A HOME CONFERENCE
"Well, I wonder if I'll ever see him again," mused Joe, as the train
swung out of sight around a curve in the track. "It sure was a hustling
time. I wonder who he was? Seemed like some sort of an athlete, and yet
he didn't talk sports--nor much of anything, for that matter.
"I'm glad I could help him get his train. Funny he should want to pay
me, and yet I suppose he isn't used to having favors done him. He seemed
like a nice sort of fellow. Well, I've got to get over with these
patterns. I'll be late getting home, I expect."
Joe's first visit was to the livery stable, where he told the proprietor
of the accident.
"Hum! Well, I s'pose he was driving reckless like," said Mr. Munn, who
hired out old horses and older vehicles to such few of the townspeople
as did not have their own rigs.
"No, he was going slowly," said Joe. "I guess that wheel was pretty well
rotted."
"Mebby so. I'm glad I charged him a good price, and made him pay in
advance. Yes, I'll send out and get the rig. Much obliged to you, Joe.
Did he pay ye for bringin' him back?"
"No, I didn't want anything," and with this parting shot the young
pitcher went on his way.
And, while he is jogging along to Birchville, musing over the recent
happenings, I will, in a paragraph or two, tell you something more about
our hero, since he is to occupy that place in these pages.
Those of you who have read the previous books in this series, need no
introduction to the youth. But to those who pick up this volume to begin
their acquaintance, I might state that in the initial book, called
"Baseball Joe of the Silver Stars," I related how he first began his
upward climb as a pitcher.
Joe Matson lived with his father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. John Matson,
in the town of Riverside, in one of our New England states. Mr. Matson
was an inventor of farming machinery, and after a hard struggle was now
doing well financially.
Joe's ambition, ever since he began to play baseball, had been to become
a pitcher, and how he made the acquaintance of Tom Davis, the boy living
back of him; how they became chums, and how Joe became a member of the
Silver Stars nine is told in my first book.
The nine was a typical one, such as is found in many country towns,
though they played good ball. After an upward struggle Joe was made
pitcher, and helped to win some big games. He made many friends, and
some enemies, as all boys will.
In the second volume, called "Baseball Joe on the School Nine," I told
how our hero and his chum, Tom Davis, went to Excelsior Hall, a boarding
institution just outside of Cedarhurst, about a hundred miles from
Riverside.
At school Joe found that it was more difficult to get a chance at his
favorite position than he had imagined it would be. There, too, he had
his enemies; but Joe was a plucky fighter, and would not give up. How
finally he was called on to pitch in a great game, and how he, more than
anyone else, helped to win the Blue Banner, you will find set down in my
second book.
Three years passed, all too quickly, at Excelsior Hall, with Joe doing
the twirling for the school nine at all the big games. And now, with the
coming of Fall, and the beginning of the new term, he was not to go
back, for, as I have intimated, he was to be sent to Yale University.
The course at Excelsior Hall was four years, but it was found that
at the end of the third Joe was able to take the Yale entrance
examinations, which he had done successfully. He did not enter with
flying colors, for Joe was no great scholar, but he was by no means at
the foot of the ladder.
So he was to plunge at once into the turmoil of university life--his one
regret being, as I have said, that he could not join the ranks of the
professional baseball players. But he was willing to bide his time.
Another regret, too, was that he would be very much of a stranger at
Yale. He did not know a soul there, and he wished with all his heart
that Tom Davis could have gone with him, as he had to Excelsior Hall.
But Tom's parents had other views of life for him.
"It doesn't seem like three years ago that I first started for
Excelsior," mused Joe, as he drove along. "I sure was nervous then, and
I'm in a worse funk now. Well, there's no help for it. I've got to stick
it out. No use disappointing dad and momsey. I only hope I make out half
way decently."
His errand accomplished, he drove back home, arriving rather late, and,
to his mother's anxious inquiries as to what kept him, he related the
happening of the broken carriage.
"And you don't know who he was?" asked Clara, Joe's sister, curiously.
