The boys talked of the diamond until the booming of the big school clock warned them that they had better get to bed; so with good-nights and a renewed promise on the part of Ward to place Joe in the box, the conference broke up.
“Oh, things are coming your way slowly,” remarked Tom, as he and Joe reached their room, having successfully dodged a prying monitor on the look-out for rule violators.
“Yes, and now I’ve got to make good.”
“You can do that easily enough. You always have. And when the three months are up I’m going to make my motion over again, and I’ll bet we’ll elect you as regular pitcher.”
“I guess you forget that when the three months are up the Summer vacation will be here and the nine will be out of business,” remarked Joe. “No, I’ve got to work my own way, I guess.”
There were some murmurs of surprise when it was announced the next day that Joe Matson was to be the scrub pitcher. Friends of rival candidates urged their claims on Ward, but he stuck to his promise and the place went to Joe.
“Did Hiram or Luke say anything when you told them?” asked Tom of the scrub captain.
“Oh, yes—a little.”
“What was it?”
“Nothing very pleasant, so don’t repeat it to Joe, but Hiram wanted to know why I didn’t pick out a decent fellow to pitch against the first team, and Luke remarked that Joe would be knocked out of the box in the first practice game, and that I’d have to get some one else.”