Joe’s first act, after receiving the bad news from home, was to sit down and write his father a letter full of vain regrets, of self-accusation, upbraiding himself for having been so stupid as not to have thought of telegraphing. He hastened to post this, going out himself though barely over his cold.
“I’m not going to take any more chances,” he remarked to Tom. “Maybe that other letter wasn’t mailed by the janitor, or it would have gotten to dad in time.”
“Hardly,” remarked his chum. “Your father says the things were taken the night before your letter arrived, so you would have had to write the day before to have done any good. Only a telegram would have been of any use.”
“I guess so,” admitted Joe sorrowfully. “I’m a chump!”
“Oh, don’t worry any more,” advised his friend. “Let’s get at some baseball practice. The school has two games this week.”
“Who with?” asked Joe.
“Woodside Hall and the Lakeview Preps. We ought to win ’em both. They need you back on the scrub. The first nine has had it too easy.”
“And I’ll be glad to get back,” replied the young pitcher earnestly. “It seems as if I hadn’t had a ball in my hands for a month.”
Joe mailed his letter and then, as the day was just right to go out on the diamond, he and Tom hastened there, finding plenty of lads awaiting them. A five-inning game between the scrub and school teams was soon arranged.