"No, sis. Say, but you're looking pretty to-night! Got your hair fixed
differently, somehow. Somebody coming?" and playfully he pinched her
red cheeks.
"Yes, Mabel Davis is coming to call," replied Clara, pretending to be
very busy arranging some articles on the mantle.
"Oh, ho! So that's how the wind blows!" exclaimed Joe, with a laugh.
"But I'll wager someone besides Mabel is coming over. Tom Davis told me
to come and see him, Mabel is going out, you're all togged up--say, sis,
who's the lucky chap?"
"Oh, don't bother me!" exclaimed the blushing girl.
"That's all right. Tom and I will come around later and put a tic-tac on
the window, when you and Mabel, and the two chaps, are in the parlor."
"I thought you had gotten all over such childish tricks--and you a Yale
Freshman!" exclaimed Clara, half sarcastically.
"Well, I suppose I will have to pass 'em up--worse luck!" exclaimed her
brother, with something like a groan. "Have your fun, sis. It'll soon be
over."
"Oh, my! What a mournful face!" laughed the girl. "There, run along now,
little boy, and don't bother me."
Joe looked at her for a moment, and the conviction grew on him that his
sister was prettier than ever, with that blush on her face.
"Little sister is growing up," thought Joe, as he turned away. "She'll
be a young lady soon--she's growing up. Well, I guess we all are," and
our hero sighed as though he could scarcely bear the weight of
responsibility on his own shoulders.
This was after supper, and as Joe left the room, and Clara hastened to
her apartment, there to indulge in further "prinking," as Joe called it,
Mr. and Mrs. Matson looked at each other.
"What's getting into Joe, I wonder?" spoke his father. "He's acting
rather strange of late."
"Oh, I expect the responsibility of college life is making itself felt,"
said Mrs. Matson. "But I'm proud that I have a son who is going to Yale.
It is good you can afford it, John."
"Yes, Ellen, I am too. Education is a great thing, and a college course
does a lot for a young fellow. I never had the chance myself, but
perhaps it's just as well."
"I am determined that Joe shall have all the advantages we can give
him--and Clara, too," went on the wife. "I think Joe should be very
proud and happy. In a short time he will be attending one of the best
colleges in the world."
"Yet he doesn't seem very happy," said Mr. Matson, musingly.
"And I wonder why," went on his wife. "Of course I know he wasn't very
keen about going, when I proposed it, but he gave in. I'm sure it's
baseball that made him want to stay on at Excelsior Hall."
"Probably. Joe eats, sleeps and dreams baseball."
"I do wish he would get that idea of being a professional baseball
player out of his mind," went on Mrs. Matson, and her tone was a trifle
worried. "It is no career to choose for a young man."
"No, I suppose not," said her husband slowly. "And yet there are many
good men in professional baseball--some rich ones too, I guess," he
added with a shrewd laugh.
"As if money counted, John!"
"Well, it does in a way. We are all working for it, one way or another,
and if a man can earn it throwing a ball to another man, I don't see why
that isn't as decent and honorable as digging sewers, making machinery,
preaching, doctoring, being a lawyer or a banker. It all helps to make
the world go round."
"Oh, John! I believe you're as bad as Joe!"
"No, Ellen. Though I do like a good game of baseball. I don't think it's
the only thing there is, however, as Joe seems to, of late. I don't
altogether uphold him in his wish to be a professional, but, at the same
time, there's nothing like getting into the niche in life that you're
just fitted for.
"There are too many square pegs in round holes now. Many a poor
preacher would be a first-class farmer, and lots of struggling lawyers
or doctors would do a sight better in a shop, or, maybe even on the ball
field. Those sentiments aren't at all original with me," he added
modestly; "but they are true just the same. I'd like to see Joe do what
he likes best, for then I know he'd do that better than anything else in
the world."
"Oh, John! surely you wouldn't want to see him a professional ball
player?"
"Well, I don't know. There are lots worse positions in life."
"But I'm glad he's going to Yale!" exclaimed Mrs. Matson, as the little
family conference came to an end.