THE GIANT TEAM
There was a mad scramble to gather their belongings together and by
the time they were going down the aisle of the car Mabel had recovered
something of her self possession.
“I’m going to steal this paper from you,” she said, “and I just want to
tell you that it was one of the finest things I’ve ever heard or read
about. There isn’t one man in a million that would have thought and
acted so quickly and skillfully. So there now, Mr. Hero,” she added in a
lighter tone, to conceal her real feeling.
Joe, whose head was in a whirl and who was not quite sure whether he was
in Goldsboro or Heaven or a blending of both, was about to reply when a
well-known voice fell on his ears:
“Hello, Sis! Why, Joe Matson, by all that’s lucky! What good wind blew
you into Goldsboro? Welcome to our city.”
And the next minute Reggie had grasped his hand and was shaking it as
though he would wring it off.
Joe returned the greeting with equal cordiality.
“How are you, Reggie, old man!” he exclaimed. “I’m awfully glad to
find you at home. I was talking to Mabel about you and she wasn’t sure
whether you would be here or not. I’m certainly in luck meeting two of
the best friends I have on the same day.”
“It was a big surprise to me,” said Mabel, “when Joe seemed to rise up
like a ghost out of the floor of the car.”
“A pretty substantial ghost, I take it,” laughed Reggie, as he took in
the stalwart frame and perfect condition of his friend.
“Joe’s coming up to the house for dinner,” went on Mabel.
“You just bet he is,” declared Reggie. “He doesn’t get out of my
clutches as long as he stays in Goldsboro. Hope you can make us a good
visit, Joe.”
“About four hours or so,” laughed Joe.
“Four hours only!” Reggie stared at him blankly. “What’s the answer?”
“Joe’s on his way to the training camp at Marlin Springs,” explained
Mabel. “The Giants pass through here this afternoon and Joe is going to
join them when their train comes along.”
“If so soon I’m to be done for,
I wonder what I was begun for,”
quoted Joe, with a smile.
“It’s too bad,” declared Reggie with unaffected regret. “But since the
minutes are so precious we’ll make every one of them count. I’ve got my
buzz wagon outside. Give me your traps and bundle in, both of you.”
Joe helped Mabel into the rear seat, holding her hand perhaps a wee
bit longer than necessary in doing so, and then settled down beside
her, while Reggie grasped the wheel and threw in the clutch. Reggie’s
judgment in cars was good, however much it might go astray when it
came to finance, and he was a skilled driver, so that it was not long
before they had left the business part of the town behind them and were
threading the more fashionable street that led to the Varley mansion.
“It’s a splendid day for motoring!” exclaimed Mabel. “I wish we were
going further.”
“The end of the world wouldn’t be too far, if you were alongside of me,”
affirmed Joe, trying to look into her eyes.
But because she was afraid perhaps to let him see just then what was
written there, she kept them averted, though a tell-tale flood of color
rioted from neck to brow.
They stopped before a large substantial house that bore every mark of
solid prosperity. Reggie jumped out and threw open the door and Joe
helped Mabel to alight. She ran lightly up the steps with a gay little
wave of her hand.
“I suppose Reggie will want you to go with him while he puts the car
into the garage,” she said. “In the meantime, I’ll prepare the folks
inside for the great honor that has come upon them. It isn’t often that
we have a chance to entertain a hero.”
Joe shook his finger at her menacingly, as with a laugh she entered the
door that was opened by a servant.
“I suppose Mabel was referring to that scrap you had with Talham Tabbs,”
said Reggie, as he guided the car to the garage in the rear of the house.
“Yes,” replied Joe, “as luck would have it, one of the New York papers
got hold of that and played it up strong. Mabel happened to get hold of
it on the train and she’s given it a good deal more importance than it
is worth.”
“She can’t very well do that,” protested Reggie warmly, “for it was
a good piece of work, don’t you know. I’d have told her of it myself
before this, only I was afraid that she might get on to that wretched
muddle of mine.”
“How about that, by the way?” asked Joe, eagerly. “Tell me now while
you have a chance. Have you found any clue to the fellow’s whereabouts?”
“Not a thing,” replied Reggie, gloomily. “I’ve been following up tips
ever since I left Riverside and I’m no nearer to him now than I was
then.”
“It’s too bad,” consoled Joe. “It beats all how that fellow could have
made such a getaway. It wasn’t half an hour after he had escaped before
we were hot on his track. He didn’t have any hat or overcoat, and
everybody was on the lookout for him. How on earth could he have managed
it?”
“Search me,” said Reggie, disgustedly. “That fellow is as slick
as greased lightning. He proved that by the way he got hold of my
securities. All madmen are said to be cunning, but I’ll bet he could
give cards and spades to the whole bunch and beat them out. I suppose
there’s nothing left for me but to make a clean breast of it to the
governor. As it is, I’m only sending good money after bad, running round
the country as I do.”
