Joe Matson'sbrain was in a whirl as he left the boarding house where Shalleg had made his strange threat. The young pitcher had never before gone through such an experience, and it had rather unnerved him.
"I wonder what I'd better do?" he mused, as he walked along the street, where many men were busy clearing away the snow. "I don't like to report what he said to me to any of the baseball authorities, for it would look as though I was afraid of him. And I'm not!" declared Joe, sturdily. "Shalleg wasn't himself, or he wouldn't have said such things. He didn't know quite what he was doing, I guess."
But, the more Joe thought of it, as he trudged along, the more worried he became.
"He has a very bad temper, and he might do me some injury," mused Joe. "But, after all, whatcanhe do? If he stays on the Clevefield team, and I go to St. Louis, we'll be far enough apart. I guess I won't do anything about it now."
But the youth could not altogether conceal the emotions that had swayed him during the strange interview. When, a little later, he called at the hotel to see if Reggie and his sister had comfortable rooms, his face must have showed something unusual, for Mabel asked:
"Why, Joe, what is the matter?"
"Matter? Nothing," he replied, with a laugh, but it was rather forced.
"You look as though—something had happened," the girl went on. "Perhaps you haven't recovered from your efforts to rescue us from the stalled train last night."
"Oh, yes, I'm all over that," declared Joe, more at his ease now.
"It was awfully good of you," proceeded Mabel. "Just think; suppose we had had to stay in that train until now?"
"Oh, they've been relieved by this time," spoke Joe.
"Yes, but they had to stay there all night. I can't thank you enough for coming after us. Are you sure there is nothing the matter?" she insisted. "You haven't had bad news, about not making the St. Louis team; have you?"
"No, indeed. I haven't had any news at all since that one letter from Mr. Gregory. And no news is good news, they say."
"Not always," and she smiled.
"Are you comfortable here?" asked Joe, as he sat in the parlor between the bedrooms of brother and sister.
"Oh, yes. And Reggie likes it very much. He has a lot of business to attend to. Father is putting more and more on his shoulders each year. He wants him finally to take it up altogether. Reggie doesn't care so much for it, but it's good for him," and she smiled frankly at Joe.
"Yes, work is good," he admitted, "even if it is only playing baseball."
"And that sometimes seems to me like hard work," responded Mabel.
"It is," Joe admitted. "How long do you stay in Riverside?"
"Three or four days yet. Why?"
"Because there'll be good sleighing, and I thought perhaps you'd like to go out for a ride."
"I shall be delighted!"
"Then I'll arrange for it. Won't you come over to the house this evening?"
"I have an engagement," she laughed.
Joe looked disappointed. Mabel smiled.
"It's with your sister," she said. "I promised to come over and learn a new lace pattern."
"I'm just crazy about fancy work myself!" and Joe laughed in turn. "It's as bad as the new dances. I guess I'll stay home, too."
"Do," Mabel invited. And when Joe tookhis leave some of the worry caused by Shalleg's threat had passed away.
"I guess I'll say nothing about it," mused our hero. "It would do no good, and if father and mother heard about it they might worry. I'll just fight it out all alone. I guess Shalleg was only a 'bluff,' anyhow. He may be in desperate straits, but he had no right to make threats like that."
Riverside was storm-bound for several days, and when she was finally dug out, and conditions were normal, there was still plenty of snow left for sleighing. Joe planned to take Mabel for a ride, and Reggie, hearing of it, asked Clara to be his guest.
Two or three days passed, and Joe neither saw nor heard any more of Shalleg, except to learn, by judicious inquiry, that the surly and threatening fellow had left the boarding house to which Joe had taken him.
"I guess he's gone off to try his game on some other players in the League," thought the young pitcher. "I hope he doesn't succeed, though. If he got money I'm afraid he'd make a bad use of it."
There came another letter from Mr. Gregory, in which he told Joe that, while the matter was still far from being settled, the chances were that the young pitcher would be drafted to St. Louis.
"I will let you know, in plenty of time, whether you are to train with us, or with the big league," the manager of the Pittston team wrote. "So you will have to hold yourself in readiness to do one or the other."
"They don't give you much choice; do they?" spoke Reggie, when Joe told him this news. "You've got to do just as they tell you; haven't you?"
"In a measure, yes," assented Joe. "Baseball is big business. Why, I read an article the other day that stated how over fifty million persons pay fifteen million dollars every year just to see the games, and the value of the different clubs, grounds and so on mounts up to many millions more."
"It sure is big business," agreed Reggie. "I might go into it myself."
"Well, more than one fortune has been made at it," observed Joe.
"But I don't like the idea of the club owners and managers doing as they please with the players. It seems to take away your freedom," argued the other lad.
"Well, in a sense I suppose it does," admitted Joe. "And yet the interests of the players are always being looked after. We don't have to be baseball players unless we want to; but, once we sign a contract, we have to abide by it.
"Then, too, the present organization has brought to the players bigger salaries than they ever got before. Of course we chaps in the minor leagues aren't bid for, as are those in the big leagues. But we always hope to be."
"It seems funny, for one manager to buy a player from another manager," went on Reggie.
"I suppose so, but I've grown sort of used to it," Joe replied. "Of course the players themselves don't benefit by the big sum one manager may give another for the services of a star fielder or pitcher, but it all helps our reputations."
"Is the St. Louis team considered pretty good?" Reggie wanted to know.
"Well, it could be better," confessed Joe, slowly. "They reached one place from the top of the second division last season, but if I play with them I'll try to pull them to the top of the second half, anyhow," he added, with a laugh. "The Cardinals never have been considered so very good, but the club is a money-maker, and we can't all be pennant winners," he admitted, frankly.
"No, I suppose not," agreed Reggie. "Well, I wish you luck, whatever you do this Summer. If I ever get out to St. Louis I'll stop off and see you play."
"Do," urged Joe. He hoped Mabel would come also.
When Joe reached home that afternoon his mother met him in the living room, and said quickly:
"Someone is waiting for you in the parlor, Joe."
"Gracious! I hope it isn't Shalleg!" thought the young pitcher. "If he has come here to make trouble——" And his heart sank.
