“Because I have just accepted, tentatively, an offer from one of the managers of a professional league to pitch for him the rest of this season, and all of next,” replied Joe quietly.
“That’s right,” confirmed the man who had whispered in our hero’s ear. “I know a good pitcher when I see one, and there is no use of Matson wearing himself out on a college nine. He is cut out for a professional!”
And to all the protests of his classmates Joe would not give in. He knew that college was no place for him, and as the chance had come to get into the professional ranks, at good pay, he was going to take it; provided, of course, that his folks were willing.
How he did, and what happened, will be told in the next volume of this series, to be called, “Baseball Joe in the Central League; Or, Making Good as a Professional Pitcher.”
“Oh, Joe, can’t you reconsider, and stay at Yale?” begged Spike, when he and his chum, after the exciting events of the championship game, were in their room once more. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.”
“Spike, old man,” said Joe, and his voice broke a little. “I would like to stay, for your sake, and for some of the other fine fellows I’ve met here. I’d like to stay in spite of the unpleasant experience I’ve had. I know it’s going to break mother all up to hear I’ve left college, but I’m not cut out for it. I’m a square peg in a round hole. I want to get into professional baseball, and I’ve just got to. I shouldn’t be happy here.”
“Well, if that’s the case,” said Spike, with a sigh, “I’m not going to say anything more. Only it sure is tough luck. Yale will miss you.”
“And I’ll miss her, too, in a way. But my place isn’t here.”
There was silence between them for a space, and then Spike said softly:
“Come on down to Glory’s—for the last time. Joe.”