“All right, I think. My hand is in fair shape.”
“Pity you’re not a southpaw, or else it’s too bad you caught that ball,” said Phil.
“Nonsense. I can pitch all right, and I would have felt like leaving the team, if I had let that liner get past me, hot as it was. No, I’m not worrying from my end, though perhaps I should. It’s our batting I’m alarmed about. Hang it all, if only Sid——”
“There’s no use going over that again,” and Phil spoke quietly.
“No, I presume not. Well, we’ve just got to win from Fairview.”
“Suppose it would do any good to tackle Sid again?”
“I don’t know. I’ll try, if I get a chance. I wish I knew his secret.”
The chance came sooner than Tom or Phil expected it would. It was the evening of the day before the final game with Fairview. There had been hard practice in the afternoon, and though Tom found himself in good shape, and noted an improvement in his fielding forces, the batting was weak. He was tired, and not a little discouraged. His one thought was:
“If I could only get Sid to play, it would strengthen the whole team. He would stiffen the rest of ’em up, and stiffening is all that some of them need. Oh—well, what’s the use.”
Tom and Phil were alone in the room, discussing plans for the game the next day, when Sid entered. One look at his face showed that he was moody and out of sorts. He had been off on a tramp, after biology specimens, and with scarcely a word to his chums he began changing his field clothes for other garments.