“Oh, fellows!” he pleaded and they could see that he was very much in earnest, “let’s get together and wallop every nine we play against from now on! Take a brace. Forget all this feeling and get together. Matson and Morton, I want you to shake hands, will you?”
“I’m willing,” assented Joe eagerly, advancing toward Sam.
The latter hesitated a moment and then, feeling the eyes of all in the dressing room on him, he mumbled:
“Well, as long as you don’t think he’s the star of the Stars, I’ll shake. Maybe I was a bit hasty,” he went on, and this was a great deal for Sam Morton to admit. He and Joe shook hands, though it cannot be said that there was any warmth on the part of the pitcher. Still it was better than open enmity, though Joe wondered if Sam would be really friendly.
“That’s better,” commented the manager with something like a sigh of relief.
“And don’t let this go any further,” suggested the captain. “We don’t want it known that there came near being a break in the Stars. Now get together, fellows. Show up at practice strong next time, and we’ll win our next game!”
“That’s the way to talk!” cried Tom Davis, and the crisis was passed—for a time.
And, to the delight of Joe, he found that he had made many new friends, chiefly because of his sensational run. The members of the team, of course, crowded around him congratulating him, and asking him how he did it. But, in addition, there now flocked into the dressing room a crowd of lads who had witnessed the game. Some of them were high school pupils who knew Joe, at least by sight, but they now came up and spoke to him. Other town lads did the same thing.
“Gee! It’s great to be popular!” exclaimed Tom, with a mock sigh. “Why wasn’t I born a home-run hitter instead of good looking, I wonder?”