LUCKY JOE
Westland saw the party coming, and with a scowl turned his back upon
them.
Altman, however, greeted Joe with a smile and, excusing himself to
Westland, went over to meet him with extended hand.
"How are you, old scout?" he exclaimed. "You sure batted .300 last
night."
Joe greeted him cordially, while Jim and Clara strolled on toward the end
of the platform. It was astonishing what good company those two were to
each other, and how well they bore the absence of anybody else from their
conversation.
"I'm feeling fine as silk," was Joe's response to Altman's question.
"Didn't sprain your salary wing, or anything like that?" grinned Altman.
"You fetched that fellow an awful hit in the jaw."
"I hated to do it, but it was coming to him," laughed Joe.
"Well, if there are any doctors' bills, I guess the Riverside people will
be willing to take up a collection to pay them," replied Altman. "It's
mighty lucky for the town that you happened to be in the crowd last
night."
"I suppose you're off to keep your next engagement," said Joe, to change
the subject. "By the way, Nick, that was a mighty nifty skit of yours at
the hall last night. It brought down the house. It ought to pull big
everywhere."
"I'm glad you liked it," replied Altman. "I'm booked for twenty weeks and
I'm drawing down good money."
"I suppose you'll be with the White Sox next year, as usual," said Joe.
Altman hesitated.
"W-why, I suppose so," he said slowly. "My contract with them has another
year to run. To tell the truth, though, Joe, I'm somewhat unsettled."
"Why," said Joe, "you're not going to give up the game for the stage, are
you?"
"Oh, nothing like that," replied Altman. "I'd rather play ball than eat,
and I'll stick to the game as long as this old wing of mine can put them
over the plate. But whether I'll be with the White Sox or not is another
question."
"Some other team in the American league trying to make a dicker for you?"
asked Joe.
"Not that I've heard anything about," responded Altman. "But the American
League isn't the whole cheese in baseball--nor the National League,
either, for that matter."
"I see Westland has been talking to you," said Joe. "I don't want to butt
in, Nick, but don't let him put one over on you."
"The new league seems to have barrels of money," replied Altman, evading a
direct answer. "This fellow Westland seems aching to throw it to the
birds--he's got a wad in his pocket that would choke a horse."
"Yes," said Joe dryly, "I've seen that wad before. But take a fool's
advice, Nick, and stick to the old ship."
"That's all very well," said Altman. "But a man's worth all that he will
bring in any other line of work--and why shouldn't it be so in baseball?
Who is it that brings the money in at the gate, anyway? We're the ones
that the public come to see, but it's the bosses that get all the money."
"Lay off on that 'poor, down-trodden slave' talk, Nick," said Joe
earnestly. "You know as well as I do that there are mighty few fellows who
get as well paid for six months' work as we ball players do. But, leave
that out of the question for a minute--don't you suppose the backers of
this new league are just as eager to make money out of us as anybody
else? Do you think they're in the game for the sport of it? And don't you
know that the coming of a new league just now is likely to wreck the game?
You know how it was in the old Brotherhood days--they did the same crooked
work then that they're trying to do now--bribing men to jump their
contracts by offers of big money. The game got a blow then that it took
years to recover from, and there wasn't a single major league player that
in the long run, didn't suffer from it. Play the game, Nick--and let's
show these fellows that they can't buy us as they would so many cattle."
Altman was visibly impressed, and Westland, who had been watching
proceedings out of the corner of his eye, thought it time to intervene. He
strolled down toward them and without looking at Joe, spoke directly to
Altman.
"Train's coming, Nick," he said. "I just heard the whistle. I'll stay with
you so that we can get seats together in the smoker."
"Well, good-bye, Joe!" said Altman. "I'm glad to have seen you again,
anyway, and I'll promise not to do anything hastily."
And as Jim and Clara came hurrying up at that moment, Joe had to be
content with the hope that, at least, he had put a spoke in Westland's
wheel.
The train was in sight now, and all thoughts of baseball were banished
for the moment at the thought of what that train was bringing to him.
With a rush and a roar the train drew up at the station. The colored
porter jumped down the steps of the parlor car to assist the descending
passengers.
Joe uttered an exclamation, and Clara gave a little squeal of delight as
two young people, whom a family resemblance proclaimed to be brother and
sister, came hurriedly down the steps.