But as he entered the room a glad smile came over his face.
"Hello, Charlie Hall!" he cried, at the sight of the shortstop of the Pittston team, with whom Joe had been quite chummy during the league season. "What good wind blows you here?"
"Oh, you know I'm a traveling salesman during the Winter, and I happened to make this town to-day. Just thought I'd step up and see how you were."
"Glad you did! It's a real pleasure to see you. Going back at the game in the Spring, I expect; aren't you?"
"Sure. I wouldn't miss it for anything. But what's this I hear about you?"
"I don't know. Nothing to my discredit, I hope," and Joe smiled.
"Far from it, old man. But there's a rumor among some of the old boys that you're to be drafted to the Cardinals. How about it?"
"Well, Gregory told me as much, but it isn'tall settled yet. Say, Charlie, now you're here, I want to ask you something."
"Fire ahead."
"Do you know a fellow named Shalleg?"
Charlie Hall started.
"It's queer you should ask me that," he responded, slowly.
"Why?" Joe wanted to know.
"Because that's one of the reasons I stopped up to talk to you. I want to warn you against Shalleg."
"Warn me! What do you mean?" and Joe thought of the threats the man had made.
"Why, you know he's out of the Clevefield team; don't you?"
"No, I didn't know it," replied Joe. "But go on. I'll tell you something pretty soon."
"Yes, he's been given his unconditional release," went on Charlie. "He got to gambling, and doing other things no good ball player can expect to do, and keep in the game, and he was let go. And I heard something that made me come here to warn you, Joe. There may be nothing in it, but Shalleg——"
There came a knock at the door of the parlor, and Joe held up a warning hand.
"Wait a minute," he whispered.
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Therewas silence for a moment, following Joe's warning, and then the voice of his mother was heard:
"Joe, you're wanted on the telephone."
"Oh, all right," he answered in a relieved tone. "I didn't want her to hear about Shalleg," he added in a whisper to Charlie. "She and father would worry, and, with his recent sickness, that wouldn't be a good thing for him."
"I should say not," agreed the other ball player.
"I'll be right there, Mother," went on Joe, in louder tones and then he went to the hall, where the telephone stood. It was only a message from a local sporting goods dealer, saying that he had secured for Joe a certain glove he had had made to order.
Joe went back to his chum, and the baseball talk was renewed.
"What were you going to say that Shalleg was up to?" asked Joe.
"As I was saying," resumed Charlie, "there may be nothing in the rumor, but it's the talk, in baseball circles, that Shalleg has been trying his best, since being released, to get a place with the Cardinals."
"You don't mean it!" cried Joe. "That accounts for his surprise, and perhaps for his bitter feeling against me when I told him there was a chance that I would go to St. Louis."
"Probably," agreed Charlie. "So, having heard this, and knowing that Shalleg is a hard character, I thought I'd warn you."
"I'm glad you did," returned Joe warmly. "It was very good of you to go to that trouble. And, after the experience I had with Shalleg, I shouldn't wonder but what there was something in it. Though why he should be vindictive toward me is more than I can fathom. I certainly never did anything to him, except to refuse to lend him money, and I actually had to do that."
"Of course," agreed Charlie. "But I guess, from his bad habits, his mind is warped. He is abnormal, and your refusal, coupled with the fact that you are probably going to a team that he has tried his best to make, and can't, simply made him wild. So, if I were you, I should be on the lookout, Joe."
"I certainly will. It's queer that I met Shalleg the way I did—in the storm. It was quitean unusual coincidence. It seems he had been to Rocky Ford, a town near here, to see if he could borrow money from somebody there—at least so he said. Then he heard I lived here, and he started for Riverside, and got lost on the way, in the storm. Altogether it was rather queer. I never was so surprised in my life as when, after riding with me for some time, the man said he was looking for me."
"Itwasqueer," agreed Charlie. "Well, the only thing to do, after this, is to steer clear of him. And, after all, it may only be talk."
"Yes," assented Joe, "and now let's talk about something pleasant. How are you, anyhow? What are your plans for the coming season? And how are all the boys since we played the last pennant game?"
"Gracious!" exclaimed Charlie with a laugh. "You fire almost as many questions at a fellow as a lawyer would."
Then the two plunged into baseball talk, which, as it has no special interest for my readers, I shall omit.
"Have you anything special to do?" asked Joe, as Charlie and he came to a pause in recalling scenes and incidents, many of which you will find set down in the previous book of this series.
"No. After I clean up all the orders I canhere I will have a few days' vacation," replied Hall.
"Good!" cried Joe. "Then spend them with me. Reggie Varley and his sister are here for a while—you remember Reggie; don't you, Charlie?"
"As well as you remember his sister, I reckon," was the laughing rejoinder.
"Never mind that. Then I'll count on you. I'll introduce you to a nice girl, and we'll get up a little sleigh-riding party. There'll be a fine moon in a couple of nights."
"Go as far as you like with me," invited Charlie. "I'm not in training yet, and I guess a late oyster supper, after a long ride, won't do me any particular harm."
Charlie departed for the hotel, to get his baggage, for he was going to finish out the rest of his stay in Riverside as Joe's guest, and the young pitcher went to get the new glove, about which he had received the telephone message.
It was a little later that day that, as Clara was passing her brother's room, she heard a curious, thumping noise.
"I wonder what that is?" she murmured. "Sounds as though Joe were working at a punching bag. Joe, what in the world are you doing?" she asked, pausing outside his door.
"Making a pocket in my new glove," he answered. "Come on in, Sis. I'm all covered with olive oil, or I'd open the door for you."
"Olive oil! The idea! Are you making a salad, as well?" she asked laughingly, as she pushed open the portal.
She saw her brother, attired in old clothes, alternately pouring a few drops of olive oil on his new pitcher's glove, and then, with an old baseball pounding a hollow place in the palm.
"What does it mean?" asked Clara.
"Oh, I'm just limbering up my new glove," answered Joe. "If I'm to play with a big team, like the St. Louis Cardinals, I want to have the best sort of an outfit. You know a ball will often slip out of a new glove, so I'm making a sort of 'pocket' in this one, only not as deep as in a catcher's mitt, so it will hold the ball better."
