CHAPTER IV
THE SPOILS OF WAR
The rest of the evening flew by as though on wings, and Joe was startledwhen he looked at his watch and found that it was nearly eleven o'clock.
"I'll have to go," he said reluctantly. "I had no idea it was so late."
"Why should you hurry?" asked Reggie. "The season's over now in theNational League, and the World Series won't begin for a week or more. Ishould think you might have a little leeway in the matter of sitting uplate."
"I'll have plenty of leeway before long," laughed Joe. "But just now Iwant to keep in the very pink of condition. I'll need every ounce ofstrength and vitality I've got before I get through the Series."
He would have dearly loved a chance for a few words with Mabel inprivate before he went away, but Reggie failed to appreciate that fact,and he accompanied the pair even when they went out to the elevator.But Joe avenged himself by holding Mabel's hand much longer and moreclosely than he had ever dared do before, and the girl did not dream ofcalling for help.
But although Joe had been balked in saying what he had wanted to thatnight, he felt much surer of Mabel's feelings toward him, and his heartwas a tumult of joyous emotions as he made his way home to the rooms heshared with Jim.
He found Barclay sound asleep, at which he rejoiced. He was in no moodfor chaff and banter. He wanted to go over in his mind every incident ofthat memorable evening--to recall the tones of Mabel's voice, the lookin Mabel's eyes. It was a delightful occupation and took a good while,so that it was late when he dropped off to sleep.
He was awakened at a much later hour than usual the next morning by avigorous tugging at the shoulder of his pajamas; and, opening one sleepyeye, saw Jim fully dressed standing at the side of his bed.
"Go away and let me sleep," grumbled Joe, turning over on his pillow foranother forty winks.
"For the love of Pete, man! how much sleep do you want?" snorted Jim."What are you trying to do, forget your sorrows? Here it is after nineo'clock, and I've already had my breakfast and a shave. Get a wiggle onand see what it is to be a popular hero."
"Stop your joshing," muttered Joe, sleepily.
"Josh nothing," Jim came back at him. "If you'll just open those liquidorbs of yours and give this room the once over, you'll see whether I'mjoshing or not."
This stirred Joe's curiosity and he sat up in bed with a jerk.
"Great Scott!" he exclaimed, as he saw the room littered with a massof boxes and packages that covered every available spot on chairs andtables and overflowed to the floor. "Where did you get all this junk?Going to open a department store?"
"I guess you'll be able to if they keep on coming," returned Jim. "I'vebeen signing receipts for express packages until I've got the writer'scramp. And there's a pile of letters and telegrams, and there's a bunchof reporters down in the lobby waiting for an interview with your RoyalHighness, and--but what's the use? Get up, you lazy hulk, and get busy."
"It surely looks as though it were going to be my busy day," grinnedJoe, as he jumped out of bed and rushed to the shower.
He shaved and dressed in a hurry and then ate a hasty breakfast, afterwhich he saw the reporters.
Those clever and wideawake young men greeted him with enthusiasm andoverwhelmed him with questions that ranged from the date of his birth tohis opinion on the outcome of the World Series. They knew that theirpapers would give them a free hand in the matter of space, and they werein search not of paragraphs but of columns from the idol of the hour.
"You look limp and wilted, Joe," laughed Jim, as they went back to theirrooms.
"It's no wonder," growled Joe. "Those fellows got the whole sad storyof my life. They hunted out every fact and shook it as a terrier shakesa rat. They turned me inside out. The only thing they forgot to ask waswhen I got my first tooth and whether I'd ever had the measles. And, oh,yes, they didn't find out what was my favorite breakfast food. But nowlet's get busy on these parcels and see what's in them."
"What's in them is plenty," prophesied Jim, "and these are only the fewdrops before the shower."
It was a varied collection of objects that they took from the packages.There were boxes of cigars galore, enough to keep the chums in "smokes"for a year to come. There were canes and silk shirts and necktiesaccompanied by requests from dealers to be permitted to call theirproduct the "Matson." There were bottles of wine and whiskey, which metwith short welcome from these clean young athletes, who took them overto the bathroom, cracked their necks and poured the contents down thedrain of the washbasin, until, as Jim declared, the place smelled forall the world like a "booze parlor."
"No merry mucilage for ours," declared Joe, grimly. "We've seen what itdid for Hartley, as clever a pitcher as ever twirled a ball."
"Right you are," affirmed Jim. "There's none of us strong enough to downold John Barleycorn, and the only way to be safe is never to touch it."
After they had gone through the lot and rung for a porter to carry awaythe litter of paper and boxes, they attacked the formidable pile ofletters and telegrams.
Among the former were two offers from vaudeville managers, urging Joeto go on the stage the coming winter. They offered him a guarantee offive hundred dollars a week. They would prepare a monologue for him,or, if he preferred to pair up with a partner, they would have a sketcharranged for him.
"That sounds awfully tempting, Joe," said Jim, as they looked up fromthe letters they had been reading together.
"It's a heap of money," agreed Joe, "and I do hate to pass it up. ButI won't accept. I'm not an actor and I know it and they know it. I'dsimply be capitalizing my popularity. I'd feel like a freak in a dimemuseum."
"How do you know you're not an actor?" asked Jim. "You might have it inyou. You never know till you try."
But Joe shook his head.
"No," he said, "there's no use kidding myself. And even if I couldmake good, I wouldn't do it. You know what it did for Markwith theseason after he made his record of nineteen straight. He never was thesame pitcher after that. The late hours, the feverish atmosphere, theirregular life don't do a ball player any good. They take all the vimand sand out of him. No vaudeville for yours truly."
"Well," said Jim, "you're the doctor. And I guess you're right. But itcertainly seems hard to let that good money get away when it's fairlybegging you to take it."
The telegrams came from all over the country. A lot were from Joe's oldteam-mates on the St. Louis club, including Rad Chase and Campbell.Others were from newspaper publishers offering fancy prices if Joe wouldwrite some articles for them, describing the games in the forthcomingWorld Series. Joe knew perfectly well that this would entail no timeor labor on his part. Some bright reporter would actually write thearticles, and all Joe needed to do was to let his name be signed to themas the author. But the practice was beginning to be frowned upon bythe baseball magnates, and it was in a certain sense a fraud upon thepublic, so that Joe mentally decided in the negative.
One telegram was far more precious to Joe than all the others puttogether. It came from Clara, his only sister, to whom he was devotedlyattached, and was sent in the name of all the little family atRiverside. Joe's eyes were a little moist as he read:
"Dearest love from all of us, Joe. We are proud of you."
For a long time Joe sat staring at the telegram, while Jim consideratelyburied himself in the newspaper descriptions of yesterday's great game.
How dear the home folks were! How their hearts were wrapped up inhim and his success! What a splendid, wholesome influence that cozylittle village home had been in his life. He thought of his patient,hard-working father, his loving mother, his winsome sister. He thoughtof their quiet, circumscribed life, shut out from the great currents ofthe world with which he had become so familiar.
They were proud of him! Yet all they could do was to read of histriumphs. They had never seen him pitch.
He took a sudden resolution.
The home folks were in for one great, big, glorious fli
ng!