The journey was without incident of moment, and in due time Joe reached the hotel where he had been told the players were quartered.
"Is Mr. Watson here?" he asked the clerk, inquiring for the manager.
"I think you'll find him in the billiard room," replied the clerk, sizing up Joe with a critical glance. "Here, boy, show this gentleman to Mr. Watson," went on the man at the register.
"Do you know him by sight?" he asked.
"No," replied Joe, rather sorry he did not.
"I know him!" exclaimed the bellboy, coming forward, with a cheerful grin on his freckled face. "He sure has a good ball team. I hope they win the pennant this year. Are you one of the players?" he asked.
"One of the new ones," spoke Joe, modestly enough.
"Gee! Dat's great!" exclaimed the lad admiringly. "There's 'Muggins' Watson over there," and he pointed to a man in his shirt sleeves, playing billiards with a young fellow whom Joe recognized, from having seen his picture in the papers, as 'Slim' Cooney, one of the St. Louis pitchers.
"Mr. Watson?" inquiringly asked Joe, waiting until the manager had made, successfully, a difficult shot, and stood at rest on his cue.
"That's my name," and a pair of steel-blue eyes looked straight at our hero. "What can I do for you?"