"But why the olive oil?"
"Oh, well, of course any good oil would do, but this was the handiest. The oil softens the leather, and makes it pliable. And say, if you haven't anything else to do, there's an old glove, that's pretty badly ripped; you might sew it up. It will do to practice with."
"I'll sew it to-morrow, Joe. I've got to make a new collar now. Mabel and I are going to the matinee, and I want to look my best."
"Oh, all right," agreed Joe easily. "There's no special hurry," and he went on thumping the baseball into the hollow of the new glove.
"Well, Joe, is there anything new in the baseball situation?" asked Mr. Matson of his son a little later. The inventor, whose eyesight had been saved by the operation (to pay for which most of Joe's pennant money went) was able to give part of his time to his business now.
"No, there's not much new, Dad," replied the young player. "I am still waiting to hear definitely about St. Louis. I do hope I am drafted there."
"It means quite an advance for you; doesn't it, Joe?"
"Indeed it does, Dad. There aren't many players who are taken out of a small league, to a major one, at the close of their first season. I suppose I ought to be proud."
"Well, I hope you are, Joe, in a proper way," said Mr. Matson. "Pride, of the right sort, is very good. And I'm glad of your prospective advance. I am sure it was brought about by hard work, and, after all, that is the only thing that counts. And you did work hard, Joe."
"Yes, I suppose I did," admitted the young pitcher modestly, as he thought of the times he pitched when his arm ached, and when his nerveswere all unstrung on account of the receipt of bad news. "But other fellows worked hard, too," he went on. "You'vegotto work hard in baseball."
"Will it be any easier on the St. Louis team?" his father wanted to know.
"No, it will be harder," replied Joe. "I might as well face that at once."
And it was well that Joe had thus prepared himself in advance, for before him, though he did not actually know it, were the hardest struggles to which a young pitcher could be subjected.
"Yes, there'll be hard work," Joe went on, "but I don't mind. I like it. And I'm not so foolish as to think that I'm going to go in, right off the reel, and become the star pitcher of the team. I guess I'll have to sit back, and warm the bench for quite a considerable time before I'm called on to pull the game out of the fire."
"Well, that's all right, as long as you're there when the time comes," said his father. "Stick to it, Joe, now that you are in it. Your mother didn't take much to baseball at first, but, the more I see of it, and read of it, the more I realize that it's a great business, and a clean sport. I'm glad you're in it, Joe."
"And I am too, Dad."
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"Arewe all here?"
"Oh, what a glorious night!"
"Did you ever see such a moon!"
"Looks about as big as a baseball does when you're far from first and the pitcher is heaving it over, to tag you out!"
This last observation from Joe Matson.
"Oh, what an unpoetical remark to make!"
That from Mabel Varley.
There came a chorus of laughter, shouts, good-natured jibes, little shrieks and giggles from the girls, and chuckles from the young men.
"Well, let's get started," proposed Joe.
It was the occasion of the sleigh ride that Joe had gotten up, ostensibly for the enjoyment of a number of his young friends, but, in reality for Mabel, who, with her brother, was still staying on in Riverside, for the Varley business was not yet finished.
It was a glorious, wintry night, and in the skyhung the silvery moon, lighting up a few fleecy clouds with glinting beams, and bringing into greater brightness the sparkling snow that encrusted the earth.
"Count noses," suggested Charlie Hill, who, with a young lady to whom Joe had introduced him a day or so before, was in the sleighing party.
"I'll help," volunteered Mabel, who, of course, was being escorted by Joe, while Reggie had Clara under his care. Mabel and Joe made sure that all of their party were present. They were gathered in the office of the livery stable, whence they were to start, to go to a hotel about twelve miles distant—a hotel famous for its oyster suppers, as many a sleighing party, of which Joe had been a member, could testify. Following the supper there was to be a little dance, and the party, properly chaperoned, expected to return some time before morning.
"Yes, I guess we're all here," Joe announced, as he looked among the young people. And it was no easy task to make sure, for they were constantly shifting about, going here and there, friends greeting friends.
Four sturdy horses were attached to a big barge, in the bottom of which had been spread clean straw, for it was quite frosty, and, in spite of heavy wraps and blankets, feet would get cold.But the straw served, in a measure, to keep them warm.
"All aboard!" cried Charlie Hill, who had made himself a general favorite with all of Joe's friends. "All aboard!"
"Why don't you say 'play ball'?" asked Mabel, with a laugh. "It seems to me, with a National Leaguer with us, the least we could do would be to make that our rallying cry!" Mabel was a real "sport."
"I'm not a big leaguer yet," protested Joe. "Don't go too strong on that. I may be turned back into the bushes."
"Not much danger," commented Charlie, as he thought of the fine work Joe had done in times past. Joe was a natural born pitcher, but he had developed his talents by hard work, as my readers know.
Into the sled piled the laughing, happy young folks, and then, snugly tucked in, the word was given, and, with a merry jingle of bells, away they went over the white snow.
There were the old-time songs sung, after the party had reached the open country, and had taken the edge off their exuberance by tooting tin horns. "Aunt Dinah's Quilting Party," "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean," "Old Black Joe"—all these, and some other, more modern, songs were sung, more or less effectively. But, after all,it was the spirit and not the melody that counted.
On over the snowy road went the big sled, pulled by the willing horses, who seemed all the more willing because of the joyous party they were dragging along.
"Look out for this grade-crossing," remarked Joe to the driver, for they were approaching the railroad.
"I will, Joe," the man replied. "I have good occasion to remember this place, too."
"So have I," spoke Mabel, in a low voice to her escort. "There is where we were snowed in; isn't it?" she asked, nodding in the direction of Deep Rock Cut.
"That's the place," replied Joe.
"Yes, sir, I have occasion to remember this place," went on the driver. "And I'm always careful when I cross here, ever since, two years ago, I was nearly run down by a train. I had just such a load of young folks as I've got now," he went on.
"How did it happen?" asked Reggie, as the runners scraped over the bare rails, a look up and down the moon-lit track showing no train in sight.
