“I imagine they wanted to capture you both, rather than settle your hash for good,” observed the manager.
“If you don’t mind, Mac,” said Joe, getting to his feet, “I think we’d better go to our hotel and get cleaned up. Jim says I look as bad as he does, but I’d hate to believe it.”
“Go on!” exclaimed his friend. “You look worse. I guess it won’t hurt either of us to have a bath, though, and get some decent clothes on. I’ve got to admit that we both look a little mussed up.”
“Well, beat it along, and look out for those hands of yours, Jim,” said McRae. “I want to get you back into the box just as soon as I can. That last game you pitched is still being talked about by the fans, and I want you to repeat the performance.”
“I’ll do the best I can,” promised Jim. “I don’t see where there was anything so wonderful about that game, though. I was just trying to pitch as well as I knew Joe would have done if he had been there.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” laughed Joe. “But I haven’t heard about that game yet, Jim. On the way home you’ve got to tell me about it.”
“All right, I will. But let’s beat it now,” said his friend, and the two said good-by to McRae and headed for their hotel. Joe insisted on Jim’s telling him the details of the last game when Jim had pitched to victory, and he chuckled with satisfaction when his friend told him about the way he had bowled McCarney over.
“You had the right dope, all right,” declared Joe. “I’ll bet that shady ball player was all set to muff that fly and then blame it on the sun getting in his eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s pulled that excuse, but it’s beginning to wear pretty thin.”
“Yes, that’s what I figured,” agreed Jim. “I couldn’t afford to take a chance right then. We needed that game too badly. It’s a wonder to me, though, that I pitched as well as I did, I was worrying so about you all the time.”