OFF TO ST. LOUIS
For a 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'm _so_ glad, 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, and Mr. 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 Joe eagerly, "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!" interrupted Joe. "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 as _I_ have," 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 as a
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-blue eyes 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.