The Project Gutenberg eBook, Baseball Joe, Home Run King, by Lester Chadwick This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Baseball Joe, Home Run King or, The Greatest Pitcher and Batter on Record Author: Lester Chadwick Release Date: October 12, 2013 [eBook #43940] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BASEBALL JOE, HOME RUN KING*** E-text prepared by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) cover IT WAS THE LONGEST HIT THAT EVER HAD BEEN MADE ON THE POLO GROUNDS. Baseball Joe, Home Run King OR The Greatest Pitcher and Batter on Record By LESTER CHADWICK AUTHOR OF “BASEBALL JOE OF THE SILVER STARS,” “BASEBALL JOE IN THE BIG LEAGUE,” “THE RIVAL PITCHERS,” “THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS,” ETC. ILLUSTRATED NEW YORK CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY BOOKS BY LESTER CHADWICK THE BASEBALL JOE SERIES 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. BASEBALL JOE OF THE SILVER STARS BASEBALL JOE ON THE SCHOOL NINE BASEBALL JOE AT YALE BASEBALL JOE IN THE CENTRAL LEAGUE BASEBALL JOE IN THE BIG LEAGUE BASEBALL JOE ON THE GIANTS BASEBALL JOE IN THE WORLD SERIES BASEBALL JOE AROUND THE WORLD BASEBALL JOE, HOME RUN KING THE COLLEGE SPORTS SERIES 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. THE RIVAL PITCHERS A QUARTERBACK’S PLUCK BATTING TO WIN THE WINNING TOUCHDOWN FOR THE HONOR OF RANDALL THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, New York Copyright, 1922, by Cupples & Leon Company Baseball Joe, Home Run King Printed in U. S. A. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I A Dangerous Plunge 1 II A Surprise 17 III Reggie Turns Up 33 IV The Anonymous Letter 43 V “Play Ball!” 54 VI Getting the Jump 61 VII Stealing Home 71 VIII A Baseball Idol 79 IX An Old Enemy 87 X Three In a Row 94 XI Right From the Shoulder 101 XII Jim’s Winning Ways 108 XIII A Break in the Luck 117 XIV A Delightful Surprise 123 XV An Evening Ride 131 XVI The Attack on the Road 136 XVII Falling Behind 143 XVIII In the Throes of a Slump 151 XIX A Close Call 157 XX Speeding Up 163 XXI The Winning Streak 170 XXII Striving for Mastery 178 XXIII Holding Them Down 184 XXIV A Crushing Blow 191 XXV Lining Them Out 197 XXVI The Tireless Foe 203 XXVII Champions of the League 210 XXVIII The World Series 218 XXIX The Game of His Life 224 XXX Champions of the World 230 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS IT WAS THE LONGEST HIT THAT EVER HAD BEEN MADE ON THE POLO GROUNDS. THERE WAS NO DOUBT OF THE WARMTH OF THAT WELCOME. SUDDENLY PICKING UP THE BALL HE HURLED IT TO SECOND. “GREAT SCOTT!” HE CRIED. “WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH YOUR HAND?” BASEBALL JOE, HOME RUN KING CHAPTER I A DANGEROUS PLUNGE “I’m going to tie you up in knots, old man,” said Jim Barclay, with a smile, as he picked up the ball and stepped into the box in batting practice at the training camp. “I’ve heard that kind of talk before,” retorted Joe Matson, known all over the country as “Baseball Joe,” the king pitcher of the Giants. “But untying knots is the best thing I do. Give me the best you have in the shop.” Jim wound up and put one over that just cut the corner of the plate. Joe made a mighty swing at it, but it was just beyond his reach. “Nearly broke your back reaching for that one, eh?” laughed Jim, as the ball was thrown back to him. “I was just kidding you that time,” grinned Joe. “I’m going to kill the next one.” Again the ball whizzed to the plate. It was a fast, straight ball with a slight hop to it. Joe caught it near the end of his bat and “leaned on it” heavily. The ball soared out between right and center, and the outfielders covering that position gave one look at it and then turned and ran with the ball. But it kept on and on until it cleared the fence, and the discomfited fielders threw up their hands and came slowly back to their positions. Jim looked sheepish, and Joe, who was his chum and best friend, laughed outright as he relinquished the bat to the next man in line. [1] [2] “A sweet home run, Jim,” he remarked. “I should say so!” snorted Jim. “That hit was good for two home runs. The ball was ticketed for kingdom come.” “Who was it said that pitchers couldn’t hit?” laughed Mylert, the burly catcher of the Giant team, as he took Joe’s place. “I’ll tell the world that some of them can!” exclaimed Jim, as he prepared to try his luck again. “Gee, Joe, if that had happened to me in a regular game, it would have broken my heart.” Two keen-eyed men in uniform had been standing near the side lines, watching intently every move of the players, as they tried out their batting eyes and arms. One was stocky and of medium height, with hair that had begun to grey at the temples. The other was stout and ruddy, with a twinkle in his eyes that bespoke good nature. Both were veterans of many hard-fought baseball campaigns, and both had played on the Baltimore Orioles when that great organization of stars was the sensation of the baseball world. “Did you see that hit, Robbie?” asked McRae, the manager of the Giants, of his stout companion. “Not all of it,” replied Robson, the coach of the team. “But I followed it as far as the fence. That was a whale of a wallop. I’ll bet the ball’s going yet,” and the man chuckled gleefully. “Of course, this was only in practice,” mused McRae. “Perhaps Barclay wasn’t trying over hard.” “Don’t kid yourself, Mac,” replied Robson. “Barclay wasn’t just lobbing them up. That ball came over like a bullet. It had a hop on it too, but Joe gauged it just right. I tell you that boy is a wonder. If he wasn’t a wizard in the box, he’d be a terror at the bat.” “I wish there were two of him, Robbie,” said the manager, smiling. “One to cover the mound and the other to use as a pinch hitter or play him in the outfield. That would make a combination hard to beat.” “It was the best day’s work you ever did when you got that lad from St. Louis,” remarked Robson. “I’ll bet the Cardinal’s manager feels like throwing a fit every time he thinks what a fool he was to let him go.” “Well,” said McRae, “if everybody’s foresight in baseball was as good as his hindsight, there’d be no trading