CHAPTER XV

A CHARMING VISION

“Only a dream,” commented Joe, as he was dressing the next morning, “and they say dreams go by contraries. Let’s hope that won’t hold true in this case. If I could only strike out Wagner on the field as easily as I did in my sleep, there’d be nothing to the race except the Giants.”

He was sorry that he could not see Wilson opposite him at breakfast as he had been at supper on the night before, but he supplemented the absence of the veteran by a newspaper which he propped up before him as he sipped his coffee. Mrs. Matson had always objected to this at home, on the ground that it was unsociable, and Joe had respected her wishes; but just now he had no one to consult except himself, and he did as he chose. Joe had a shrewd idea that all women felt the same way and resented having a rival in the newspaper. Probably Mabel herself---- But pshaw! that thought didn’t bother him. Who would want to look at an old newspaper when opposite him at the table was something so much better to look at, something that wore fetching little boudoir caps and all sorts of dainty frilly things, something with brown eyes and wavy hair, something that laughed and teased and bewitched while it poured the coffee?

“Come, old man,” Joe said to himself, “this will never do. Brace up and get on the job. Help the Giants to win the flag, get a slice of the money from the World’s Series, and then you’ll be in a position to ask the sweetest girl in the world whether she is willing to pour your coffee for the rest of her life.”

Naturally it was the sporting page that engrossed most of his attention. A great deal of space was devoted to the departure of McRae and most of the Giants from New York on their way to the grounds at Marlin for the spring training trip. Rosy predictions were indulged in as to the result of the coming season. The general opinion seemed to be that New York had a capital chance for the pennant, now that McRae had plugged up two weak places in the team, and especially because he had strengthened his pitching staff by the addition of Matson, who had done such sterling work in the box for the Cardinals the previous season.

These predictions interested Joe, but were not especially convincing. He had seen so many “good things” go wrong, so many teams strong on paper “come a cropper,” while those who were only given an outside chance by the baseball scribes came up from the ruck, that he had become an habitual resident of “Missouri,” and had to be “shown.” Moreover, this was a New York paper, and he knew that local sheets in the seven other cities of the National League were industriously trying to prove, to their own satisfaction at least, that their favorite sons could not lose.

What did have an especial interest for him, however, was an article that told of his exploit in subduing Talham Tabbs. The news had filtered out from Riverside through the columns of the local paper, and the metropolitan sporting reporter had been quick to recognize it as having all the elements of a good story. So he had featured it for all that he was worth, even introducing an imaginary picture of the madman standing on the lumber pile while Joe was in the act of hurling the ball.

Joe was amused and rather pleased, and yet he knew that the story would win him a large amount of banter from his mates.

“They’ll be joking about Matson’s ‘freeze’ ball from now to the end of the season,” he grinned. “Well, as long as it gives ‘cold feet’ to the batters I have to face, I won’t have to worry about it.”

He made a hearty breakfast and strolled back into his car, wholly at peace with himself and the world. The pleasant influence of his dream still clung around him, and then, too, every mile traversed by the “Flyer” was bringing him nearer and nearer to Goldsboro.

It is not to be hastily assumed from this that Joe was unduly anxious to meet his new team-mates. There would be plenty of time to become acquainted with them before the season closed. In fact, he would probably have a surfeit of their society.

But Goldsboro was a pleasant town, and he would have four hours to stay before the train from New York bearing McRae and his men should pull into the station.

While he had been in the dining car the train had stopped at a station and several passengers had boarded it. Joe noticed as he went to his seat that the car seemed fuller than when he had left it.

He sat looking out of the windows at the flying scenery for a while, and then, as the train boy stopped at his seat, he put his hand in his pocket for some change to buy a magazine that had an unusually attractive cover.

But as he settled back to study it, his eye, roving over the car, caught sight of something vastly more attractive.

Three seats in front of him next the window sat a girl. He could not see her face, but there was something in the tilt of the head that reminded him of Mabel.

He sat for a moment as if transfixed. The next instant he was standing before her, hat in hand, his eyes eloquent with pleasure at this unexpected meeting.

“Mabel!” he stammered.

She looked up and her face flooded with color.

“Joe!” she exclaimed delightedly. “How glad I am to see you!” And then as though she had been betrayed into saying more than she intended her face became still rosier. Joe decided on the spot that pink was his favorite color.

“What on earth brought you down this way?” she asked, as she made room for Joe to sit down beside her, a permission of which he availed himself with alacrity.

“I guess it’s because I’m the luckiest man on earth,” said Joe gallantly.

“What a pretty speech!” and she dimpled mischievously. Joe had never known that dimples could be so distracting.

“It seems to me that you are pretty far from home yourself,” he declared.

“Are you complaining on that account?” she laughed.

“Anything but that,” protested the young pitcher, and the look that accompanied the words was convincing evidence of his sincerity.

“I’ve been attending a wedding of one of my old schoolmates,” explained Mabel. “We had been great chums at boarding school and nothing would do but that I should act as her bridesmaid. We had a great time, and after the happy couple had started on their honeymoon, her parents insisted that I should stay a day or two with them. I wanted to get home yesterday, but they wouldn’t have it.”

Joe mentally blessed the unknown benefactors who had prevented Mabel from taking an earlier train.

“I guess I know after all, why you are coming in this direction,” she went on. “You know I’m greatly interested in baseball and I’ve been keeping pretty well posted as to the doings of the teams. I see that Mr. Joseph Matson is no longer a member of the St. Louis nine,” she said archly.

“No,” laughed Joe. “They got tired of me and so they wished me on the New Yorks.”

