"But you must remember that I have several pitchers, and some of them are very good. They've been playing in the big leagues for years. You're a newcomer, and, unless I'm much mistaken, you'll have a bit of stage fright at first. That's to be expected, and I'm looking for it. I won't be disappointed if you fall down hard first along. But whatever else you do, don't get discouraged and—don't lose your nerve, above all else."
"I'll try not to," promised Joe. But he made up his mind that he would surprise the manager and make a brilliant showing as soon as possible. Joe had several things to learn about baseball as it is played in the big leagues.
"I guess I'll put you in with Rad Chase," said Manager Watson, as he looked over the page of the register, on which were the names of the team. "His room is a good one, and you'll like him. He's a young chap about your age."
"Was he in there?" asked Joe, nodding toward the billiard room, where he had met several of the players.
"No. I don't know where he is," went on the manager. "Is Rad out?" he asked of the clerk.
That official, stroking his small blonde mustache, turned to look at the rack. From the peg of room 413 hung the key.
"He's out," the clerk announced.
"Well, you might as well go up and make yourself at home," advised the manager. "I'll tell Rad you're quartered with him. Have his grip taken up," went on Mr. Watson to the clerk.
"Front!" called the young man behind the desk, and when the same freckle-faced lad, who had pointed out to Joe the manager, came shuffling up, the lad took our hero's satchel, and did a little one-step glide with it toward the elevator.
"Tanks," mumbled the same lad, as Joe slipped a dime into his palm, when the bellboy had opened the room door and set the grip on the floor by the bed. "Say, where do youse play?" he asked with the democratic freedom of the American youth.