"Well, the party was making quite a racket, and I didn't hear the whistle of the train," resumed the driver. "It was an extra, and I didn't count on it. We were on our way home, and wehad a pretty narrow escape. Just got over in time, I tell you. The young folks were pretty quiet after that, and I was glad it happened on the way home, instead of going, or it would have spoiled all their fun. And, ever since then, whether I know there's a train due or not, I'm always careful of this crossing."
"It makes one feel ever so much safer to have a driver like him," spoke Mabel to Clara.
"Oh, we can always trust Frank," replied Joe's sister.
Laughing, shouting, singing and blowing the horns, the party went on its merry way, until the hotel was reached.
Everything was in readiness for the young people, for the arrangements had been made in advance, and soon after the girls had "dolled-up," as Joe put it, by which he meant arranged their hair, that had become blown about under the scarfs they wore, they all sat down to a bountifully-spread table.
"Reminds me of the dinner we had, after we won the pennant," said Charlie Hall.
"Only it's so different," added Joe. "That was a hot night."
Talk and merry laughter, mingled with baseball conversation went around the table. Joe did not care to "talk shop," but somehow or other, he could not keep away from the subjectthat was nearest his heart. Nor could Charlie, and the two shot diamond discussion back and forth, the others joining in occasionally.
The meal was drawing to an end. Reggie Varley, pouring out a glass of water, rose to his feet.
"Friends and fellow citizens," he began in a sort of "toastmaster voice."
"Hear! Hear!" echoed Charlie, entering into the spirit of the occasion.
"We have with us this evening," went on Reggie, in the approved manner of after-dinner introductions, "one whom you all well know, and whom it is scarcely necessary to name——"
"Hear! Hear!" interrupted Charlie, pounding on the table with his knife handle.
All eyes were turned toward Joe, who could not help blushing.
"I rise to propose the health of one whom we all know and love," went on Reggie, "and to assure him that we all wish him well in his new place."
"Better wait until I get it," murmured Joe, to whom this was a great surprise.
"To wish him all success," went on Reggie. "And I desire to add that, as a token of our esteem, and the love in which we hold him, we wish to present him this little token—and may it be a lucky omen for him when he is pitching awayin the big league," and with this Reggie handed to Joe a stick-pin, in the shape of a baseball, the seams outlined in diamonds, and a little ruby where the trademark would have been.
Poor Joe was taken quite by surprise.
"Speech! Speech!" came the general cry.
Joe fumbled the pin in his fingers, and for a moment there was a mist before his eyes. This little surprise had been arranged by Reggie, and he had quietly worked up the idea among Joe's many young friends, all of whom had contributed to the cost of the token.
"Go on! Say something!" urged Mabel, at Joe's side.
"Well—er—well, I—er—I don't know what to say," he stammered, "except that this is a great surprise to me, and that I—er—I thank you!"
He sat down amid applause, and someone started up the song "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow!"
It was sung with a will. Altogether the affair was successfully carried out, and formed one of the most pleasant remembrances in the life of Baseball Joe.
After the presentation, others made impromptu speeches, even the girls being called on by Reggie, to whom the position of toastmaster particularly appealed.
The supper was over. The girls were in thedressing room, donning their wraps, and Joe and Reggie had gone to the office to pay the bill.
The proprietor of the hotel was in the men's room, and going there Joe was greeted by name, for the hotel man knew him well.
"Everything satisfactory, Mr. Matson?" the host asked, and at the mention of Joe's name, a rough-looking fellow, who was buying a cigar, looked up quickly.
"Yes, Mr. Todd, everything was fine," replied Joe, not noticing the man's glance. "Now we'll settle with you."
"No hurry," said the proprietor. "I hear you're going to leave us soon—going up to a higher class in baseball, Joe."
"Well, there's some talk of it," admitted our hero, and as he took out the money to make the payment, the rough-looking man passed behind him. Joe dropped a coin, and, in stooping to pick it up, he moved back a step. As he did so, he either collided with the man, who had observed him so narrowly, or else the fellow deliberately ran into Joe.
"Look out where you're walking! You stepped on my foot!" exclaimed the man in surly tones. "Can't you see what you're doing? you country gawk!"
"I beg your pardon," spoke Joe quietly, but a red flush came into his face, and his hands clenched involuntarily.
"Huh! Trying to put on high society airs; eh?" sneered the other. "I'll soon take that out of you. I say you stepped on me on purpose."
"You are mistaken," said Joe, still quietly.
"Huh! Do you mean to say I'm sayin' what ain't so?" demanded the other.
"If you like to put it that way; yes," declared Joe, determined to stand upon his rights, for he felt that it had not been his fault.
"Be careful," warned Reggie, in a low voice.
"Say, young feller, I don't allow nobody to say that to me!" blustered the fellow, advancing on Joe with an ugly look. "You'll either beg my pardon, or give me satisfaction! I'll——"
"Now here. None of that!" interposed the proprietor. "You aren't hurt, Wessel."
"How do you know? And didn't he accuse me of——"
"Oh, get out. You're always ready to pick a quarrel," went on the hotel man. "Move on!"
"Well, then let him beg my pardon," insisted the other. "If he don't, I'll take it out of him," and his clenched fist indicated his meaning only too plainly.
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Fora moment Joe stood facing the angry man—unnecessarily angry, it seemed—since, even if the young ball player had trod on his foot, the injury could not have amounted to much.
"I told you once that I was sorry for having collided with you, though I do not believe it was my fault," spoke Joe, holding himself in check with an effort. "That is all I intend to say, and you may make the most of it."
"I'll make the most of you, if you don't look out!" blustered the man. "If you'll just step outside we can settle this little argument to the queen's taste," and he seemed very eager to have Joe accept his challenge.
"Now see here! There'll be no fighting on these premises," declared the hotel proprietor, with conviction.
"No, we'll do it outside," growled the man.
"Not with me. I don't intend to fight you," said Joe as quietly as he could.
"Huh! Afraid; eh?"
"No, not afraid."
"Well, you're a coward and a——"
"That will do, Wessel. Get out!" and the proprietor's voice left no room for argument. The man slunk away, giving Joe a surly look, and then the supper bill was paid, and receipted.
