“Pardon me, Mr. Westland,” he interrupted, “but if this is about baseball, I have a friend visiting me who is as much interested in the game as I am. In fact, he’s a player himself. It’s Jim Barclay of the Giants. You’ve heard of him, of course. Hello there, Jim!” he called, as he threw open the door into the adjoining room, where Jim was watching a distracting dimple come and go in Clara’s cheek as they chatted together.
“Really, Mr. Matson,” said Westland, visibly 24 flustered, “much as I would like to meet Mr. Barclay, I would rather——”
But just then Jim came strolling in, and Joe hastened to introduce him. He had used the stratagem in order to have a witness at hand. He was determined that no false or twisted version of the interview should be given out broadcast in the interest of the new league.
Despite his annoyance, Westland was diplomat enough to make the best of the situation, and he acknowledged the introduction graciously.
“Mr. Westland called in connection with the new league we were reading about yesterday, Jim,” explained Joe, “and I knew that you would be interested and so I called you in.”
Jim’s jaw set a trifle, but he only nodded and Westland went on:
“I’m a business man, Mr. Matson, and so are you. So I won’t beat around the bush, but come straight to the point. You’re the greatest pitcher in the country, and we want to secure your services for the new league. We’ve got oceans of money behind us, and we’re prepared to let you name your own terms. We’ll give you anything in reason—or out of reason for that matter—if you’ll sign up with us.”
He delivered himself of this with the air of a man sure of having his offer accepted. But if he 25 had expected Joe to gasp with astonishment and delight, he was disappointed.
“Well,” said Joe quietly, after a moment’s pause, “that’s certainly a very liberal proposition——”
“Oh, we’re no pikers,” put in Westland complacently.