done. I don’t mind saying that I throw out my chest a little for having seen what was in the kid. He’s certainly been the making of the team.” “One thing is certain; and that is that you wouldn’t have the World’s Championship tucked away if it hadn’t been for his great work in the Series,” rejoined Robson. “He just had those Chicago birds eating out of his hand.” “Right you are,” admitted McRae. “Here’s hoping he’ll repeat this season.” “Don’t worry a bit about that,” was Robson’s confident answer. “You can see for yourself that he’s been going great guns in practice. And even at that he hasn’t been letting himself out. He’s taking good care of that old soup-bone of his.” “He was never better in his life,” declared McRae. “I’ll admit that I was a little worried for fear that the trip around the world had taken something out of him. You know what a strain he was under in that All-Star League affair, Robbie. But it hasn’t seemed to affect him at all.” “He’ll need all he’s got this year,” said Robbie thoughtfully. “We’ll have to depend more on the pitching than we did last year, because we’re not so strong on the batting end. When Burkett quit, it took away a good deal of our hitting strength, and you’ve seen that Mylert is slipping. On the form he’s shown in practice this spring, he won’t be good for more than a two hundred and fifty per cent average, and that’s about sixty points below what he showed last year.” “I know it,” agreed the manager, a worried look coming into his face. “And what makes it worse is that Larry, too, is slow in rounding into form. Instead of lining them out, he’s sending them up in the air. He’ll be just pie for the fielders if he keeps it up. I can’t understand the thing at all.” “Oh, well,” said Robbie, whose jolly disposition never let him stay long under a cloud, “here’s hoping that they’ll come to the scratch when the season opens. Some of the rookies look pretty good to me, and if the old-timers fall down we may be able to fill their places all right. Come along, Mac; let’s finish working out that schedule for the trip north. We’ll have to get a hustle on to be in shape to start to-morrow.” McRae gave the signal to his men that practice time was over, and the young athletes, nothing loth to drop their work and get down to the hotel for dinner, began to gather up their bats preparatory to jumping into the bus which was waiting outside the grounds. But before they got to it, McRae and Robson had climbed in and given the signal to the driver to start. “No, you don’t!” he called out with a grin, as the bus started away. “You fellows leg it down to the hotel. It’s only two miles, and you need the exercise. Get a move on, or Robbie and I will clear the table before you get there.” There were grunts and groans from the players, for the sun was warm and the practice had been strenuous. But there was no help for it, and they dropped into a dog trot that was quickened by the thought of the dinner that was waiting for them at the end of the journey. They reached the hotel in good time, took a shower bath, changed into their regular clothes, and were soon at the table with an appetite that swept the board and made the colored waiters roll their eyes in wonder, not unmixed with [3] [4] [5] [6] awe. After the meal was finished, Joe and Jim were on their way to the room they shared together when they passed McRae and Robbie, who were sitting in the lobby enjoying their after-dinner cigars. McRae beckoned to them, and they went over to where the pair was sitting. “Well, boys,” said the manager, as he motioned to a couple of chairs into which they dropped, “our spring practice is over and I don’t mind saying that I’m feeling good over the way you fellows ate up your work. Both of you look as fit as fiddles.” “That’s sure the way we feel,” answered Joe, and Jim murmured acquiescence. “In fact you look so good,” went on McRae, knocking the ashes from his cigar and settling back comfortably in his chair, “that I’m going to call training finished, as far as you two are concerned. Just now you’re right at the top of your form, and I don’t want to take any chances on your going stale. So I’m going to let you rest up for the next week or ten days. All you have to do is to take good care of yourselves—and I know you boys well enough to be sure you’ll do that—and turn up in shape when the season opens week after next.” Joe and Jim looked at each other, and the same thought was in the mind of each. This seemed too good to be true! “We start north to-morrow,” went on McRae, “in two lots, playing minor league teams on the way to keep in practice. The regulars will go along with me, while Robbie will take the second string men and the rookies. We’ll jog along in easy fashion and hope to reach the Polo Grounds in the pink of condition.” By this time Joe had found his voice. He smiled broadly. “That’s mighty good of you, Mac,” he said. “I suppose you want us then to go right through to New York.” “That’s the idea,” replied the manager. “Robbie will see to your transportation this afternoon.” But just here, Robson, who had been watching the boys’ faces, broke into a laugh. “For the love of Mike, wake up Mac!” he adjured his friend. “Don’t you know that Joe lives only a couple of hundred miles from here right over the border? And don’t you remember those two pretty girls that were with us on the World Tour? And didn’t we hear Joe telling Jim a few days ago that his sweetheart was visiting his folks? And here you are sending the lads straight through to New York with never a stop on the way. Mac, old man, I’m ashamed of you.” McRae grinned as he looked at the faces of the young men—faces that had grown suddenly red. “Robbie hit the nail on the head, did he?” he said, with a chuckle. “Well, I’m Irishman enough to have a soft spot in my heart for the lads and their colleens. Fix it up, boys, to suit yourselves. As long as you report on time, that’s all I ask. Get along with you now, as Robbie and I have got to fix up our routes.” Joe and Jim were only too glad to “get along,” and after thanking McRae hurried to their room, where they indulged in a wild war dance. “Glory, hallelujah!” shouted