"Who was he?" asked Joe, when the fellow was out of sight.
"Oh, I don't know any good of him," replied the hotel man. "He's been hanging around town ever since the ball season closed."
"Is he a player?" Joe inquired.
"No. I'm inclined to think he's a gambler. I know he was always wanting to make bets on the games around here, but no one paid much attention to him. You don't know him; do you?"
"Never saw him before, as far as I recollect," returned Joe slowly. "I wonder why he wanted to pick a quarrel with me? For that was certainly his object."
"It was," agreed Reggie, "and he didn't pay much attention to you until he heard your name."
"I wonder if he could be——?" began Joe, and then he hesitated in his half-formed question. Reggie looked at his friend inquiringly, but Joe did not proceed.
"Don't say anything about this to the girls," requested Joe, as they went upstairs.
"Oh, no, of course not," agreed Reggie. "Hewas only some loafer, I expect, who had a sore head. Best to keep it quiet."
Joe was more upset by the incident than he liked to admit. He could not understand the man's motive in trying so hard to force him into a fight.
"Not that I would be afraid," reasoned Joe, for he was in good condition, and in splendid fighting trim, due to his clean living and his outdoor playing. "I think I could have held my own with him," he thought, "only I don't believe in fighting, if it can be avoided.
"But there was certainly something more than a little quarrel back of it all. Wessel is his name; eh? I must remember that."
Joe made a mental note of it, but he little realized that he was to hear the name again under rather strange circumstances.
"What's the matter?" asked Mabel, on the way home in the sleigh, drawn by the prancing horses with their jingling bells.
"Why?" parried Joe.
"You are so quiet."
"Well—I didn't count on so much happening to-night."
"You mean about that little pin? I think it's awfully sweet."
"Did you help pick it out?" asked Joe, seeing a chance to turn the conversation.
"Yes. Reggie asked me what I thought would be nice, and I chose that."
"Couldn't have been better," declared Joe, with enthusiasm. "I shall always keep it!"
They rode on, but Joe could not shake off the mood that had seized him. He could not forget the look and words of the man who endeavored to force a quarrel with him—for what object Joe could only guess.
"I'm sure there's something the matter," insisted Mabel, when the song "Jingle Bells!" had died away. "Have I done anything to displease you?" she asked, for she had "split" one dance with Charlie Hall.
"No, indeed!" cried Joe, glad that he could put emphasis into his denial. "There's nothing really the matter."
"Unless you're sorry you're going away out to Missouri," persisted the girl.
"Well, I am sorry—that is, if I really have to go," spoke the young ball player sincerely. "Of course it isn't at all certain that I will go."
"Oh, I guess it's certain enough," she said. "And I really hope you do go."
"It's pretty far off," said Joe. "I'll have to make my headquarters in St. Louis."
"Reggie and I expect to be in the West a good part of the coming Summer," went on Mabel, in even tones. "It's barely possible that Reggiemay make his business headquarters in St. Louis, for papa's trade is shifting out that way."
"You don't mean it!" cried Joe, and some of his companions in the sleigh wondered at the warmth of his tone.
"Oh, yes, I do," said Mabel. "So I shall see you play now and then; for I'm as ardent a 'fan' as I ever was."
"That's good," returned Joe. "I'm glad I'm going to a major league—that is, if they draft me," he added quickly. "I didn't know you might be out there."
From then on the thought of going to St. Louis was more pleasant to Joe.
The sleigh ride was a great success in every particular. The young people reached home rather late—or, rather early in the morning, happy and not too tired.
"It was fine; wasn't it?" whispered Clara, as she and her brother tip-toed their way into the house, so as not to awaken their parents.
"Dandy!" he answered softly.
"Weren't you surprised about the pin?"
"Of course I was."
"But you don't seem exactly happy. Is something worrying you? I heard Mabel ask you the same thing."
"Did you?" inquired Joe, non-committally.
"Yes. Is anything the matter?"
"No, Sis. Get to bed. It's late."
Clara paused for a moment. She realized that Joe had not answered her question as she would have liked.
"But I guess he's thinking of the change he may have to make," the sister argued. "Joe is a fine fellow. He certainly has gone ahead in baseball faster than he would have done in some other line of endeavor. Well, it's good he likes it.
"And yet," she mused, as she went to her room, "I wonder what it is that is worrying him?"
If she could have seen Joe, at that same moment, sitting on the edge of a chair in his apartment, moodily staring at the wall, she would have wondered more.
"What was his game?" thought Joe, as he recalled the scene with the man at the hotel. "What was his object?"
But he could not answer his own question.
Joe's sleep was disturbed the remainder of that night—short as the remainder was.
At breakfast table, the next morning, the story of the jolly sleigh ride was told to Mr. and Mrs. Matson. Of course Joe said nothing of the dispute with the surly man.
"And here's the pin they gave me," finished the young player as he passed around the emblem that had been so unexpectedly presented to him.
His mother was looking at it when the doorbell rang, and the maid, who answered it, brought back a telegram.
"It's for Mr. Joseph," she announced.
Joe's face was a little pale as he tore open the yellow envelope, and then, as he glanced at the words written on the sheet of paper, he exclaimed:
"It's settled! I'm drafted to St. Louis!"
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Fora few seconds, after Joe's announcement, there was silence in the room. Then, as the realization of what it meant came to them, Clara was the first to speak.
"I'msoglad, Joe," she said, simply, but there was real meaning in her words.
"And I congratulate you, son," added Mr. Matson. "It's something to be proud of, even if St. Louis isn't in the first division."
"Oh, they'll get there, as soon as I begin pitching," declared Joe with a smile.
Mrs. Matson said nothing for a while. Her son, and the rest of the family, knew of her objection to baseball, and her disappointment that Joe had not entered the ministry, or some of the so-called learned professions.
But, as she looked at the smiling and proud face of her boy she could not help remarking:
"Joe, I, too, am very glad for your sake. I don't know much about sporting matters, but I suppose this is a promotion."
"Indeed it is, Mother!" Joe cried, getting up to go around the table and kiss her. "It's a fine promotion for a young player, and now it's up to me to make good. And I will, too!" he added earnestly.