“Don’t give up yet, old man,” cried Joe, clapping him heartily on the
shoulder. “While there’s life there’s hope. The game isn’t over till the
last man’s out in the ninth inning. Buck up. You may be happy yet. You
can tell your father any time, but there’s no use doing it until your
year is up and you have to. If there’s anything that I have learned
from baseball it is never to stop trying. Get up on your toes and play
the game.”
“By George, old man, it’s good to hear you talk that way!” cried Reggie,
with a sudden accession of hope. “I get so moody and dopey mulling the
thing over to myself that I lose heart. But you’re right. I’ll pull
myself together and fight the thing out to a finish.”
“That’s the real stuff,” approved Joe. “The man can’t stay hidden
forever, and any day may see the end of the chase. I have a feeling that
you’re going to win out. But there’s one thing I’d do, old fellow. Tell
Mabel all about it. As you said yourself one time, she’s a thoroughbred.
She’ll stick to you through thick and thin. She’s worrying about you
now because she knows there’s something wrong with you and you won’t
tell her what it is. If you talk it over with her, it will take a load
off your mind and hers too. Besides, you’ll have a better chance of
winning. Two heads are better than one and what one doesn’t think of the
other will. She was asking me about it today. Of course, I didn’t give
you away, but I made up my mind then that I would ask you to tell her
the whole story. It’ll clear the air, you’ll both be happier, and your
chances will be vastly better.”
“Old top, I think you’re right,” replied Reggie, who had a great respect
for Joe’s judgment. “She and I have always been great pals and we
think the world of each other. I didn’t want to put my burden on her
shoulders, but, as you say, she will worry more if she doesn’t know than
if she does. I’ll tell her the whole thing before I sleep tonight.”
“That’s a go then,” said Joe, and they shook hands on it.
Reggie led the way into the house, and Joe received a most cordial
greeting from Mr. and Mrs. Varley. He had met them before and they had
always felt most warmly toward him since the day that he had rescued
Mabel from being carried over a cliff by a runaway horse. All that they
had seen and heard of him since had increased their favorable estimate
of him. And Joe did all he could to deepen that impression, because
some day he expected to ask these kindly people for one of their most
precious possessions and he wanted the answer to be the right one.
The dinner was free from all formality, for despite their wealth, the
Varley home life was as simple and unaffected as Joe’s own home at
Riverside. Mrs. Varley beamed upon him and told him what she thought of
his rescuing the baby, while Mr. Varley was especially interested in
Joe’s contract and bonus, and his chance of getting into the World’s
Series. It is more than likely that the shrewd business man already saw
what way the wind was blowing and guessed pretty well the nature of
the question that Joe hoped some day to ask him. Reggie was gayer than
he had been for a long time, now that he had determined to share his
secret with his sister. And Mabel, winsome, sweet, bewitching, worked
such havoc with her smiles and eyes and dimples that poor Joe was more
hopelessly enslaved than ever.
Before he knew it the time had come for him to go. For just a minute he
had her alone while the rest were in another part of the room. She was
laughing and toying restlessly with a pair of gloves that rested on the
table near which they stood.
“I want the pay for that paper you took from me this morning,” he said,
assuming a stern air.
“How are you going to get it?” she bantered. “Perhaps I’m bankrupt.”
“In that case, I’ll take this glove and hold it as security,” he
returned, suiting the action to the word.
She flushed adorably but made no protest, and Joe’s fingers trembled as
he put the absurdly little glove in his breast pocket.
Just then a warning “honk, honk!” came from Reggie’s car, drawn up at
the curb outside.
Joe, half in a daze, said goodby to his hosts, last of all to Mabel.
There was no chance for more than a formal leave taking, but Joe’s
heart again became unruly, for in her eyes he had seen once more the
look she had turned on him in the train.
The two young men made good time to the station, which they reached five
minutes before the train from the north rolled in.
“Goodby, old top,” said Reggie, as he shook his hand in parting. “I’m no
end glad that I’ve had these few hours with you, don’t you know. You’ve
made a new man of me. I feel as though I’d taken a tonic, by Jove.”
“I’ll send you a bill,” laughed Joe, as he returned Reggie’s grip. “Be
good to yourself, old man, until I see you again. And don’t forget that
you promised to tell Mabel.”
“I’m game,” replied Reggie, as he stepped back into his car.
Joe passed through the station and out on the platform. It was a long
train, composed mostly of Pullmans. Joe knew that the New York Club had
two special cars chartered especially for their party, and he wondered
which they were. He called to a porter.
“Which cars are the Giants traveling on?” he asked.
Into the eyes of the porter came a deep respect. He was a “fan” himself
and he sized Joe up at once as a professional.
“Right over here, sah. This way, sah.” And with a deep bow he seized
Joe’s bag and led the way to the first of the two cars located near the
center of the train.
Joe sprang up the steps and passed into the corridor of the car. A few
steps further and he was in the car proper and surrounded by members of
the Giant team.