Hiram held out his hand and, though the clasp he gave Joe might have been more friendly, our hero took the will for the deed. Luke, also, shook hands, and thus, for the time being, the threatened breach was closed. But Joe knew, and Hiram knew, that never could there be real friendship between them.
Some of the lads began leaving the gymnasium now. There was more talk about the coming ball season, and some still persisted in denouncing the high-handed methods of the manager and his crowd. But in the main the feeling was smothered, due chiefly to Joe’s manly act. The young pitcher even remained for a while chatting with Hiram, Luke and some of their cronies.
“Say, you sure did have your nerve with you, when you shook hands with those two sneaks,” remarked Tom, when he and Joe reached their room, a little later.
“Yes, it did take nerve, but it was the only thing to do. I’m a thousand times obliged to you, Tom, for what you did for me, and——”
“For what I didn’t do for you, I guess you mean,” interrupted his chum with a smile. “Well, I meant all right, but they beat us out. But I’m not done trying. Joe, you’re going to pitch on the first nine of Excelsior Hall before this season is over, or I’ll eat my hat.”
“I wish I could believe so,” replied Joe with a little sigh of longing.
Baseball practice formally opened the next day, which proved unexpectedly warm and springlike. The diamond was in good shape, and a crowd of lads turned out. A host of candidates did their “stunts” and Luke and Hiram “sized them up.” Joe wanted to pitch on the tentative scrub nine that was picked to play against the first team, but Luke, who seemed to manage the second squad as well as the first, sent our hero out in the field, as he also did Tom.
“Never mind,” consoled Peaches, who was on the first team. “Luke doesn’t captain the scrub when it’s formed regularly, and when the fellow is picked out who is to have charge I’ll speak for you, Joe.”
“Thanks. I would like a chance to get in the box.”