Joe. “A whole week or more to ourselves, and home only two hundred miles away!” “Your home is,” replied Jim. “Mine’s more than a thousand miles away.” “You old sardine!” cried Joe, throwing a book at his head. “Isn’t my home yours? Do you think I’d dare show my face there without bringing you along? Clara would never forgive me. Neither would Mabel. Neither would Momsey nor Dad. Get a wiggle on now, old man, and hunt up a time-table.” Jim, with his face jubilant at the thought of soon seeing Joe’s pretty sister, hustled about for the time-table; and with heads close together the young men were soon poring over the schedules. At last Joe straightened up with a vexed exclamation. “Of all the roundabout ways!” he ejaculated. “We’ll have to change three or four different times with all sorts of bad connections, and can’t reach Riverside until to-morrow afternoon.” “Wait a minute,” said Jim, running his pencil along a column. “Here’s a line that will get us to Martinsville early to- morrow morning, just before daylight. How far is Martinsville from Riverside?” “About fifty miles more or less,” replied Joe. “But crickey, Jim, that gives me an idea! What’s the matter with going to Martinsville and hiring an auto there? I know Hank Bixby who keeps a garage there and has autos for hire. He used to live in Riverside, and played with me on the old school nine before his folks moved away. I’ll send him a wire telling him what time we’ll get there and asking him to have a first-class car ready for us.” “You know the road all right, do you?” asked Jim. “Remember it will be dark when we get there.” “I know it like a book,” replied Joe. “I’ve been over it many a time. I could travel it in the dark. It’s as level as a table until you get to Hebron. Just beyond that there’s a steep hill that will give the car something to do. But Hank will give me a machine that can climb it, and, besides, it will be just about daylight by the time we get there. It’s a cinch that we won’t have any trouble. I’ll bet a hat—what’s the matter, Jim?” For Jim had risen and moved quickly toward the door, which had been standing partly open. He put out his head and looked down the corridor. Not satisfied with that, he went down the hall to the head of the stairs. Then he slowly retraced his steps. [7] [8] [9] [10] Joe, who had followed his chum to the door, looked at him with open-mouthed wonder. “What’s the matter with you?” he queried. “Have you gone daffy?” “Not exactly,” replied Jim. “I thought I saw somebody I knew go past the door.” “Likely enough,” said Joe, with a touch of sarcasm. “It wouldn’t be at all surprising. The hotel is full of our fellows.” “It wasn’t one of our boys,” returned Jim slowly. “Well, who was it then?” asked Joe, a little impatiently. “Come out of your trance, old man.” “I think it was a fellow we know only too well,” Jim replied. “I think it was Braxton.” “Braxton!” exclaimed Joe with sudden interest. “The fellow that was with us on the World Tour?” “The same one,” affirmed Jim. “The fellow you licked within an inch of his life in the old Irish castle.” “Are you sure?” asked Joe. “It doesn’t seem at all likely that we’d run across that rascal in this little training-camp town. What on earth would he be doing down here?” “That’s just what I want to know,” replied Jim soberly. “As you say, it’s all against the chances that we should run across him here by accident. If he’s here, he’s come with some purpose. And that purpose means nothing good for you. He’s exactly the sort of man that won’t forget that thrashing.” “I guess he won’t,” replied Joe grimly. “My knuckles ache now when I think of it. But if he’s looking for another licking, he sure can have it.” “He isn’t looking for another,” Jim returned. “He’s looking to get even for the first one you gave him. You know he swore at the time that he’d pay you up for it.” “He’s welcome to try,” declared Joe indifferently. “But really, Jim, I think you’re mistaken. It seems too improbable. There are plenty of men in the world who look like Braxton.” “Of course, I wouldn’t swear it was he,” admitted Jim. “I only saw him side-face, and he slipped past the door like a ghost.” “Well, we’ll keep our eyes open about the hotel and around the town,” rejoined Joe. “But now let’s think of pleasanter things. Our train goes at six, and we’ve got lots to do in getting our duds packed. Then, too, I’ve got to wire to Hank and must get the tickets for as far as the cars will carry us.” The afternoon proved a busy one, but by train time they had completed their packing, said good-by to the rest of the team, who frankly envied them their luck, and were snugly ensconced in the day coach, as the little road had no sleeping cars, and even if they had the frequent changes they had to make would have made a sleeper not worth while. As it was, they slept in snatches, had luck in their connections, and about an hour before dawn stepped off the train at the little station of Martinsville. Both Baseball Joe and Jim Barclay had expected to find the town asleep, but were surprised to find a large number of the inhabitants, chiefly the younger men, at the station. Still another group stood in the lighted doorway of Hank Bixby’s garage, which was directly across the street. “What’s the big idea?” Jim asked Joe, as he looked in surprise at the crowd that drew close about them. “Blest if I know,” replied Joe. “Maybe there’s been a fire or something.” But they were soon enlightened, as Hank came bustling across the street, his face aglow with welcome and self- importance. “Howdy, Mr. Matson!” he exclaimed, as he wrung Joe’s hand. “Mr. Matson!” laughed Joe, returning the handshake. “Where do you get that stuff? What’s the matter with Joe?” “Well, Joe, then,” beamed Hank. “You see, Joe, you’ve got to be such a big fellow now, known all over the United States, that I felt a bit shy about calling you by your first name. I got your wire and mentioned it to a fellow or two, and by heck it was all over town in no time that the greatest pitcher in the country was going to be here. This crowd’s been waiting here all night to say howdy to you.” The people were all crowding around him