"Well, I'm supposed to be a pitcher," said Joe.
"Left?"
"No, right."
"Huh! It's about time the Cardinals got a guy with a right-hand delivery!" snorted the boy. "They've been tryin' southpaws and been beaten all over the lots. Got any speed?"
"Well, maybe a little," admitted Joe, smiling at the lad's ingenuousness.
"Curves, of course?"
"Some."
"Dat's th' stuff! Say, I hopes you make good!" and the lad, spinning the dime in the air, deftly caught it, and slid out of the room.
Joe looked after him. He was entering on a new life, and many emotions were in conflict within him. True, he had been at hotels before, for he had traveled much when he was in the Central League. But this time it was different. It seemed a new world to him—a new and big world—a much more important world.
And he was to be a part of it. That was what counted most. He was in a Big League—a place of which he had often dreamed, but to which he had only aspired in his dreams. Now it was a reality.