"Either it wasn't as badly strained as I thought it," he said, "or that medicine worked wonders."

"It was my rubbing," explained Tom, puffing out his chest in pretended pride.

"Well, that certainly completed the cure," admitted the physician.

"And I can pitch?" asked Joe anxiously.

"Yes, a few innings. Have your arm rubbed at intervals in the game, and wear a wrist strap. Good luck and I hope you'll win," and with a smile he dismissed them.

Wearing a wrist strap helped greatly, and when it was nearly time to leave for Fayetteville Joe found that his arm was much better.

"I don't know how long I can last," he said to Darrell, "and maybe I'll be batted out of the box."

"It's too bad, of course," replied the manager, when the accident had been explained to him, "but we won't work you very hard. I want you to get your chance, though."

And Joe felt his heart beat faster as he thought how nearly he had lost his chance. Yet he could not have done otherwise, he reflected.

"I don't see what's keeping Sam Morton," mused Captain Rankin, as the team prepared to take the special trolley car. "He met me a little while ago and said he'd be on hand."

"It's early yet," commented the manager. "I guess he'll be on hand. I told him Joe was going to pitch a few innings."

"What did he say?"

"Well, he didn't cut up nearly as much as I thought he would. He said it was only fair to give him a show, but I know Sam is jealous and he won't take any chances on not being there."

All of the players, save the regular pitcher, were on hand now and they were anxiously waiting for Sam. One of the inspectors of the trolley line came up to where the boys stood about the special car that was on a siding.

"Say," began the inspector, "I'll have to send you boys on your way now."

"But our special isn't due to leave for half an hour," complained Darrell. "We're waiting for Sam Morton."

"Can't help that. I've got to start you off sooner than I expected.

There's been a change in the schedule that I didn't expect, and if I don't get you off now I can't for another hour, as the line to Fayetteville will be blocked."

"That means we'll be half an hour later than we expected," said Darrell.

"Well, I suppose we'd better go on. Sam can come by the regular trolley, I guess."

"Sure, he'll be in Fayetteville in plenty of time," suggested the inspector. "I'll be here and tell him about it."

There was no other way out of it, and soon the team and the subst.i.tutes, with the exception of Sam, were on their way. There was quite a crowd already gathered on the Academy grounds when they arrived and they were noisily greeted by their opponents as well as by some of their own "rooters." The Academy lads were at practice.

"They're a snappy lot of youngsters," commented Darrell, as he watched them.

"Yes, we won't have any walk-over," said the captain.

The Silver Star lads lost no time in getting into their uniforms. Tom gave Joe's arm a good rubbing and then he caught for him for a while until Joe announced that, aside from a little soreness, he was all right.

"Try it with Ferguson now," ordered Darrell, motioning to the regular catcher, and Joe did so, receiving compliments from the backstop for his accuracy.

"A little more speed and you'll have 'em guessing," said the catcher genially. "But don't strain yourself."

The minutes ticked on. Several of the regular cars had come in from Riverside but there was no sign of Sam Morton. Darrell and Captain Rankin held an earnest conversation.

"What do you suppose is keeping him?" asked the manager.

"I can't imagine. Unless he is deliberately staying away to throw the game."

"Oh, Sam wouldn't do that. He's too anxious to pitch. We'll wait a few more cars."

"And if he doesn't come?"

Darrell shrugged his shoulders and looked over to where Joe was practicing with Bart Ferguson.

CHAPTER XXIII

JOE IN THE BOX

"Well, when are you fellows going to start?" asked Tony Johnson, captain of the Academy nine, as he ceased his catching practice with Ed. Wilson, the pitcher. "The game ought to have been called ten minutes ago."

"Our pitcher isn't here," said Darrell anxiously. "We're expecting him every minute. If you could wait a little longer----"

"Haven't you any one else you can put in?" asked Ferd Backus, the manager. "I saw some one practicing a while ago."

"He isn't our regular pitcher," said George Rankin, "but if Sam doesn't come we'll have to lead off with him."

Joe had been aware that Sam was not on hand. He looked up as car after car pa.s.sed the grounds, thinking to see Sam enter, for the electric vehicles from Riverside ran close to the Academy diamond.

"I suppose they'll put Parnell in at the start," Joe mused, naming the second baseman who sometimes acted as pitcher for the Stars. Joe did not dare hope that he himself would be chosen.

"Well, how much longer?" demanded Johnson, when two more cars had pa.s.sed and Sam was on neither of them. "We want to finish this game before dark."

"All right," a.s.sented Darrell briskly. "Get your men ready, Rankin."

"But who will pitch?"

"Joe Matson, of course. It's the only thing we can do. Take the field, fellows. Joe, take your place in the box!"

"Who--me?" gasped our hero, unable to believe the words.

"Yes, you," and Darrell smiled. "Do your prettiest now. You're going in at the beginning instead of at the end. It's different from what I planned, but I guess I can depend on you. Hold 'em down!"

"I will!" cried Joe fiercely and he forgot his injured arm.

"Play ball!" ordered the umpire and Joe took his place as pitcher for the Silver Stars for the first time. No wonder his heart beat faster than usual. The Stars were to bat last, Rankin having won the toss. It must be remembered that these boys were amateur players and did not always follow league rules of having the home team up last.