The manager was seriously considering the future of the team. Was it wise to go on with such a pitcher as Sam who, though talented, could not be relied upon and who was likely to make "breaks" at unexpected times?

"Yet what can we do?" asked Darrell of the captain. "Is there another man we could put in or get from some other team?"

"I don't believe any other team would part with a good pitcher at this time of the season," replied Rankin. "Surely not if he was a real good one, and we want one that _is_ good. As for using some of the other fellows in Sam's place, I don't know of any one that's anywhere near as good as he is."

"How about Percy Parnell? He's pitched some, hasn't he?"

"Yes, but you know what happened. He was knocked out of the box and we were whitewashed that game."

"Say!" exclaimed Darrell. "I just happened to think of it. That new fellow--Joe Matson. He told me he used to pitch in his home town--Bentville I think it was. I wonder if he'd be any good?"

"Hard telling," replied the captain, somewhat indifferently. "We ought to do something, anyhow."

"I tell you what I'm going to do," went on Darrell. "I'm going to write to some one in Bentville. I think I know an old baseball friend there, and I'll ask him what Matson's record was. If he made good at all we might give him a tryout."

"And have Sam get on his ear?"

"I don't care whether he does or not. Things can't be much worse; can they?"

"No, I guess not. Go ahead. I'm with you in anything you do. Three straight wallops in three weeks have taken the heart out of me."

"Same here. Well, we'll see what we can do."

Joe reached home that night rather tired and discouraged. He felt the defeat of his team keenly, and the more so as the nine he had played with in Bentville had had a much better record than that of the Silver Stars--at least so far, though the Silver Stars were an older and stronger team.

"I wonder if I'm the hoodoo?" mused Joe. "They lost the first game I saw them play, and the next one I played in they lost, and here's this one.

I hope I'm not a jinx."

Then he reviewed his own playing in the two games where he had had a chance to show what he could do, and he had no fault to find with his efforts. True, he had made errors; but who had not?

"I'm going to keep on practicing," mused Joe. "If I can work up in speed and accuracy, and keep what curving power I have already, I may get a chance to pitch. Things are coming to a head with Sam, and, though I don't wish him any bad luck, if he _does_ get out I hope I get a chance to go in."

Following this plan, Joe went off by himself one afternoon several days later to practice throwing in the empty lot. He used a basket to hold the b.a.l.l.s he pitched and he was glad to find that he had not gone back any from the time when he and Tom, with the other lads, had had their contest.

"If I can only keep this up," mused the lad, "I'll get there some day.

Jove! If ever I should become one of the big league players! Think of taking part in the World's series! Cracky! I'd rather be in the box, facing the champions, than to be almost anything else I can think of.

Forty thousand people watching you as you wind up and send in a swift one like this!"

And with that Joe let fly a ball with all his speed toward the basket.

He was not so much intent on accuracy then as he was in letting off some surplus "steam," and he was not a little surprised when the ball not only went _into_ the basket but _through_ it, ripping out the bottom.

"Wow!" exclaimed Joe. "I'm throwing faster than I thought I was. That basket is on the fritz. But if I'd been sending a ball over the plate it would have had some speed back of it, and it would have gone to the right spot."

As Joe went to pick up the ball and examine the broken basket more closely a figure peered out from a little clump of trees on the edge of the field where the lad was practicing. The figure watched the would-be pitcher closely and then murmured:

"He certainly has _speed_ all right. I'd like to be back of the plate and watch him throw them in. I wonder if he has anything in him after all? It's worth taking a chance on. I'll wait a bit longer."

The figure dodged behind the trees again as Joe once more took his position. He had stuffed some gra.s.s in the hole in the peach basket he was using, and again he threw in it.

He was just as accurate as before, and, now and then, when he cut loose, he sent the ball with unerring aim and with great force into the receptacle, several times knocking it down off the stake on which it was fastened.

"I don't know as there's much use in writing to Bentville to find out about him," mused the figure hidden by the trees. "If he's got that speed, and continues to show the control he has to-day, even without any curves he'd be a help to us. I'm going to speak to Rankin about it," and with that the figure turned away.

Had Joe looked he would have seen Darrell Blackney, manager of the Silver Stars, who had been playing the innocent spy on him.

CHAPTER XX

"WOULD YOU LIKE TO PITCH?"

"Come now, fellows, let's get into practice. Are all the scrub here?"

Darrell Blackney looked around over the diamond, where about twenty lads were a.s.sembled one fine afternoon.

"I don't know about the scrub, but all our fellows are on hand," replied Rankin. "Is it all arranged about the game Sat.u.r.day?"

"Yes, we're to play the Fayetteville Academy lads on their grounds."

"A trip out of town, eh? That's two in two weeks."

"Well it gives our fellows experience in playing on some other diamond than their own."

"Oh, it doesn't much matter. The Fayettevilles will be easy fruit for us."

"Don't be too sure. They're a younger team, that's true, and they haven't been doing well this season, but neither have we of late."

"Oh, we'll beat 'em," declared the captain confidently.

"I think so myself, but I don't want you to take too many chances. Here comes Sam. You and he get in for some warm-up work, Bart, and I'll get the scrub together."

Darrell went about the diamond, calling to the various members of the "scrub," or second team.

"We haven't any pitcher," remarked Blake Carrington, who acted as captain of the scrub organization.

"What's the matter with Slater?"

"He hasn't showed up, and none of the other fellows feel like getting in the box against you boys. You'll have to find us a pitcher before we can play."

A sudden idea came to Darrell.

"All right," he answered. "I guess I can. Wait a minute."

He ran over to where Rankin was talking to some of his players.

"Can you play Tom Davis in centre field for to-day?" asked the manager.