“Isn’t that glorious!” declared Mabel with unaffected enthusiasm. “I’ve been wanting to have a chance to congratulate you ever since I heard the news. It’s a great step forward, and it’s wonderful when you think that you’ve only been in the league a year. But I’m not a bit surprised, after seeing some of the games you pitched last year. That last one you pitched in New York was just splendid.”

“Do you know why it was so good?” said Joe, earnestly, bending toward her. “It was because I had a mascot in the grandstand that day and I simply couldn’t lose.”

“Is that so?” asked Mabel, innocently. “Dear me, how very interesting! I’ve always heard that ball players were superstitious. What kind of a mascot was it?”

“Why,” said Joe, “it had brown eyes and the most beautiful wavy hair, and a lot of dimples and----”

“Oh, look at that funny little farmhouse,” hastily remarked Mabel, looking out of the window. “Did you ever see anything so quaint?”

But Joe, who had not the slightest interest in quaint farmhouses just at this moment, persisted:

“As I was saying, this mascot----”

“Yes,” interrupted Mabel, “but tell me one thing that I’m just dying to know. Do you think the New Yorks will win the pennant this year?”

And Joe, despite himself, was forced to bow to her will and change the subject. But he mentally resolved that he would yet tell her what he wanted to about that mascot.

“That’s something that’s pretty hard to tell,” he answered. “We’ve got a mighty strong team on paper, and if we get our share of the breaks, I don’t see anything that’s going to beat us out.”

“Won’t that be fine!” she exclaimed. “And that’ll mean that you’ll play in the World’s Series. Oh, if you could win the championship of the league and the championship of the world in the same year!”

“It’s asking a good deal,” laughed Joe, “but stranger things than that have happened. It would mean a lot of glory and it would also mean a lot of money.”

“Oh, you mercenary men!” she smiled. “Always thinking about money.”

“Sure,” said Joe. “Why shouldn’t they. What do you think they want the money for? Listen, Mabel. Shall I tell you what Clara said would be a good thing for me to do with the Series money if I get a part of it?”

But Mabel scented danger and again she fenced.

“Don’t trouble,” she said. “I’ll write to Clara and ask her about it.”

Poor Joe realized how helpless a mere man is in the hands of a pretty girl when she wants to make him speak or refrain from speaking. But he clung desperately to the theme in the hope that in some way or other it would give him an opening.

“I saw a moving picture the other day that was a dandy,” he went on. “It showed the winners of the Series last year getting their checks in the office of the Treasurer. Were they a happy looking bunch? I should say so. One of the checks was flashed on the screen and it showed figures for three thousand eight hundred dollars odd.”

“A little fortune in its way,” agreed Mabel.

“I should say it was,” continued Joe. “Why, do you know what a man could do with that money? He could get a cozy little home and furnish it and----”

“Speaking of Reggie----” interrupted Mabel hurriedly.

“I wasn’t speaking of Reggie,” said Joe, exasperatedly. At that moment he could have wished the unoffending Reggie at the bottom of the sea.

“I know we weren’t,” said Mabel, sweetly, “but really we ought to be because I’m awfully worried about the dear boy. He’s been acting so queerly of late. Hasn’t seemed to have any appetite, and at night I can hear him walking the floor in his room. I’ve tried to get him to tell me what is troubling him, but he just says it is nothing and I can’t get any satisfaction. Then too, he’s constantly taking flying trips all over the country. He’s been away now for some time and in one of his letters he told me that he had seen you. Did he tell you what was on his mind?”

It was very hard to resist the pleading in those brown eyes, but Joe was loyal to that free masonry that makes men hang together. And besides, the little witch had been tantalizing him so, that there was a little wicked satisfaction in having the whip hand himself, if only for a moment.

“Why, Reggie seemed very much as usual,” he declared. “If he was a bit worried, it’s only what all men feel at times. I know that more than once after I’ve lost a close game I’ve been like a bear with a sore head. He’ll be all right, no doubt, after a while. Do you think he’s at home now?”

“I rather think he is,” returned Mabel, “but I’m not sure. He wrote me that he expected to get home some day this week. But you’ll have a chance to see for yourself when we get to Goldsboro. Of course, you’ll come up to our house for dinner?”

“Do you really want me to?” he asked.

“Of course I do,” she returned. “Mother will be glad to meet you again too. She’s talked a lot about you since the last time you were there. She thinks you’re such a handsome young man,” she added mischievously, for the pleasure of seeing him blush.

“By the way,” she went on, enjoying his confusion, “I’ve seen your picture in the papers so often for this last week or two.”

“It’s a shame to spoil good paper by putting my ugly phiz upon it,” said Joe, getting redder still.

“Ugly!” exclaimed Mabel, warmly. “I think it’s just----”

She checked herself as though she had gone too far, and now it was her turn to blush.

“What do they say about the great Mr. Matson in today’s papers?” she asked lightly. “I haven’t seen a copy yet. Have you got one? I’d like to see it, if you have.”

Her wish was a command and Joe went to his seat returning with the paper. She turned to the sporting page and her eye fell upon the picture of Joe in the lumber yard.

“Why, what’s this?” she asked, wonderingly.

“Oh, it’s a little thing that happened in Riverside,” answered Joe. “The newspapers got hold of it and are making a mountain out of a molehill.”

With quickening curiosity, Mabel read the account from beginning to end. When she had finished she looked up at Joe, and there was something in her eyes that Joe had longed to see there, something that made his heart give a wild leap.

“Goldsboro,” shouted the brakeman, putting his head in the door. “All out for Goldsboro!”