Joe liked his home—he liked his home town, and his old chums, but still he wished to get into the new life that had called him.
He was not sorry, therefore, when, a few days later he received a telegram from Mr. Mack, telling him to report at once at Montville.
“Oh, Joe!” exclaimed his mother. “Do you really have to go so soon?”
“I’m afraid so, Momsey,” he answered. “You see the league season will soon open and I want to begin at the beginning. This is my life work, and I can’t lose any time.”
“Pitching ball a life work!” sighed Mrs. Matson. “Oh, Joe! if it was only preaching—or something like that.”
“Let the boy alone, Mother,” said Mr. Matson, with a good-humored twinkle in his eye. “We can’t all be ministers, and I’d rather have a world series winner in my family than a poor lawyer or doctor. He’ll do more good in society, too. Good luck to you, Joe.”
But Joe was not to get away to the South as quietly as he hoped. He was importuned by his old baseball chums to pitch an exhibition game for them, but he did not think it wise, under the circumstances, so declined.
But they wanted to do him honor, and, learning through Tom Davis—who, I may say in passing, got the secret from Clara—when Joe’s train was to leave, many of the old members of the Silver Stars gathered to wish their hero Godspeed.
“What’s the matter with Baseball Joe?” was the cry outside the station, whither Joe had gone with his sister and mother, his father having bidden him good-bye earlier.
“What’s the matter with Joe Matson?”