"Is that all Mr. Gregory, your former manager, says in the telegram?" asked Mr. Matson.
"No, he says a letter of explanation will follow, and also a contract to sign."
"Will you get more money, Joe?" asked Clara.
"Sure, Sis. I know what you're thinking of," Joe added, with a smile at the girl, as he put his stick-pin in his scarf. "You're thinking of the ring I promised to buy you if I got this place. Well, I'll keep my word. You can go down and get measured for it to-day."
"Oh, Joe, what a good brother you are!" she cried.
"Then you really will get more money?" asked Mrs. Matson, and her voice was a bit eager. Indeed Joe's salary, and the cash he received as his share of the pennant games, had been a blessing to the family during Mr. Matson's illness, for the inventor had lost considerable funds.
"Yes, I'll get quite a bit more," said Joe. "I got fifteen hundred a year with the Pittstons, andMr. Gregory said I ought to get at least double that if I go with St. Louis. It will put us on Easy Street; won't it, Momsey?"
"It will be very welcome," she replied, with a sigh, but it was rather a happy sigh at that. She had known the pinch of hard times in her day, had Mrs. Matson.
"I'd have to be at the game of lawyering or doctoring a long while, before I'd get an advance like this," went on Joe, as he read the telegram over a second time. And then he put it carefully in his pocket, to be filed away with other treasures, such as young men love to look at from time to time; a faded flower, worn by "Someone," a letter or two, a—but there, I promised not to tell secrets.
The first one who knew of his promotion, after the folks at home, was Mabel. Joe made some excuse to call at the hotel. Reggie was out on business, but Joe did not mind that.
"Oh, I'm so glad—for your sake, Joe!" exclaimed Mabel warmly. "I hope you make a great reputation!"
"It won't be from lack of trying," he said, with a smile. "And I do hope you can get out to St. Louis this Summer."
"We expect to," she answered. "I have been there with Reggie several times."
"What sort of a place is it?" asked Joeeagerly, "and where does my team play?" he inquired, with an accent on the "my."
"There are two major league teams in St. Louis," explained Mabel, who, as I have said, was an ardent "fan." She was almost as good as a boy in this respect. "The National League St. Louis team, or the 'Cardinals,' as I suppose you know they are nicknamed, plays on Robison Field, at Vandeventer and Natural Bridge road. I've often been out there to games with Reggie, but I'll look forward to seeing them now, with a lot more pleasure," she added, blushing slightly.
"Thanks," laughed Joe. "I guess I'll be able to find my way about the city. But, after all, I'll be likely to strike it with the team, for I'll probably have to go South training before I report in St. Louis."
"It isn't hard to find your way about St. Louis," went on Mabel. "Just take a Natural Bridge line car, and that'll bring you out to Robison Field. Or you can take a trunk line, and transfer to Vandeventer. But the best way is the Natural Bridge route. Is there anything else you'd like to know?" she asked, with a smile. "Information supplied at short notice. The Browns, or American League team, play at Grand and Dodier——"
"Oh, I'm not interested in them!" interruptedJoe. "I'm going to stick to my colors—cardinal."
"And I'll wear them, too," said Mabel in a low voice, and the blush in her cheeks deepened. Already she was wearing Joe's color.
"This is our last day here," the girl went on, after a pause.
"It is?" cried Joe in surprise. "Why, I thought——"
"I'm sorry, too," she broke in with. "You have given Reggie and me a lovely time. I've enjoyed myself very much."
"Not half as much asIhave," murmured Joe.
Reggie came in a little later, and congratulated the young player, and then Charlie Hall added his good wishes. It was his last day in town also, and he and the Varleys left on the same train, Joe and his sister going to the station to see them off.
"If you get snowed in again, just let me know," called Joe, with a laugh, as the train pulled out. "I'll come for you in an airship."
"Thanks!" laughed Mabel, as she waved her hand in a final good-bye.
As Joe was leaving the station a train from Rocky Ford pulled in, and one of the passengers who alighted from it was the ill-favored man who had endeavored to pick a quarrel with Joe at the hotel the night before.
The fellow favored the young player with a surly glance, and seemed about to approach him. Then, catching sight of Clara at her brother's side, he evidently thought better of it, and veered off.
Joe's face must have showed his surprise at the sight of the man, for Clara asked:
"Who is that fellow, Joe? He looked at you in such a peculiar way. Do you know him?"
Joe was glad he could answer in the negative. He really did not know the man, and did not want to, though it certainly seemed strange that he should encounter him again.
"He seems to know you," persisted Clara, for the man had looked back at Joe twice.
"Maybe he thinks he does, or maybe he wants to," went on the pitcher, trying to speak indifferently. "Probably he's heard that I'm the coming twirling wonder of the Cardinals," and he pretended to swell up his chest, and look important.
"Nothing like having a good opinion of yourself," laughed Clara.
That afternoon's mail brought Joe a letter from Mr. Gregory, in which the news contained in the telegram was confirmed. It was also stated that Joe would receive formal notice of his draft from the St. Louis team, and his contract, which was to be signed in duplicate.
"I wish he'd said something about salary," mused our hero. "But probably the other letter, from the St. Louis manager, will have that in, and the contract will, that's certain."
The following day all the details were settled. Joe received formal notice of his draft from the Pittstons to the St. Louis Cardinals. He was to play for a salary of three thousand dollars a year.
In consideration of this he had to agree to certain conditions, among them being that he would not play with any other team without permission from the organized baseball authorities, and, as long as he was in the game, and accepted the salary, he would be subject to the call of any other team in the league, the owners of which might wish to "purchase" him; that is, if they paid the St. Louis team sufficient money.
"I wonder what they'll consider me worth, say at the end of the first season?" said Joe to Clara.
"What a way to talk!" she exclaimed. "As if you were a horse, or a slave."
"It does sound a bit that way," he admitted, "and some of the star players bring a lot more than valuable horses. Why, some of the players on the New York Giants cost the owners ten and fifteen thousand dollars, and the Pittsburgh Nationals paid $22,500 for one star fellow asa pitcher. I hope I get to be worth that to some club," laughed Joe, "but there isn't any danger—not right off the bat," he added with a smile.
