"I'm Joe Matson, and——"
"Oh, yes, the new recruit I signed up from Pittston. Well, this is the first time I've seen you. Took you on the report of one of my men. Glad to meet you," and he held out a firm hand. "Slim," he went on to his opponent at billiards, "let me make you acquainted with one of your hated rivals—Joe Matson. Matson, this is our famous left-hand twirler."
Joe laughed and shook hands. He liked the manager and the other player. I might state, at this point, that in this book, while I shall speak of the players of the Cardinals, and of the various National League teams, I will not use their real names, for obvious reasons. However, if any of you recognize them under their pseudonyms, I cannot help it.
CHAPTER XI
GOING DOWN SOUTH
"Well, are you going to help us win the pennant, Matson?" asked Manager Watson, when he had introduced Joe to a number of the other St. Louis players, who were lounging about the billiard room. It was a cold and blustery day outside, and the hotel, where the team had lately taken up quarters, ready for the trip to the South, offered more comfort than the weather without.
"I'm going to do my best," replied Joe modestly, and he blushed, for most of the other players were older than he, many of them seasoned veterans, and the heroes of hard-fought contests.
"Well, we sure do need help, if we're to get anywhere," murmured Hal Doolin, the snappy little first baseman. "We sure do!"
"You needn't look at me!" fired back Slim Cooney. "I did my share of the work last season, and if I'd had decent support——"