CHAPTER V
LUCKY JOE
Westland saw the party coming, and with a scowl turned his back uponthem.
Altman, however, greeted Joe with a smile and, excusing himself toWestland, went over to meet him with extended hand.
"How are you, old scout?" he exclaimed. "You sure batted .300 lastnight."
Joe greeted him cordially, while Jim and Clara strolled on toward the endof the platform. It was astonishing what good company those two were toeach other, and how well they bore the absence of anybody else from theirconversation.
"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 willbe willing to take up a collection to pay them," replied Altman. "It'smighty lucky for the town that you happened to be in the crowd lastnight."
"I suppose you're off to keep your next engagement," said Joe, to changethe subject. "By the way, Nick, that was a mighty nifty skit of yours atthe hall last night. It brought down the house. It ought to pull bigeverywhere."
"I'm glad you liked it," replied Altman. "I'm booked for twenty weeks andI'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 anotheryear 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, areyou?"
"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 themover the plate. But whether I'll be with the White Sox or not is anotherquestion."
"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 AmericanLeague 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 buttin, Nick, but don't let him put one over on you."
"The new league seems to have barrels of money," replied Altman, evading adirect answer. "This fellow Westland seems aching to throw it to thebirds--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'sadvice, Nick, and stick to the old ship."
"That's all very well," said Altman. "But a man's worth all that he willbring 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 onesthat 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 Joeearnestly. "You know as well as I do that there are mighty few fellows whoget as well paid for six months' work as we ball players do. But, leavethat out of the question for a minute--don't you suppose the backers ofthis new league are just as eager to make money out of us as anybodyelse? Do you think they're in the game for the sport of it? And don't youknow 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 crookedwork then that they're trying to do now--bribing men to jump theircontracts by offers of big money. The game got a blow then that it tookyears to recover from, and there wasn't a single major league player thatin the long run, didn't suffer from it. Play the game, Nick--and let'sshow these fellows that they can't buy us as they would so many cattle."
Altman was visibly impressed, and Westland, who had been watchingproceedings out of the corner of his eye, thought it time to intervene. Hestrolled down toward them and without looking at Joe, spoke directly toAltman.
"Train's coming, Nick," he said. "I just heard the whistle. I'll stay withyou 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 becontent with the hope that, at least, he had put a spoke in Westland'swheel.
The train was in sight now, and all thoughts of baseball were banishedfor 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 coloredporter jumped down the steps of the parlor car to assist the descendingpassengers.
Joe uttered an exclamation, and Clara gave a little squeal of delight astwo young people, whom a family resemblance proclaimed to be brother andsister, 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 sayjust 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 themasculine contingent, while Reggie Varley extended his two hands, whichwere grasped cordially by Joe and Jim.
The romance which had culminated in the engagement of Mabel Varley and Joedated back two years earlier. Joe had been in a southern training camp, inspring practice with his team, when one day he had been lucky enough tostop a runaway horse which Mabel had been driving, and thus saved her fromimminent 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 complexionand dimples that came and went in a distracting fashion, and it was nowonder that Joe before long was a helpless but willing captive. She, onher part, developed a sudden fondness for the great national game to whichshe had hitherto been indifferent.
They had met many times during the season, and with every meeting herwitchery over Joe had become more potent. He had stolen a glove from herduring one of his visits to Goldsboro, her home town in the South, andduring the exciting games of the last World's Series he had worn it closeto his heart when he had pitched his team to victory.
And when he told her this on the night following the famous game that hadset the whole country wild with excitement, and told her too, that victorymeant nothing, unless she shared it with him, she had capitulated andpromised to become his wife.
Reggie, her brother, had formed Joe's acquaintance earlier than Mabel andin a less pleasant way. He was a rather foppish young man who cultivated amustache that the girls called "darling," and affected what he fondlybelieved 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 somevaluable jewelry stolen from it. He had rashly accused Joe of the theft,and had narrowly escaped a thrashing from that indignant young man, inconsequence.
The matter had been patched up at the time, and afterward, when Joelearned that he was Mabel's brother, had been forgiven entirely. The menwere now on the most cordial of terms, for Reggie, despite hispeculiarities and though he would never "set the river on fire" with hisintellectual ability, was by no means a bad fellow.
There was a merry hubbub of greetings and exclamations while the menarranged for the baggage and the girls asked each other twenty questionsat once and then the party paired off for the walk to the Matsonhome--that is, Joe and Mabel and Jim and Clara, formed the pairs, whileReggie 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 thateach 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 ca
n hardly pick up the paper but what it calls him the hero of theWorld's Series."
"I don't mean a baseball hero," said Jim, "but a real, honest-to-goodnesshero--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 haveseen 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," chuckledJim.
"Don't let them fool you, Mabel," said Joe, tenderly. "There was just alittle excitement at the Opera House last night and Jim and I took a handin 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 theirrepressible Jim. "Last night he was a howling success."
"Clara, dear, tell me all about it," entreated Mabel. "We girls are theonly 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 latterhad needed any other reward for his exploit he found it in Mabel's eyes asshe looked at him.
"I thought I knew all about you before," she said, in a half whisper, "butI'm learning all the time!"