CHAPTER IX

JOE IS DRAFTED

For a moment Joe stood facing the angry man--unnecessarily angry, it seemed--since, even if the young ball player had trod on his foot, the injury could not have amounted to much.

"I told you once that I was sorry for having collided with you, though I do not believe it was my fault," spoke Joe, holding himself in check with an effort. "That is all I intend to say, and you may make the most of it."

"I'll make the most of you, if you don't look out!" blustered the man. "If you'll just step outside we can settle this little argument to the queen's taste," and he seemed very eager to have Joe accept his challenge.

"Now see here! There'll be no fighting on these premises," declared the hotel proprietor, with conviction.

"No, we'll do it outside," growled the man.

"Not with me. I don't intend to fight you," said Joe as quietly as he could.

"Huh! Afraid; eh?"

"No, not afraid."

"Well, you're a coward and a----"

"That will do, Wessel. Get out!" and the proprietor's voice left no room for argument. The man slunk away, giving Joe a surly look, and then the supper bill was paid, and receipted.

"Who was he?" asked Joe, when the fellow was out of sight.

"Oh, I don't know any good of him," replied the hotel man. "He's been hanging around town ever since the ball season closed."

"Is he a player?" Joe inquired.

"No. I'm inclined to think he's a gambler. I know he was always wanting to make bets on the games around here, but no one paid much attention to him. You don't know him; do you?"

"Never saw him before, as far as I recollect," returned Joe slowly. "I wonder why he wanted to pick a quarrel with me? For that was certainly his object."

"It was," agreed Reggie, "and he didn't pay much attention to you until he heard your name."

"I wonder if he could be----?" began Joe, and then he hesitated in his half-formed question. Reggie looked at his friend inquiringly, but Joe did not proceed.

"Don't say anything about this to the girls," requested Joe, as they went upstairs.

"Oh, no, of course not," agreed Reggie. "He was only some loafer, I expect, who had a sore head. Best to keep it quiet."

Joe was more upset by the incident than he liked to admit. He could not understand the man's motive in trying so hard to force him into a fight.

"Not that I would be afraid," reasoned Joe, for he was in good condition, and in splendid fighting trim, due to his clean living and his outdoor playing. "I think I could have held my own with him," he thought, "only I don't believe in fighting, if it can be avoided.

"But there was certainly something more than a little quarrel back of it all. Wessel is his name; eh? I must remember that."

Joe made a mental note of it, but he little realized that he was to hear the name again under rather strange circumstances.

"What's the matter?" asked Mabel, on the way home in the sleigh, drawn by the prancing horses with their jingling bells.

"Why?" parried Joe.

"You are so quiet."

"Well--I didn't count on so much happening to-night."

"You mean about that little pin? I think it's awfully sweet."

"Did you help pick it out?" asked Joe, seeing a chance to turn the conversation.

"Yes. Reggie asked me what I thought would be nice, and I chose that."

"Couldn't have been better," declared Joe, with enthusiasm. "I shall always keep it!"

They rode on, but Joe could not shake off the mood that had seized him. He could not forget the look and words of the man who endeavored to force a quarrel with him--for what object Joe could only guess.

"I'm sure there's something the matter," insisted Mabel, when the song "Jingle Bells!" had died away. "Have I done anything to displease you?" she asked, for she had "split" one dance with Charlie Hall.

"No, indeed!" cried Joe, glad that he could put emphasis into his denial. "There's nothing really the matter."

"Unless you're sorry you're going away out to Missouri," persisted the girl.

"Well, I am sorry--that is, if I really have to go," spoke the young ball player sincerely. "Of course it isn't at all certain that I will go."

"Oh, I guess it's certain enough," she said. "And I really hope you do go."

"It's pretty far off," said Joe. "I'll have to make my headquarters in St. Louis."

"Reggie and I expect to be in the West a good part of the coming Summer," went on Mabel, in even tones. "It's barely possible that Reggie may make his business headquarters in St. Louis, for papa's trade is shifting out that way."

"You don't mean it!" cried Joe, and some of his companions in the sleigh wondered at the warmth of his tone.

"Oh, yes, I do," said Mabel. "So I shall see you play now and then; for I'm as ardent a 'fan' as I ever was."

"That's good," returned Joe. "I'm glad I'm going to a major league--that is, if they draft me," he added quickly. "I didn't know you might be out there."

From then on the thought of going to St. Louis was more pleasant to Joe.

The sleigh ride was a great success in every particular. The young people reached home rather late--or, rather early in the morning, happy and not too tired.

"It was fine; wasn't it?" whispered Clara, as she and her brother tip-toed their way into the house, so as not to awaken their parents.

"Dandy!" he answered softly.

"Weren't you surprised about the pin?"

"Of course I was."

"But you don't seem exactly happy. Is something worrying you? I heard Mabel ask you the same thing."

"Did you?" inquired Joe, non-committally.

"Yes. Is anything the matter?"

"No, Sis. Get to bed. It's late."

Clara paused for a moment. She realized that Joe had not answered her question as she would have liked.

"But I guess he's thinking of the change he may have to make," the sister argued. "Joe is a fine fellow. He certainly has gone ahead in baseball faster than he would have done in some other line of endeavor. Well, it's good he likes it.

"And yet," she mused, as she went to her room, "I wonder what it is that is worrying him?"

If she could have seen Joe, at that same moment, sitting on the edge of a chair in his apartment, moodily staring at the wall, she would have wondered more.

"What was his game?" thought Joe, as he recalled the scene with the man at the hotel. "What was his object?"

But he could not answer his own question.

Joe's sleep was disturbed the remainder of that night--short as the remainder was.

At breakfast table, the next morning, the story of the jolly sleigh ride was told to Mr. and Mrs. Matson. Of course Joe said nothing of the dispute with the surly man.

"And here's the pin they gave me," finished the young player as he passed around the emblem that had been so unexpectedly presented to him.

His mother was looking at it when the doorbell rang, and the maid, who answered it, brought back a telegram.

"It's for Mr. Joseph," she announced.

Joe's face was a little pale as he tore open the yellow envelope, and then, as he glanced at the words written on the sheet of paper, he exclaimed:

"It's settled! I'm drafted to St. Louis!"