Baseball Joe in the Central League.
by Lester Chadwick.
CHAPTER I
DANGER
"Why, here's Joe!"
"So soon? I didn't expect him until night."
The girl who had uttered the first exclamation, and her mother whose surprise was manifested in the second, hurried to the door of the cottage, up the gravel walk to which a tall, athletic youth was then striding, swinging a heavy valise as though he enjoyed the weight of it.
"Hello, Mother!" he called gaily. "How are you, Sis?" and a moment later Joe Matson was alternating his marks of affection between his mother and sister.
"Well, it's good to be home again!" he went on, looking into the two faces which showed the pleasure felt in the presence of the lad. "Mighty good to be home again!"
"And we're glad to have him; aren't we, Mother?"
"Yes, Clara, of course," and Mrs. Matson spoke with a hesitation that her son could not help noticing. "Of course we just love to have you home Joe----"
"There, now, Mother, I know what you're going to say!" he interrupted with good-natured raillery. "You rather wish I'd stuck on there at Yale, turning into a fossil, or something like that, and----"
"Oh, Joe! Of course I didn't want you to turn into a fossil," objected his mother, in shocked tones. "But I did hope that you might----"
"Become a sky-pilot! Is that it, Momsey?" and he put his arm about her slender waist.
"Joe Matson! What a way to talk about a minister!" she cried. "The idea!"
"Well, Mother, I meant no disrespect. A sky-pilot is an ancient and honorable calling, but not for me. So here I am. Yale will have to worry along without yours truly, and I guess she'll make out fairly well. But how is everything? Seen any of the fellows lately? How's father? How's the business?"
The last two questions seemed to open a painful subject, for mother and daughter looked at one another as though each one was saying:
"You tell him!"
Joe Matson sensed that something disagreeable was in the air.
"What is it?" he demanded, turning from his mother to his sister. "What has happened?" It was not Joe's way to shrink from danger, or from a disagreeable duty. And part of his success as a baseball pitcher was due to this very fact.
Now he was aware that something had gone amiss since his last visit home, and he wanted to know what it was. He put his arms on his mother's shoulders--frail little shoulders they were, too--yet they had borne many heavy burdens of which Joe knew nothing. What mother's shoulders have not?
The lad looked into her eyes--eyes that held a hint of pain. His own were clear and bright--they snapped with life and youthful vigor.
"What is it, Momsey?" he asked softly. "Don't be afraid to tell me. Has anything happened to dad?"
"Oh, no, it isn't anything like that, Joe," said Clara quickly. "We didn't write to you about it for fear you'd worry and lose that last big game with Princeton. It's only that----"
"Your father has lost some money!" interrupted Mrs. Matson, wishing to have the disagreeable truth out at once.
"Oh, if that's all, we can soon fix that!" cried Joe, gaily, as though it was the easiest thing in the world. "Just wait until I begin drawing my salary as pitcher for the Pittston team in the Central League, and then you'll be on Easy Street."
"Oh, but it's a great deal of money, Joe!" spoke Clara in rather awed tones.
"Well, you haven't heard what my salary is to be."
"You mustn't make it so serious, Clara," interposed Mrs. Matson. "Your father hasn't exactly lost the money, Joe. But he has made a number of investments that seem likely to turn out badly, and there's a chance that he'll have to lose, just as some others will."
"Oh, well, if there's a chance, what's the use of worrying until you have to?" asked Joe, boy-like.
"The chances are pretty good--or, rather, pretty bad--that the money will go," said Mrs. Matson with a sigh. "Oh, dear! Isn't it too bad, after all his hard work!"
"There, there, Mother!" exclaimed the lad, soothingly. "Let's talk about something pleasant. I'll go down to the works soon, and see dad. Just now I'm as hungry as a--well, as a ball player after he's won out in the world's series. Got anything to eat in the house?"
"Of course!" exclaimed Clara, with a laugh, "though whether it will suit your high and mightiness, after what you have been used to at college, I can't say."
"Oh, I'm not fussy, Sis! Trot out a broiled lobster or two, half a roast chicken, some oysters, a little salad and a cup of coffee and I'll try and make that do until the regular meal is ready!"
They laughed at his infectious good-humor, and a look of relief showed on Mrs. Matson's face. But it did not altogether remove the shadow of concern that had been there since Joe wrote of his decision to leave Yale to take up the life of a professional baseball player. It had been a sore blow to his mother, who had hopes of seeing him enter the ministry, or at least one of the professions. And with all his light-heartedness, Joe realized the shattered hopes. But, for the life of him, he could not keep on at college--a place entirely unsuited to him. But of that more later.
Seated at the dining-room table, the three were soon deep in a rather disjointed conversation. Joe's sister and mother waited on him as only a mother and sister can serve a returned son and brother.
Between bites, as it were, Joe asked all sorts of questions, chiefly about his father's business troubles. Neither Mrs. Matson nor her daughter could give a very clear account of what had happened, or was in danger of happening, and the young pitcher, whose recent victory in the college championship games had made him quite famous, remarked:
"I'll have to go down and see dad myself, and give him the benefit of my advice. I suppose he's at the Harvester Works?"
"Yes," answered Mrs. Matson. "He is there early and late. He is working on another patent, and he says if it's successful he won't mind about the bad investments. But he hasn't had much luck, so far."
"I'll have to take him out to a ball game, and get the cobwebs out of his head," said Joe, with a laugh. "It's a bad thing to get in a rut.
Just a little more bread, Sis."
"And so you have really left Yale?" asked his mother, almost hoping something might have occurred to change her son's mind. "You are not going back, Joe?"
"No, I've quit, Mother, sold off what belongings I didn't want to keep, and here I am."
"And when are you going to begin pitching for that professional team?"
asked Clara, coming in with the bread.
"I can't exactly say. I've got to go meet Mr. Gregory, the manager and the largest stockholder in the club. So far I've only dealt with Mr.
James Mack, his assistant and scout. He picked me up and made a contract with me."
"Perhaps it won't go through," ventured Mrs. Matson, half-hopefully.
"Oh, I guess it will," answered Joe, easily. "Anyhow, I've got an advance payment, and I can hold them to their terms. I expect I'll be sent South to the training camp, where the rest of the players are. The season opens soon, and then we'll be traveling all over the circuit--mostly in the Middle West."
"Then we won't see much of you, Joe," and his sister spoke regretfully.
"Well, I'll have to be pretty much on the jump, Sis. But I'll get home whenever I can. And if ever you get near where the Pittston club is playing--that's my team, you know--" and Joe pretended to swell up with pride--"why, just take a run in, and I'll get you box seats."