by now, waiting their turn to shake hands, and Joe, although embarrassed, as he always was when he found himself the center of attention, did his best to respond to the expressions of good will and admiration that were showered upon him. Jim also came in for his share of the crowd’s interest as a promising and rapidly rising pitcher of the baseball champions of the world. It was with a sigh of relief that they settled themselves at last in the speedy car which Hank had provided for them and which he proudly assured them would “just burn up the road” between Martinsville and Riverside. Joe took the wheel and the car started off, amid a waving of hands and a roar of farewell from the crowd. “Great day for Martinsville,” said Jim mischievously, as he settled down by the side of his chum and the car purred along over the level road. “How does it feel to be a hero, Joe?” “Quit your kidding,” replied Joe, with a grin. “If they’d wrung this old wing of mine much more, McRae would have been minus one of his pitchers.” [11] [12] [13] [14] “One of the penalties of greatness,” chaffed Jim. “And now for home!” exulted Joe, as he put on added speed and the car leaped forward. “And Clara,” murmured Jim under his breath, as he thought of Joe’s charming sister. Joe did not hear him, for his thoughts were engrossed with Mabel, the girl who had promised to marry him and who he fondly hoped might be at this moment dreaming of him, as without her knowledge he was speeding toward her. She had been visiting at his father’s home as the guest of his sister Clara. Since their trip together around the world the two girls had become almost inseparable, and Mr. and Mrs. Matson already regarded Mabel as a second daughter. The day for the marriage of Joe and Mabel had not yet been set, but Joe was determined that it should take place soon, and he hoped that now he would be able to get Mabel to set a definite date for that happy event. Jim, too, had his dreams, and they all centered about Clara. He had fallen desperately in love with her at their first meeting, and he had made up his mind that on this visit he would ask the all-important question, on the answer to which his happiness depended. The car dashed along at rapid speed, and as they came near Hebron Joe roused himself from his reverie. The darkness was disappearing, and in the faint light of the spring morning they could see a steep hill a little way ahead. At the side of the road ran a little river, of whose murmur they had been conscious for some time, although in the darkness they could scarcely see it. “Here’s where we’ll see whether Hank was bragging overmuch about this car,” remarked Joe, as he tightened his grasp on the wheel and put his foot on the accelerator. “I’ll give her a good start and see how she can climb.” The car gathered speed as it neared the bottom of the hill. Joe peered forward, and then from his lips came a startled shout. Directly in front of them, completely blocking the road, was a mass of heavy timbers. To strike them at that speed meant maiming or death! At one side of the road was a steep cliff. On the other side was the river. Joe’s brain worked like lightning. There was but one chance. He swung the wheel around, the car crashed through a fence at the side of the road, suddenly stopped short, and Joe and Jim were sent headlong into the river! CHAPTER II A SURPRISE The water was icy and deep, and at this point the current was swift. The force with which the luckless occupants of the car had been propelled sent them far beneath the surface and some distance out into the stream. A moment later their heads appeared above the water, and they struck out for the shore. Both were strong swimmers, and in a few strokes they reached the bank. Fortunately they had escaped striking any part of the car in their wild hurtling through space, and apart from the chill and wetting were unharmed. From the mud at the river’s edge, they dragged their dripping feet to the solid ground of the road. Then they stood still and looked at each other. The shock and suddenness of it all still affected them, but as they continued to look at the comical figure that each presented, with hair plastered over their faces and clothes clinging to their bodies, their sense of the ludicrous got the better of them and they burst into laughter. “Talk about scarecrows!” gurgled Jim, as he dragged a wet handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face in a vain attempt to dry it. “None of them have anything on us,” admitted Joe, as he threw off his coat and wrung one dripping trousers leg after the other. “If only the team could get a snapshot of us now, they’d kid us for the rest of our natural lives,” remarked Jim. “You said it,” agreed Joe. “But now,” he added more soberly, “just let’s take a look at what it was that so nearly killed us or crippled us for life.” They made their way to the mass of timber in the road. At first Jim thought that it might have fallen off some wagon, unknown to the driver. But a closer examination showed that this was an error. The timbers were piled in a way that could have been done only by human hands, and what made this certain was the fact that rocks had been placed on either side to prevent the logs from slipping. It was a formidable barrier, and if the car had dashed into it at the rate it was going, the occupants would almost certainly have been killed. “Whoever put those timbers there meant harm,” said Joe solemnly, when the examination had been completed. “It looks that way,” agreed Jim. “Whoever did it was a scoundrel who ought to be in jail.” “It might have been the work of a crazy man,” suggested Joe. [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] “As crazy as a fox,” rejoined Jim, looking squarely into his chum’s eyes. “What do you mean?” asked Joe, in some perplexity. “I mean,” said Jim, carefully weighing every word, “that the man who put that mass of timber there was just as sane as you or I. I mean that he intended that some one should be seriously hurt. I’ll go even further. That man meant to injure Joe Matson, whom he hated with a deadly hatred.” “You mean that Braxton did it?” cried Joe. “I