“That isn’t a circumstance to what we’re going to do,” promised Jackwell, and Bowen nodded assent. “From this time on, just watch our smoke.”
And Joe had no reason to complain of their work for the rest of the season. With the incubus removed that had been lying on their spirits, they played like wild men, and their work soon enthroned them as favorites with the Giant fans.
Now the Giants were really climbing again, and the grounds began to be crowded as in the days of old. The games were played “for blood” from the ring of the gong.
And what put the capsheaf on Joe’s satisfaction was that Jim came bursting in upon him one morning like a whirlwind, his face radiant, and sheer delight in living shining in his eyes.
Joe sprang up to greet him, and Jim grabbed him and whirled him around the room until both of them were gasping for breath.
“For the love of Pete, Jim!” expostulated Joe, laughingly.
“I’m a curly wolf!” shouted Jim. “I eat catamounts for breakfast and pick my teeth with pine trees! Where are those Cubs and Pirates and all the rest of that riffraff? Lead me to them! I want ber-lud!”
“You’ll get your chance,” answered Joe, grinning. “Now sit down and try to be sensible for a minute.”
“Sensible!” scoffed Jim. “Who wants to be sensible? I’m happy!”
“And so am I,” laughed Joe, “because of the news you bring.”