"Well, that's a part of baseball I'm not interested in," said Clara. "I like to see the game, but I watch it for the fun in it, not for the money."
"And yet there has to be money to make it a success," declared Joe. "Grounds, grandstands and trips cost cash, and the owners realize on the abilities of the players. In return they pay them good salaries. Many a player couldn't make half as much in any other business. I'm glad I'm in it."
Joe signed and returned the contract, and from then on he was the "property" of the St. Louis team, and subject to the orders of the owners and manager.
A few days later Joe received his first instructions—to go to St. Louis, report to the manager, and then go South to the training camp, with the team. There his real baseball work, as a member of a big league, would start.
Joe packed his grip, stowing away his favorite bat and his new pitcher's glove, said good-bye to his family and friends in Riverside, and took a train that eventually would land him in St. Louis, at the Union Depot.
The journey was without incident of moment, and in due time Joe reached the hotel where he had been told the players were quartered.
"Is Mr. Watson here?" he asked the clerk, inquiring for the manager.
"I think you'll find him in the billiard room," replied the clerk, sizing up Joe with a critical glance. "Here, boy, show this gentleman to Mr. Watson," went on the man at the register.
"Do you know him by sight?" he asked.
"No," replied Joe, rather sorry he did not.
"I know him!" exclaimed the bellboy, coming forward, with a cheerful grin on his freckled face. "He sure has a good ball team. I hope they win the pennant this year. Are you one of the players?" he asked.
"One of the new ones," spoke Joe, modestly enough.
"Gee! Dat's great!" exclaimed the lad admiringly. "There's 'Muggins' Watson over there," and he pointed to a man in his shirt sleeves, playing billiards with a young fellow whom Joe recognized, from having seen his picture in the papers, as 'Slim' Cooney, one of the St. Louis pitchers.
"Mr. Watson?" inquiringly asked Joe, waiting until the manager had made, successfully, a difficult shot, and stood at rest on his cue.
"That's my name," and a pair of steel-blueeyes looked straight at our hero. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm Joe Matson, and——"
"Oh, yes, the new recruit I signed up from Pittston. Well, this is the first time I've seen you. Took you on the report of one of my men. Glad to meet you," and he held out a firm hand. "Slim," he went on to his opponent at billiards, "let me make you acquainted with one of your hated rivals—Joe Matson. Matson, this is our famous left-hand twirler."
Joe laughed and shook hands. He liked the manager and the other player. I might state, at this point, that in this book, while I shall speak of the players of the Cardinals, and of the various National League teams, I will not use their real names, for obvious reasons. However, if any of you recognize them under their pseudonyms, I cannot help it.
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"Well, are you going to help us win the pennant, Matson?" asked Manager Watson, when he had introduced Joe to a number of the other St. Louis players, who were lounging about the billiard room. It was a cold and blustery day outside, and the hotel, where the team had lately taken up quarters, ready for the trip to the South, offered more comfort than the weather without.
"I'm going to do my best," replied Joe modestly, and he blushed, for most of the other players were older than he, many of them seasoned veterans, and the heroes of hard-fought contests.
"Well, we sure do need help, if we're to get anywhere," murmured Hal Doolin, the snappy little first baseman. "We sure do!"
"You needn't look at me!" fired back Slim Cooney. "I did my share of the work last season, and if I'd had decent support——"
"Easy now, boys!" broke in Mr. Watson."You know what the papers said about last year—that there were too many internal dissensions among the Cardinals to allow them to play good ball. You've got to cut that out if I'm going to manage you."
I might add that Sidney Watson, who had made a reputation as a left-fielder, and a hard hitter on the Brooklyn team, had lately been offered the position as manager of the Cardinals, and had taken it. This would be his first season, and, recognizing the faults of the team, he had set about correcting them in an endeavor to get it out of the "cellar" class. Quarrels, bickerings and disputes among the players had been too frequent, he learned, and he was trying to eliminate them.
"Have a heart for each other, boys," he said to the men who gathered about him, incidentally to covertly inspect Joe, the recruit. "It wasn't anybody's fault, in particular, that you didn't finish in the first division last season. But we're going to make a hard try for it this year. That's why I've let some of your older players go, and signed up new ones. I'm expecting some more boys on in a few days, and then we'll hike for the Southland and see what sort of shape I can pound you into."
"Don't let me keep you from your game," said Joe to the manager."Oh, I'll let Campbell finish it for me, he's better at the ivories than I am," and Watson motioned for the centre fielder to take the cue. "I'll see what sort of a room we can give you," the manager went on. "Nothing like being comfortable. Did you have a good trip?"
"Yes, indeed."
"Contract satisfactory, and all that?"
"Oh, yes. And, by the way, Mr. Watson, if it isn't asking too much I'd like to know how you came to hear of me and sign me up?"
"Oh, I had scouts all over last fall," said the manager with a smile. "One of them happened to see you early in the season, and then he saw the game you pitched against Clevefield, winning the pennant. You looked to him like the proper stuff, so I had you drafted to our club."
"I hope you won't repent of your bargain," observed Joe, soberly.
"Well, I don't think I will, and yet baseball is pretty much of a chance game after all. I've often been fooled, I don't mind admitting. But, Matson, let me tell you one thing," and he spoke more earnestly, as they walked along a corridor to the lobby of the hotel. "You mustn't imagine that you're going in right off the reel and clean things up. You'll have to go a bit slow. I want to watch you, and I'll give you all the opportunity I can.
"But you must remember that I have several pitchers, and some of them are very good. They've been playing in the big leagues for years. You're a newcomer, and, unless I'm much mistaken, you'll have a bit of stage fright at first. That's to be expected, and I'm looking for it. I won't be disappointed if you fall down hard first along. But whatever else you do, don't get discouraged and—don't lose your nerve, above all else."
"I'll try not to," promised Joe. But he made up his mind that he would surprise the manager and make a brilliant showing as soon as possible. Joe had several things to learn about baseball as it is played in the big leagues.
