“Right you are,” answered Jim. “And here’s hoping that our last game at the Polo Grounds may end like the first—in victory.”
[CHAPTER XXIII]
AN EVIL INFLUENCE
It was with a thrill that Joe gathered up his hand-baggage when the train rolled into the Union Station at St. Louis. Here was the city where he had first broken into the big league, where he had fought his first battles and won his spurs in fast company. If he had not played on the Cardinals, he might not have attracted the attention of McRae and been traded to the Giants; if he had not been on the Giants he would not have had his present chance of getting into the World’s Series; if he should get into that dreamed of Series there would be that neat little sum with which to start housekeeping—and here Joe put his hand into his breast pocket to touch that little glove.
His pleasant musings were interrupted by a vigorous clap on the shoulder and the sound of a well-remembered voice.
“Hello, Joe, old man!” it said, and the next instant Joe was shaking hands with good old Rad Chase, who had come down to meet him.
“Rad, old boy, there’s no man on earth I’d rather meet,” he declared, after introducing him to Jim. “How are things going in little old St. Louis?”
“Fine as silk,” grinned Rad. “The only thing we’re missing is the eminent Mr. Matson on our team. If we had him, we’d make a mighty strong bid for the flag. I see that you’ve been up to your old tricks in New York. They’re beginning to put your name and Hughson’s together when they talk of the Giants’ chances to win the pennant.”
“You mustn’t believe all you hear,” laughed Joe. “But I’m glad to see that you’re cleaning up things here in the West. Those three straight from Chicago last week was some ball playing.”