“Then Matson plays Saturday,” concluded the manager. “All of you be out for practice to-morrow afternoon again. Matson, report in uniform.”
“All right,” and Joe’s heart was fairly thumping under his coat. The chance he had longed for had come at last.
As Sam was walking away Joe resolved on a bold stroke, rather a grandstand play as he confessed to himself afterward, but he could not forego it. Striding up to the disgruntled pitcher Joe held out his hand and asked:
“Won’t you shake?”
Sam turned and faced him. For several seconds he stood staring Joe straight in the eyes while the crowd of boys looked on. Then with a sneer, and ignoring the proffered hand, Sam said:
“I prefer to pick my own friends. I don’t want them made for me.”
He turned on his heel and walked off.
There was another period of silence like that following his protest. Then some one said:
“Well, I’m glad I haven’t got his disposition.”