“You’ll go right out there?” asked Joe in a relief that was mixed with uncertainty. “That’s fine of you, Reggie, but I think I ought to come back anyway.... What say?... Speak more slowly, old man.... You’ll let us know as soon as you find out?... What’s that?... Provided I stay around and play ball?... Say, what is this anyway, blackmail?... All right, all right, I promise.... All right, I’ll stick around till I hear from you, but make it swift, will you, old man? You know how I feel.... All right.... Thanks.... So long.”
Joe hung up, took out his handkerchief, and wiped beads of perspiration from his face.
“Well?” demanded Jim and McRae together.
“I don’t know that it is well,” groaned Joe. “Here I’ve promised Reggie I’ll wait here till he calls up—a thing I’ll probably spend the rest of my life regretting.”
“He said he would go right up there, didn’t he?” asked Jim, adding, as Joe nodded miserably: “Well, you see, he’ll be there hours before you could hope to. The chances are he’ll find Mabel as fit as a fiddle.”
“But if he doesn’t——”
“Well, then,” said Jim reassuringly, “it will only mean the delay of an hour or so, anyway. Or no delay at all. Through express trains don’t run like trolleys. You can’t get away before to-night at best.”
“And meanwhile I might suggest,” said McRae dryly, “that the hour of battle draws near and that Baseball Joe had better get into something more nearly resembling a uniform. Buck up, Joe,” he added, giving the latter a hearty thump on the shoulder. “You’re not going to turn the Giants down now, are you, when the team needs the best that’s in you?”
Joe made no answer in words but rose and turned toward the locker room.