“Of course he’s been away,” agreed Mrs. Matson, “but not as far as New Haven, and going to Yale is some different from Excelsior Hall, I guess.”
“I know so,” murmured Joe, with a wink at his father.
“I’m going to the station with you,” declared Clara. “Here comes Tom. I guess he’s going, too.”
“Well, I’ll say good-bye here,” said Mrs. Matson, and her voice trembled a little. “Good-bye, my boy. I know you’ll do what’s right, and make us all proud of you!”
Joe’s answer was a kiss, and then, with her handkerchief much in evidence, Mrs. Matson left the room.
“Come! Come!” laughed Mr. Matson. “You’ll make Joe sorry he’s going if you keep on.”
“The only thing I’m sorry about,” replied the lad, “is that it’ll be a good while until Spring.”
“Baseball; eh?” queried his father. “Well, I suppose you’ll play if you get the chance. But, Joe, just remember that life isn’t all baseball, though that has its place in the scheme of things. You’re not going to Yale just to play baseball.”
“But, if I get a chance, I’m going to play my head off!” exclaimed the lad, and, for the first time in some days there came a fierce light of joy into his eyes.
“That’s the spirit, son,” exclaimed Mr. Matson. “And just remember that, while you want to win, it isn’t the only point in the game. Always be a gentleman—play hard; but play clean! That’s all the advice I’m going to give you,” and with a shake of his hand the inventor followed his wife from the room.