mean that Braxton did it,” replied Jim quietly. They stared at each other with strange emotions stirring in their hearts. And while they stand there, as if turned to stone, it may be well, for the benefit of those who have not read the earlier volumes of this series, to trace the fortunes of Baseball Joe up to the time that this story opens. Joe Matson was born in a little inland village of the Middle West, and grew up in a pleasant home amid wholesome surroundings. His first experience in the great national game, where he was destined to become famous as the greatest pitcher of his time, was gained on the simple diamond of his home town, and his natural aptitude was such that he soon became known as a rising player all over the county. What obstacles he met and surmounted at that time are related in the first volume of the series, entitled: “Baseball Joe of the Silver Stars.” Some time later, when playing on his school nine, he had considerable trouble with a bully who tried to down him, but found out, as so many trouble makers did later on in life, that Joe Matson was not easily downed. He put into his playing all that experience, combined with his native ability, could teach him, and he served an apprenticeship that stood him in good stead when later he went to Yale. The trials and triumphs of his school experience are told in the second volume of the series, entitled: “Baseball Joe on the School Nine.” With the natural buoyancy of youth, Joe had hoped when he entered Yale that he would have a chance to show his mettle in the box in some of the great annual games that Yale played with Harvard and Princeton. There were many rivals, however, for the honor, including those who had already won their spurs in actual contests. But Joe’s light was not made to shine under a bushel, and one day when the cohorts of Princeton came down in their orange and black prepared to “tie the can” to the Bulldog’s tail, Joe got his chance and sent a very bedraggled Tiger back to his lair in Princeton. How Joe won gloriously is told in the third volume of the series, entitled: “Baseball Joe at Yale.” Though he enjoyed his college days at Yale, stood high in his studies, and was popular with his mates, he felt that he was not cut out for one of the learned professions. His mother had hoped that he would be a clergyman and had been urgent in having him adopt that profession. But Joe, though he respected the noble aims of that calling, was not drawn to it. It was the open air life that he craved and for which he was fitted, and the scholastic calm of a study had little attraction for him. He felt that he had it in him to win supremacy in athletic fields. His mother, of course, was greatly disappointed when she learned how he felt, but she was too wise to insist on her plan when she realized that it was contrary to his special gifts. She knew very little about baseball, but she had the impression that it was no place for an educated man. The fact, however, that so many college men were entering the ranks of professional baseball was made the most of by Joe, and she finally yielded to his wishes. His chance was not long in coming, for he was soon picked up by one of the scouts who are always looking for “diamonds in the rough,” and was offered a contract with the Pittston team of the Central League. The League was a minor one, but Joe had already learned that a man who proved that he had the makings of a star in him would soon have an opportunity with one of the majors. How speedily his ability was proved and recognized is narrated in the fourth volume of the series, entitled: “Baseball Joe in the Central League.” From the bushes to the National League was a big jump, but Joe made it when he was drafted into the ranks of the St. Louis Cardinals. The team was in the second division when Joe came into action, and was altogether out of the running for the championship. But Joe’s twirling was just what it needed to put new heart and life into it, and before the season ended it had climbed into the first division and if the race had been a little longer might have made a big stroke for the pennant. The story of the team’s climb, with all its exciting episodes, is told in the fifth volume of the series, entitled: “Baseball Joe in the Big League.” McRae, the crafty and resourceful manager of the New York Giants, had had his eye on Joe all the season, and when the race was ended he made an offer for him that the St. Louis management could not refuse. Now, indeed, Joe felt that the ambition of his life was in a fair way to be realized. McRae had intended to bring him along slowly, so that he could be thoroughly seasoned, but circumstances put on him the heft of the pitching, and how fully he justified his manager’s confidence is narrated in the sixth volume of the series, entitled: “Baseball Joe on the Giants.” After the winning of the National League Championship by the Giants, came the World Series with the Boston Red Sox, who had won the title that year in the American League. The Sox were a hard team to beat, and the Giants had their work cut out for them. In addition to the strain of the games in which he was slated to pitch, Joe had to contend with the foul tactics of a gang of gamblers who had wagered heavily on the Sox and did all they could to put Joe out of action. But his indomitable will and quick wit triumphed over all obstacles, and his magnificent pitching in the last game of the series won the World’s Championship for the Giants. The story of that stirring fight is told in the seventh volume of the series, entitled: “Baseball Joe in the World Series.” During these experiences, Joe had not escaped the toils of Cupid. Mabel Varley, a charming young girl, had been [20] [21] [22] [23] rescued by Joe at the moment that a runaway horse was about to carry her over a cliff. The romantic acquaintanceship thus begun soon grew into a deep affection, and Joe knew that Mabel held the happiness of his life in her hands. Jim Barclay, also, a promising young Princeton man and second string pitcher for the Giants, who was Joe’s special chum, had grown very fond of Clara, Joe’s pretty sister, and hoped that some day