“I—I hope I’m not intruding,” he stammered. “I didn’t think—I came right in as I always do. Has anything——”
“It’s all right!” exclaimed Joe quickly. “We just got word that dad has lost his patent case.”
“Gee! That’s too bad!” exclaimed Tom, who knew something of the affair. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to pitch against the Resolutes, the first thing I do!” cried Joe. “After that I’ll decide what’s next. But is my glove mended, Clara? Come on, Tom, we mustn’t be late. We’re going to wallop them—just as you said.”
“I hope you do!” burst out Clara.
“Play a good game and—and—don’t worry,” whispered Mrs. Matson to her son as he kissed her good-bye.
The team and substitutes were to go to Rocky Ford in two big stages, in time to get in some practice on the grounds that were none too familiar to them. A crowd of Silver Star “rooters” were to follow on the trolley. The captain and managers of the rival teams watched their opponents practice with sharp eyes.
“They’re snappier than when they beat us before,” was Darrell’s conclusion.
“They’ve got a heap sight better pitcher in Joe than Sam Morton ever was,” concluded Captain Hen Littell of the Resolutes, who twirled for his team. “I shouldn’t wonder but what we’d have a mighty close game.”