“That was great work, Joe,” Jim told him a few moments later. “I’d give anything to be able to bat as you do. It sure is a privilege to see you knock out one of those home runs.”
“Say, Jim,” Joe broke in with an abruptness that showed he had not heard one word of Jim’s tribute, “what do you suppose is the matter with Reggie? Why don’t we hear from him?”
“I wish you’d give me an easy one,” answered Jim anxiously. “I’ve been wondering that same thing myself. However,” he added, “I suppose no news is good news.”
“That’s pretty thin comfort for me,” growled Joe, adding quickly, the feverish light in his eyes showing plainly the strain he had been under: “I tell you I can’t stand this any longer, Jim. I’m going up there and try to get in touch with Riverside again, and if I can’t get them, I’ll try Reggie. Then, if that fails, I’m going to Mabel!”
“You can’t do that, Joe,” Jim protested. “Why, you’re the only one who has a ghost of a show to pull this game out of the fire. Look at the score!”
“Hang the score!” cried Joe explosively, as he got up. “I can’t stand this any longer, I tell you! I’ve got to find out!”
As he started toward the clubhouse he found himself face to face with McRae. The game had evidently fretted the manager, and he was in a bad temper.
“’Phone call for you, Joe,” he snapped. “And say, hurry back, will you? Something tells me I’m going to need you.”
But the last words failed entirely to reach Joe. He was already half way to the clubhouse.
At last he was going to know! He was eager, yet fearful. He did not know what awful news awaited him at the other end of that wire.