looked gratified when he saw the arm.
“Either it wasn’t as badly strained as I thought it,” he said, “or that medicine worked wonders.”
“It was my rubbing,” explained Tom, puffing out his chest in pretended pride.
“Well, that certainly completed the cure,” admitted the physician.
“And I can pitch?” asked Joe anxiously.
“Yes, a few innings. Have your arm rubbed at intervals in the game, and wear a wrist strap. Good luck and I hope you’ll win,” and with a smile he dismissed them.
Wearing a wrist strap helped greatly, and when it was nearly time to leave for Fayetteville Joe found that his arm was much better.