"I guess I'll put you in with Rad Chase," said Manager Watson, as he looked over the page of the register, on which were the names of the team. "His room is a good one, and you'll like him. He's a young chap about your age."
"Was he in there?" asked Joe, nodding toward the billiard room, where he had met several of the players.
"No. I don't know where he is," went on the manager. "Is Rad out?" he asked of the clerk.
That official, stroking his small blonde mustache, turned to look at the rack. From the peg of room 413 hung the key.
"He's out," the clerk announced.
"Well, you might as well go up and make yourself at home," advised the manager. "I'll tell Rad you're quartered with him. Have his grip taken up," went on Mr. Watson to the clerk.
"Front!" called the young man behind the desk, and when the same freckle-faced lad, who had pointed out to Joe the manager, came shuffling up, the lad took our hero's satchel, and did a little one-step glide with it toward the elevator.
"Tanks," mumbled the same lad, as Joe slipped a dime into his palm, when the bellboy had opened the room door and set the grip on the floor by the bed. "Say, where do youse play?" he asked with the democratic freedom of the American youth.
"Well, I'm supposed to be a pitcher," said Joe.
"Left?"
"No, right."
"Huh! It's about time the Cardinals got a guy with a right-hand delivery!" snorted the boy. "They've been tryin' southpaws and been beaten all over the lots. Got any speed?"
"Well, maybe a little," admitted Joe, smiling at the lad's ingenuousness.
"Curves, of course?"
"Some."
"Dat's th' stuff! Say, I hopes you makegood!" and the lad, spinning the dime in the air, deftly caught it, and slid out of the room.
Joe looked after him. He was entering on a new life, and many emotions were in conflict within him. True, he had been at hotels before, for he had traveled much when he was in the Central League. But this time it was different. It seemed a new world to him—a new and big world—a much more important world.
And he was to be a part of it. That was what counted most. He was in a Big League—a place of which he had often dreamed, but to which he had only aspired in his dreams. Now it was a reality.
Joe unpacked his grip. His trunk check he had given to the clerk, who said he would send to the railroad station for the baggage. Then Joe changed his collar, put on a fresh tie, and went down in the elevator. He wanted to be among the players who were to be his companions for the coming months.
Joe liked Rad Chase at once. In a way he was like Charlie Hall, but rather older, and with more knowledge of the world.
"Do you play cards?" was Rad's question, after the formalities of introduction, Joe's roommate having come in shortly after our hero went down.
"Well, I can make a stab at whist, but I'm no wonder," confessed Joe.
"Do you play Canfield solitaire?"
"Never heard of it."
"Shake hands!" cried Rad, and he seemed relieved.
"Why?" asked Joe.
"Well, the fellow I roomed with last year was a fiend at Canfield solitaire. He'd sit up until all hours of the morning, trying to make himself believe he wasn't cheating, and I lost ten pounds from not getting my proper sleep."
"Well, I'll promise not to keep you awake that way," said Joe with a laugh.
"Do you snore?" Rad wanted next to know.
"I never heard myself."
Rad laughed.
"I guess you'll do," he said. "We'll hit it off all right."
Joe soon fell easily into the life at the big hotel. He met all the other players, and while some regarded him with jealous eyes, most of them welcomed him in their midst. Truth to tell, the St. Louis team was in a bad way, and the players, tired of being so far down on the list, were willing to make any sacrifices of professional feeling in order to be in line for honors, and a share in the pennant money, providing itcould be brought to pass that they reached the top of the list.
Joe spent a week at the hotel while Manager Watson was arranging matters for the trip South. One or two players had not yet arrived, "dickers" being under way for their purchase.
But finally the announcement was made that the start for the training camp, at Reedville, Alabama, would be made in three days.
"And I'm glad of it!" cried Rad Chase, as he and Joe came back one evening from a moving picture show, and heard the news. "I'm tired of sitting around here doing nothing. I want to get a bat in my hands."
"So do I," agreed Joe. "It sure will be great to get out on the grass again. Have you ever been in Reedville?"
"No, but I hear it's a decent place. There's a good local team there that we brush up against, and two or three other teams in the vicinity. It'll be lively enough."
"Where do you like to play?" asked Joe.
"Third's my choice, but I hear I'm to be soaked in at short. I hate it, too, but Watson seems to think I fill in there pretty well."
"I suppose a fellow has to play where he's considered best, whether he wants to or not," said Joe. "I hope I can pitch, but I may be sent out among the daisies for all that."
"Well, we've got a pretty good outfield as it is," went on Rad. "I guess, from what I hear, that you'll be tried out on the mound, anyhow. Whether you stick there or not will be up to you."
"It sure is," agreed Joe.
A box-party was given at the theatre by the manager for the players, to celebrate their departure for the South. The play was a musical comedy, and some of the better known players were made the butt of jokes by the performers on the stage.
This delighted Joe, and he longed for the time when he would be thought worthy of such notice. The audience entered into the fun of the occasion, and when the chief comedian came out, and, in a witty address, presented Manager Watson with a diamond pin, and wished him all success for the coming season, there were cheers for the team.
"Everybody stand up!" called Toe Barter, one of the veteran pitchers. "Seventh inning—everybody stretch!"
The players in the two boxes arose to face the audience in the theatre, and there were more cheers. Joe was proud and happy that he was a part of it all.
That night he wrote home, and also to Mabel, telling of his arrival in St. Louis, and all that had happened since.
"We leave for the South in the morning," he concluded.
The departure of the players on the train was the occasion for another celebration and demonstration at the depot. A big crowd collected, several newspaper photographers took snapshots, and there were cheers and floral emblems.
Joe wished his folks could have been present. Compared to the time when he had gone South to train for the Pittston team, this was a big occasion.
A reporter from the most important St. Louis paper was to accompany the team as "staff correspondent," for St. Louis was, and always has been, a good "fan" town, and loyal to the ball teams.
"All aboard!" called the conductor.
There were final cheers, final good-byes, final hand-shakes, final wishes of good luck, and then the train pulled out. Joe and his teammates were on their way South.
It was the start of the training season, and of what would take place between that and the closing Joe little dreamed.
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