she would promise to be his wife. The World Series had scarcely ended before Joe and Jim were invited by McRae to make a trip around the world with the Giant and All-American teams. They were eager for the chance, and their delight was increased when it developed that there were to be a number of wives of the players in the party so that Mabel and Clara could go along. The teams played in Japan, in China, and in many of the cities of Europe, and the experience would have been a thoroughly happy one for Joe, had it not been for the machinations of men who were trying to form a rival league and had by the meanest trickery secured Joe’s signature to what afterward turned out to be a contract. How Joe finally unmasked the plotters and had the satisfaction of giving the ringleader a tremendous thrashing is narrated in the preceding volume of the series, entitled: “Baseball Joe Around the World.” And now to return to Joe and Jim, as they stood in their dripping clothes on the country road in the growing light of the spring morning. For some seconds after Jim’s startling statement, Joe stood as though rooted to the spot. Then he pulled himself together. “Come now, Jim, isn’t that pretty far-fetched?” he said, with a forced laugh, in which, however, there was little mirth. “You haven’t a shred of proof of anything of the kind.” “No,” admitted Jim, “there isn’t anything—yet—that would convince a judge or a jury. I’ll agree that it wouldn’t go far in a court of law. But just put two and two together. Yesterday afternoon we were talking about this trip. You distinctly mentioned the hill near Hebron. It was just after you spoke that I saw Braxton pass the door.” “Thought you saw,” corrected Joe. “All right, then,” said Jim patiently, “let it go at that—thought I saw Braxton passing the door. Now just suppose for a minute that I was right and see what comes of it. The man who hates you worse, probably, than any man on earth— the man to whom you gave a terrible thrashing—knew that you would be driving a car just before daylight—knew that you would have to climb a hill—knew that as you got near it you’d probably put on speed to carry the car up—knew that an obstacle put near the bottom of the hill would almost certainly wreck the car and hurt the driver. Knowing all this, might not such a man as we know Braxton to be see his chance and take it?” There was silence for a moment. Then: “It certainly sounds strong the way you put it,” Joe said thoughtfully. “But how on earth could Braxton get here in time to do all this? Think of the distance.” “It isn’t so great a distance,” rejoined Jim. “That is, if a man came straight across country in a speedy car for instance. It seemed long to us because of the roundabout way we had to go by train. Then too that was early in the afternoon, and Braxton could have had four hours’ start of us. He’s a rich man and probably has a fast car. He could have made it all right and got here hours ago.” “Yes, but even then,” argued Joe, “he couldn’t have done it all alone. It’s as much as you and I can do together to handle these timbers.” “That’s true,” conceded Jim. “But he may have had one or more confederates with him. Money you know can do almost anything. I shouldn’t wonder if that fellow Fleming helped him. He owed you a debt too, you remember, and the pair were as thick as thieves on the world tour.” “Well, it may be just as you say,” replied Joe. “But I hate to think that any man hates me so badly as to try to injure me in such a cowardly way as that. At any rate, it won’t do any harm for us to keep our eyes open in the future. But we’ve got plenty of time to think of that. Now let’s get busy and hustle these timbers over to the side of the road so that nobody else can run into them. Then we’ll take a look at the car.” They set to work with a will, and in a few minutes had removed the obstacles from the road. “Now for the machine,” said Joe, as he led the way to the river bank. “I’ve got an idea that what we owe Hank will put a dent in our bank rolls.” To their delight they found, however, that, apart from superficial injuries, the car seemed to be intact. The wind shield had been shattered and the mud guards were badly bent. But the axles seemed to be sound, the wheels were in place, and as far as they could judge there had been no injury to the engine. To all appearances the expenditure of a hundred dollars would put the car in good shape again. But the wheels were so firmly imbedded in the mud of the shore that despite all their efforts they could not budge the car. They strained and pushed and lifted, but to no avail. Joe climbed into the driver’s seat and set the engine going, but the car was stubborn and refused to back. “Swell chance of our getting home in time for breakfast,” grumbled Joe, as he stopped to rest for a moment. “Lucky if we get there in time for supper,” muttered Jim. “We’ll have to go somewhere and borrow a shovel so that we can dig the wheels out of the mud.” [24] [25] [26] [27] [28] But just at this moment they heard the rumbling of a cart, and running to the road they saw it coming, drawn by two stout horses, while the driver sat handling the reins in leisurely fashion. They waved their hands and the cart came to a halt, the driver scanning curiously the two young men who had appeared so unexpectedly from the side of the road. He was a bluff, jovial person, and his eyes twinkled with amusement as he noted the wet garments that were clinging to their limbs. “Been taking a bath with all your clothes on?” he asked, as he got down from his seat. “Something like that,” replied Joe, with a laugh, “but the bath came as a sort of surprise party. The road was blocked, and it was either the morgue or the river for us, so we chose the river.” “Road blocked?” repeated the newcomer, looking about with a puzzled expression. “I don’t get you. Looks clear enough to me.” “It wouldn’t if you’d been here half an hour ago,” replied Joe, and then, as the man listened with interest that soon changed to indignation, he recounted briefly the events of the morning. “Whoever did that ought to be jailed,” he burst out, when the boys had concluded their story. “And