No need of telling how they felt when the boys had finished. There was no happier party that night in all Ireland.
Then, leaving the delighted girls for a few minutes, the boys hunted up McRae. They found him glum and anxious, talking earnestly with Robbie in the lobby of the hotel. One glance at the young 245 men’s faces made the pair jump wonderingly to their feet.
“For the love of Pete, let’s have it, Joe!” cried McRae. “What’s happened?”
“Plenty!” exulted Joe. “We’ve put the All-Star League out of business!”
“What!” cried McRae, as he snatched the paper that Joe held out to him and devoured its contents, while Robbie peered eagerly over his shoulder.
Then, as they realized what it meant, they set up a wild whoop which made the other members of the team, scattered about the lobby, come running, followed a scene of mad hilarity, during which no one seemed to know what he said or did.
That night the cable carried the news to New York, and from there to every city in the United States. It sounded the death knell of the All-Star League, and it went to pieces like a house of cards. The American public will stand for much, but for nothing so gross and contemptible as that had been.
The trip wound up in a blaze of glory with the Giants just one game to the good in the hot series of games that had been played. They had a swift and joyous journey home, and when they separated on the dock in New York, McRae’s hearty grip of Baseball Joe’s hand fairly made the latter wince.
“Good-bye, old man,” he said. “You’ve stood by me like a brick. You’ll be on hand when the bell rings.”