Joe threw his napkin at her but missed.
“Sixty-five thousand dollars for a baseball player who can’t throw any straighter than that,” she mocked. “It’s a lucky thing for the new league that you didn’t take their money.”
“Maybe I had better take their money after all!” cried Joe tantalizingly.
At these words Clara threw up her hands in mock horror.
“You just dare, Joe Matson, and I’ll disown you!”
“Ah-ha! And now I’m disowned and cast out of my home!” exclaimed the young baseball player tragically. “Woe is me!”
“I don’t believe any decent player would ever have anything to say to you, Joe, if you did such a mean thing as that,” went on Clara seriously. And at this Joe nodded affirmatively.
An hour later, all three, chatting merrily, were on their way to the train. But their progress was 37 slow, for at almost every turn they were stopped by friends who wanted to shake hands with Joe and congratulate him on his presence of mind the night before.
“One of the penalties of having a famous brother,” sighed Clara, when this had happened for the twentieth time.
“You little hypocrite,” laughed Jim. “You know that you’re just bursting with pride. You’re tickled to death to be walking alongside of him. Stop your sighing. Follow my example. I’m tickled to death to be walking alongside of you and you don’t hear me sighing. I feel more like singing.”