“No, I suppose not,” said her husband slowly. “And yet there are many good men in professional baseball—some rich ones too, I guess,” he added with a shrewd laugh.
“As if money counted, John!”
“Well, it does in a way. We are all working for it, one way or another, and if a man can earn it throwing a ball to another man, I don’t see why that isn’t as decent and honorable as digging sewers, making machinery, preaching, doctoring, being a lawyer or a banker. It all helps to make the world go round.”
“Oh, John! I believe you’re as bad as Joe!”
“No, Ellen. Though I do like a good game of baseball. I don’t think it’s the only thing there is, however, as Joe seems to, of late. I don’t altogether uphold him in his wish to be a professional, but, at the same time, there’s nothing like getting into the niche in life that you’re just fitted for.
“There are too many square pegs in round holes now. Many a poor preacher would be a first-class farmer, and lots of struggling lawyers or doctors would do a sight better in a shop, or, maybe even on the ball field. Those sentiments aren’t at all original with me,” he added modestly; “but they are true just the same. I’d like to see Joe do what he likes best, for then I know he’d do that better than anything else in the world.”
“Oh, John! surely you wouldn’t want to see him a professional ball player?”
“Well, I don’t know. There are lots worse positions in life.”
“But I’m glad he’s going to Yale!” exclaimed Mrs. Matson, as the little family conference came to an end.