“I’ll trust Matson to tame them,” was Hughson’s comforting remark. “He’s as good a man at this moment as I ever dared to be.”
“Nobody’s as good as you are, Hughson,” was Joe’s answer to this generous praise. “But you can do an awful lot for me just now in giving me pointers on what to feed those fellows,” he added.
“And you’ll have to hurry,” broke in McRae, looking at his watch. “We haven’t much more than time now to get back to the grounds.”
For five minutes there was an animated discussion, and then, with a cordial goodby to Hughson, the three entered the waiting taxicab and were whirled back to the Polo Grounds.
[CHAPTER XXX]
A GLORIOUS SUCCESS
Consternation sat on every face. The easy confidence of the night before was gone. A thunderbolt had come out of the blue. The chief prop had been knocked from under them. The easy way in which Hughson had tamed the men from the wild and woolly West had made it seem a dead certainty that he would win if he should be called on to repeat.
There was hot scurrying to and fro among the leaders. McRae and Robson, with drawn faces, were deep in discussion as to the best thing to be done. The program would have to be radically changed.
McRae came hurrying over to Joe when the latter entered the clubhouse.