“Just the same as when you ducked; one each.” Jimmy gave a brief but graphic history of the final three innings. “Why didn’t you come back and see the rest of it?” he concluded.
“I guess I would have if I’d known they weren’t beating us. I’m glad they didn’t. Did—did anyone say anything?”
“Say anything? What about?”
“About me, I mean.”
“Oh, that’s what’s worrying you? I thought you looked a little bit down-hearted. Don’t you let that bother you, son. They all have to go through with that before they arrive. You did pretty well, on the whole. Three strike-outs, wasn’t it? And then you pulled us out of that hole in the seventh! Don’t be a clam, Dud. No one expects a green pitcher to go into a game like that and twirl like a veteran. Why, the row those fellows kicked up even made me nervous, away out in the field!”
“It wasn’t that,” said Dud sadly. “I don’t know what it was. Of course, I was rattled just at first, but afterwards I didn’t pay any attention to the noise. I guess Mr. Sargent thinks I’m a pill!”
“Rot! I’ll bet you lasted longer than Pete expected you to. Of course, I’m not saying that it wouldn’t have been a bully thing for you if you’d gone the distance; you’d have had the whole school inviting you to dinner; but you did pretty well as it was. And, say, talking about that—being popular, I mean, and making a hit—that little meeting with Hobo and Blake was a lucky thing for us, wasn’t it? Look at the way they’ve taken you up, Dud! Fine, what?”
“I suppose so,” agreed the other rather listlessly. “They’ve been awfully nice to me——”