he can’t be very far away, either. This road was clear when I passed over it last night. Jump in and I’ll drive you into town and we can send out an alarm.” “Not much use of that I’m afraid,” replied Joe. “The man or men may be fifty miles away by this time. But if you’ll give us a hand to get this auto out of the mud, you’ll do us a big favor.” “Sure I’ll help you,” said the friend in need, whose name they learned was Thompson. “I’ve got a spade right here in the cart. We’ll dig around the wheels a little. Then I’ll hitch a trace chain to the machine and my horses will yank it out in a jiffy.” A few minutes of work sufficed to clear the wheels. Then boards were placed behind them, the chain was attached to the rear axle, and the horses drew the car back into the road. It presented rather a forlorn appearance, but the boys cared little for that. What they were far more concerned about was their own bedraggled condition. “We match the car all right,” remarked Jim disgustedly, as he looked at his own clothes and those of his companion. “It will never do to let Mabel and Clara see us like this,” responded Joe lugubriously. “Don’t let that worry you,” laughed their new friend. “Just drive into town and stop at Eph Allen’s tailor shop. It’s pretty early, but Eph sleeps in the back of his shop and he’ll let you in and fix you up in no time.” This was evidently the best thing to be done, and the young men, after repeated thanks to their newly made friend and with fullest directions as to how to find the tailor shop in question, jumped into the auto and started on the way back to Hebron. “Old bus seems to work as well as ever,” commented Joe, as the car moved on without any visible evidence of injury. “That’s one bit of good luck,” replied Jim. “And it’s certainly coming to us to make up in part for the bad.” They thanked their stars that it was too early yet for many people to be stirring in the town, and were relieved when they found themselves in front of Allen’s shop. Eph must have been a pretty sound sleeper, for it took a good deal of knocking to wake him up, and when at last he thrust his tousled head through the door to ask what was wanted, he was not in the best of temper. But as soon as he learned the circumstances that had occasioned the early call, he became at once all interest and attention, and hustled about to put their clothes in presentable shape. It was a fairly good job that he at length turned out after he had ironed and pressed their suits, though they had by no means the Beau Brummel effect with which the boys had planned to impress the girls. By this time the sun had fully risen and Joe looked at his watch. “Perhaps we’ll be in time to catch them at breakfast yet,” he remarked. “It’s only about twenty miles from here to Riverside. Maybe they won’t be surprised when we break in on them. They don’t think we’re within several hundred miles of them.” “Perhaps we ought to have telegraphed that we were coming,” said Jim. “It might have been just as well, I suppose,” admitted Joe. “But that would have taken away the fun of the surprise. I want to see the look on their faces.” “Of course we won’t say anything about what happened to us this morning,” suggested Jim, as the machine bowled along over a road that with every minute that passed was growing more familiar. “Not on your life,” replied Joe earnestly. “None of them would ever have another easy minute. They’d be seeing our mangled remains every night in their dreams. All we’ll tell them is that we had a little spill and got wet. But not a word about the blocked road or what we suspect regarding Braxton.” Before long they were passing the straggling houses that marked the outskirts of Riverside. Joe pulled his cap down over his eyes so that he would not be recognized and stopped by any of the people of the town, where he was [29] [30] [31] [32] regarded as something of an idol. All he wanted to do was to get to his family and Mabel, or, as perhaps he would have put it, get to Mabel and his family. His ruse was successful, for there was no sign of recognition from the few he passed on the streets, and in a few minutes he brought the car to a stop in front of the Matson home. The young men jumped out, and with Joe leading the way ran lightly up the steps. He tried the front door and found that it yielded to his touch. With his finger on his lips as a warning to Jim, he tiptoed softly through the hall to the door of the dining room. The odor of coffee and bacon came to them and from the click of plates and cups, as well as the murmur of several voices, they knew that the family was still at the breakfast table. Joe waited no longer but threw open the door. “Hello, folks!” he cried. CHAPTER III REGGIE TURNS UP If Joe had counted upon producing a surprise, his success surpassed his wildest expectations. At first there was a second of paralyzed silence. Then there was a wild hubbub of delighted cries, as four figures started up from the table and launched themselves upon the stalwart figure that stood framed in the doorway. “Joe!” “Mabel!” “Clara!” “Momsey!” “Dad!” “Jim!” The names were repeated in quick succession and were punctuated with hugs and kisses. In a moment Joe had his right arm around Mabel, his left about his mother, while Clara had thrown her arms about his neck and his father was attempting to get hold of one of his hands. There was no doubt of the warmth of that welcome. THERE WAS NO DOUBT OF THE WARMTH OF THAT WELCOME. Nor was Jim left out in the cold. Joe naturally had the center of the stage, but after the first rapturous greeting had passed, they all made Jim feel how delighted they were that he had come along with Joe. In Clara’s eyes especially there was a look that Jim hoped he read aright. Her flushed and sparkling face was alive with happiness that might not [33] [34] be due altogether to the return of her brother, dearly as she loved him. For a few minutes questions and answers followed close on each other’s heels, and it was Mrs. Matson at last who suggested that probably the boys were hungry. They agreed with her emphatically that they were. The girls flew about, and in a short time fresh coffee