An impromptu game was going on, but Joe did not join. Darrell Blackney passed him, and in answer to Joe’s nod of greeting asked:
“Did you get home all right?”
“Oh, yes. How about you?”
“Fine. The bolt was all right. I haven’t forgotten. I’ll see McGraw to-day and find out when he’s going to leave. Then if Oswald can’t say for sure whether he’ll be with us, you’ll go in at centre field.”
“Good!” exclaimed Joe, his eyes bright with anticipation.
As Darrell passed on, Joe saw Sam Morton approaching. At first he had a notion of turning away and avoiding what he felt would be an unpleasant scene. But Joe was nothing of a coward and he realized that, sooner or later, he would have to meet the pitcher with whom he had had the collision. So he stood his ground.
“How’s your arm?” he asked pleasantly, as Sam approached.
“Hu! None the better for what you did to it.”
“What I did?” and Joe’s voice took on a surprised tone. “Do you still insist it was my fault?”
“Pretty near,” went on Sam, but Joe noticed that he was not quite so vindictive as before. “It isn’t as stiff as I thought it would be, though.”