But there was an impalpable something in the air that gradually thinned out the party. Mrs. Matson motioned her husband to come with her. Jim and Clara, only too glad of the excuse, slipped away, casting a roguish glance behind them, and even the obtuse Reggie remembered a letter he had to write and vanished.
Joe and Mabel, left alone, looked at each other, but Mabel’s eyes fell instantly before what they read in Joe’s. Her cheeks flushed, her breath came faster and she began to tremble.
“Mabel,” Joe began, a trifle huskily.
“Yes, Joe,” she faltered.
He took her little glove from his pocket and bent toward her tenderly.
“This little glove of yours has done wonders for me,” he said. “It has helped me to win two championships. But these victories are nothing to me unless I win you, too. Will you be my wife, Mabel—will you? You know I love you.”
He read his answer in the beautiful eyes full of love and trust that she turned up to his. The next instant she was in his arms.
Decidedly, it was Joe’s winning day.
And that good right arm of his had made it a winning day also for hosts of others. The whole National League was aflame with exultation. The city of New York was wild with joy. And every member of the Giant team was tasting the delights of victory to the full.