In a moment they were the center of an eager and tumultuous group.
"Mabel!" exclaimed Joe,--at least that was all that they heard him say
just then. What he said to her later on is none of our business.
The girls hugged and kissed each other, much to the aggravation of the
masculine contingent, while Reggie Varley extended his two hands, which
were grasped cordially by Joe and Jim.
The romance which had culminated in the engagement of Mabel Varley and Joe
dated back two years earlier. Joe had been in a southern training camp, in
spring practice with his team, when one day he had been lucky enough to
stop a runaway horse which Mabel had been driving, and thus saved her from
imminent danger and possible death. The acquaintance, so established,
rapidly deepened into friendship and then into something stronger.
Mabel was a charming girl with lustrous brown eyes, wonderful complexion
and dimples that came and went in a distracting fashion, and it was no
wonder that Joe before long was a helpless but willing captive. She, on
her part, developed a sudden fondness for the great national game to which
she had hitherto been indifferent.
They had met many times during the season, and with every meeting her
witchery over Joe had become more potent. He had stolen a glove from her
during one of his visits to Goldsboro, her home town in the South, and
during the exciting games of the last World's Series he had worn it close
to his heart when he had pitched his team to victory.
And when he told her this on the night following the famous game that had
set the whole country wild with excitement, and told her too, that victory
meant nothing, unless she shared it with him, she had capitulated and
promised to become his wife.
Reggie, her brother, had formed Joe's acquaintance earlier than Mabel and
in a less pleasant way. He was a rather foppish young man who cultivated a
mustache that the girls called "darling," and affected what he fondly
believed to be an English accent.
In a railway station he had left his valise near where Joe was sitting,
and, on his return, found that the valise had been opened and some
valuable jewelry stolen from it. He had rashly accused Joe of the theft,
and had narrowly escaped a thrashing from that indignant young man, in
consequence.
The matter had been patched up at the time, and afterward, when Joe
learned that he was Mabel's brother, had been forgiven entirely. The men
were now on the most cordial of terms, for Reggie, despite his
peculiarities and though he would never "set the river on fire" with his
intellectual ability, was by no means a bad fellow.
There was a merry hubbub of greetings and exclamations while the men
arranged for the baggage and the girls asked each other twenty questions
at once and then the party paired off for the walk to the Matson
home--that is, Joe and Mabel and Jim and Clara, formed the pairs, while
Reggie was, so to speak, a fifth wheel to the coach!
Not that this bothered Reggie in the least. He ambled along amiably,
dividing his talk and attentions impartially, serenely unconscious that
each pair was willing to bestow him upon the other.
"We ought to have a band playing 'See, the Conquering Hero Comes,'"
remarked Jim to Mabel, who was walking in front with Joe.
"I know he's a hero," said Mabel, her eyes eloquent as she looked at Joe.
"I can hardly pick up the paper but what it calls him the hero of the
World's Series."
"I don't mean a baseball hero," said Jim, "but a real, honest-to-goodness
hero--the life-saver and all that kind of stuff, you know."
"Yes," joined in Clara, "you came a day too late, Mabel. You ought to have
seen Joe at the Opera House last night. He was simply great."
"At the Opera House?" Mabel repeated, in some bewilderment.
"Sure," chaffed Jim. "Didn't you know Joe'd gone on the stage?"
"Yes," said Clara, carrying out the mystification. "He made a hit, too."
"There was at least one man in the audience he made a hit with," chuckled
Jim.
"Don't let them fool you, Mabel," said Joe, tenderly. "There was just a
little excitement at the Opera House last night and Jim and I took a hand
in stopping it. They're making an awful lot of a very simple matter."
"You've no idea what a voice Joe has for public speaking," persisted the
irrepressible Jim. "Last night he was a howling success."
"Clara, dear, tell me all about it," entreated Mabel. "We girls are the
only ones who can talk sense."
Thus appealed to, Clara told about the circumstances of the night before,
and, as may be imagined, Joe did not suffer in the telling. If the latter
had needed any other reward for his exploit he found it in Mabel's eyes as
she looked at him.
"I thought I knew all about you before," she said, in a half whisper, "but
I'm learning all the time!"