“That’s just it,” explained Joe. “I wasn’t sure of it at all. I figured that with yesterday’s game I had nineteen. But there was that game in August, you remember, when I relieved Markwith in the sixth inning. We won the game, but there were some fine points in it which made it doubtful whether it should be credited to Markwith or me. I had a tip that the official scorers were inclined to give it to Markwith, and so I had kissed the game good-bye. But it must be that they’ve decided in my favor after all and notified the New York Club to that effect.”
“That’s bully, old man,” cried Jim, enthusiastically. “And you can’t say that they’ve lost any time in getting it to you.”
“No,” replied Joe. “Ordinarily, they’d settle with me on the regular salary day. But I suppose they feel so good over getting the pennant that they take this means of showing it.”
“They can well afford to do it,” said Jim. “Your pitching has brought it into the box office twenty times over. Still it’s nice and white of them just the same to be so prompt. That’s one thing that you have to hand to the Giant management. There isn’t a club in the league that treats its players better.”
“You’re just right,” assented Joe, warmly, “and it makes me feel as though I’d pitch my head off to win, not only for my own sake but for theirs.”
“You certainly have had a dandy year,” mused Jim. “With your regular salary of forty-five hundred and this check in addition you’ve grabbed fifty-five hundred so far. And you’ll get anywhere from two to four thousand more in the World Series.”
“I haven’t any kick coming,” agreed Joe. “It was a lucky day for me when I joined the Giants.”
“I suppose you’ll soak that away in the bank to-morrow, you bloated plutocrat,” laughed Jim.
“Not a bit of it,” Joe answered promptly. “To-morrow night that money will be on its way to Riverside as fast as the train can carry it.”