In the business offices of the city, in restaurants, at all kinds of gathering places, the daily question changed. Formerly it had been: “Will the Giants win to-day?” Now it became: “Will Baseball Joe knock out another homer?”
And the fever showed itself in the attendance at the Polo Grounds. Day by day the crowds grew denser. Soon they were having as many spectators at a single game as they had formerly looked for at a double-header. The money rolled into the ticket offices in a steady stream, and the owners and manager of the club wore the “smile that won’t come off.” The same effect was noted in all the cities of the circuit. The crowds turned out not so much to see the Giants play as to see if Baseball Joe would knock another home run. Joe Matson had become the greatest drawing card of the circuit. If this kept up, it would mean the most prosperous season the League had ever known. For the Giants’ owners alone, it meant an added half million dollars for the season. Already, with not more than a third of the games played, they had taken in enough to pay all expenses for the year, and were “on velvet” for the rest of the season.
Nothing in all this turned Joe’s head. He was still the same modest, hardworking player he had always been. First and all the time he worked for the success of his team. Already the Giants’ owners had voluntarily added ten thousand dollars to his salary, and he was at present the most highly paid player in his League. He knew that next year even this would be doubled, if he kept up his phenomenal work. But he was still the same modest youth, and was still the same hail fellow well met, the pal and idol of all his comrades.
What delighted Baseball Joe far more than any of his triumphs was the information contained in a letter he wore close to his heart that Mabel was coming on to New York with her brother Reggie for a brief stay on her way to her home in Goldsboro. They had been in almost daily correspondence, and their affection had deepened with every day that passed. Jim also had been equally assiduous and equally happy, and both players were counting the days that must elapse before the wedding march would be played at the end of the season.
Luck was with Joe when, in company with Jim, he drove to the station to meet Mabel and Reggie. The rain was falling in torrents. Ordinarily that would have been depressing. But to-day it meant that there would be no game and that he could count on having Mabel to himself with nothing to distract his attention.
Jim was glad on his friend’s account, but nevertheless was unusually quiet for him.
“Come out of your trance, old boy,” cried Joe, slapping him jovially on the knee.
Jim affected to smile.
“Oh, I know what you’re thinking about,” charged Joe. “You’re jealous because I’m going to see Mabel and you’re not going to see Clara. But cheer up, old man. The next time we strike Chicago we’ll both run down to Riverside for a visit. Then you’ll have the laugh on me, for you’ll have Clara all to yourself while Mabel will be in Goldsboro.”
Jim tried to find what comfort he could from the prospect, but the Chicago trip seemed a long way off.