and hot biscuits and bacon and eggs were set before them in tempting profusion. Then while they ate like famished wolves, the others, who had been just finishing breakfast when they burst in upon them, sat about the table and talked and laughed and beamed to their hearts’ content. Perhaps in all the broad land there was no happier group than was gathered about that table in the little town of Riverside. “You ought to have telegraphed that you were coming, Joe,” said Mrs. Matson. “Then we could have had a good breakfast ready for you.” “What do you call this?” laughed Joe, as he helped himself to another biscuit, watching at the same time the bewitching way in which Mabel was pouring him another cup of coffee. “There couldn’t be anything better than this this side of kingdom come.” “You’re right there, old man,” observed Jim, his own appetite keeping pace with that of his chum. “Seems to me, Joe, that your clothes look a little seedy this morning,” Clara remarked, with a sister’s frankness, during a moment’s pause in the conversation. “The last time you came home you looked like a fashion plate. But now your shirt front is wrinkled, your collar is wilted, and the colors in your necktie have run together. Looks as though you’d got wet through and hadn’t dried out yet.” “Perhaps they’ve been in the river,” laughed Mabel gaily, little thinking how near she came to hitting the nail on the head. Mrs. Matson’s motherly heart was quick to take alarm. “What’s that?” she asked. “Nothing really has happened to you, has it, Joe?” she inquired, looking anxiously at her son, who after one glare at the sister who had precipitated the topic, was trying to assume an air of nonchalance. But this direct inquiry from his mother left him no recourse except to tell her a part of the truth, though not necessarily the whole truth. “We did have a little spill this morning,” he returned indifferently. “I turned the car a little too much to the right and we went through a fence and into a little stream at the side of the road. Jim and I got wet, but after we got over being mad we had a good laugh over it. Neither one of us was a bit hurt, and it’s only our clothes that got the worst of it.” “Oh, but you might have been killed!” exclaimed Mrs. Matson, clasping her hands together nervously. “You must be more careful, Joe. It would break my heart if anything happened to you.” “Don’t worry a bit, Momsey,” replied Joe, placing his hand affectionately over hers. “Only the good die young, you know, and that makes me safe.” They all pressed him for the details of the accident, and he and Jim both made light of it, making a joke out of their plight and their visit to the tailor, so that apprehension vanished, and after a while the matter was dropped. Joe was eager for a chance to get alone with Mabel, and Jim was quite as keen for a tête-à-tête with Clara. The girls were quite as eager, but as there was no servant in the simple little household the girls flew around to clear the table, while Joe had a chance for a quiet talk with his mother, and Jim beguiled his impatience by going out on the porch with Mr. Matson for a smoke before the latter had to go downtown to business. “How have you been feeling, Momsey?” Joe asked when they had settled down in a cosy corner of the living room. “It seems to me that you’re a little thinner than you were.” “I’m not feeling any too well,” replied Mrs. Matson. “I have trouble with my breathing whenever I go up or down stairs. But I’ll be all right pretty soon,” she added, with an attempt at brightness. “I’m afraid you’ve been working too hard, Momsey,” replied Joe, patting her hand. “Why don’t you let me get you a maid to help out with the work? The money doesn’t matter, and you know how glad I’d be to bear the expense.” “I don’t want any regular servant, Joe,” replied Mrs. Matson. “I haven’t been used to one, and she’d be more bother than help. We have a wash woman. There isn’t much to be done in this little house, and Clara is the dearest girl. If I did what she wanted, I’d just fold my hands and sit around in the living room. And Mabel, too, has spoiled me since she’s been here. She’s already like a second daughter to me.” “She’ll be really your daughter before long, if I have anything to say about it,” replied Joe. “I’m going to put it right up to her to marry me while I’m here this time.” Mrs. Matson was both delighted and flustered at the boldness of this announcement. “You take my breath away, talking like that,” she replied. “But I’m afraid Mabel won’t let herself be carried off her feet in that way. A girl wants to get her trousseau ready. And then, too, she’ll want to be married in her father’s house. You’re a dear boy, Joe, but you’ve got a lot to learn about women.” “Mabel will agree all right,” replied Joe confidently, though his masculine assurance had been slightly dashed by his mother’s prediction. The opportunity to make sure about that important matter came a few minutes later, when Mabel came into the room [35] [36] [37] [38] looking more lovely, Joe thought, than he had ever seen her before. Mrs. Matson lingered only a moment longer, and then made an excuse to leave the room. The door had hardly closed behind her before Mabel was in Joe’s arms. It was a long time before they were able to talk coherently, and when at last Mabel told Joe that he was too greedy and laughingly bade him be sensible, she was more rosy and beautiful than ever, and Joe was deeper in love than before, if that could be possible. Joe was not long in putting his mother’s prediction to the test. “Do you remember what Jim said when we said good-by to McRae after the World Tour was over?” he asked, with a twinkle in his eye. The flush in Mabel’s cheeks deepened. “Jim talks so much nonsense,” she countered. “Think a minute.” Joe was jogging her memory. “Wasn’t it something about bells?” “How should I remember?” asked Mabel, though she did remember perfectly. “Well, I remember,” said Joe. “He said I’d soon be hearing wedding bells. Now do you remember?” “Y-yes,” admitted Mabel at last, hiding her face on Joe’s shoulder, which was very close to her. “I want to hear those wedding bells, very...