“The Giants look mighty sweet to me,” answered Joe. “They’ve had a good training season and shown up well in practice. They’ve won every game they’ve played with the minor leaguers so far, and haven’t had to exert themselves. Of course that doesn’t mean very much in itself, as the bushers ought to be easy meat for us. But we’ve got practically the same team with which we won the pennant last year, and I can’t see why we shouldn’t repeat. Jim here has been coming along like a house afire, and he’ll make the fans sit up and take notice when they see him in action.”
“Oh, I’m only an also ran,” said Jim modestly.
“Indeed you’re not,” Clara started to say indignantly, but checked herself in time. Not so quickly, however, that Jim failed to catch her meaning and note the flush that rose to her cheek.
“Funny thing happened when I was in Chicago,” mused Reggie. “I heard a chap say in one of the hotels that there was heavy betting against the Giants winning this year. Some one, he didn’t know who, was putting up cash in great wads against them, and doing it with such confidence that it almost seemed as though he thought he was betting on a sure thing. Taking ridiculous odds too. Queer, wasn’t it?”
“A fool and his money are soon parted,” remarked Joe. “That fellow will be a little wiser and a good deal poorer when the season ends, or I miss my guess. Who’s going to beat us out? Nothing short of a train wreck can stop us.”
“Now you’re talking!” cried Jim.
“Another thing that’s going to help us,” said Joe, “was that trip we had around the world. We had some mighty hot playing on that tour against the All-Americans, and it kept the boys in fine fettle.”
“Speaking about that trip, old chap,” put in Reggie, “reminds me of another thing that happened in Chicago. I was going down State Street one afternoon, and almost ran into that Braxton that you handed such a trimming to over in Ireland.”
“Braxton!” cried Joe.