A bright element in the outlook was the very evident fact that Jim Barclay was a “comer.” Twice McRae had ventured to put him in against the weaker teams. In one case he had won, and in the other held the enemy to a tie. But he was not yet ripe enough to take a regular turn in the box. Joe helped him all he could, and Robson, who tried him out each morning, was sure that in time he would develop into a star.
Joe was jubilant at the success he had met with so far. He felt stronger and better physically than he had ever felt in his life. His arm was giving him no trouble, despite the unusual demands made upon it, and he never shirked or complained if he was called out of his regular turn. As Robson confided to McRae, they had found a man at last who was a “glutton for work.”
But Joe had another object of devotion outside of his attachment to his team, and shortly after the return from the first Western trip he was lifted into the seventh heaven of delight by the receipt of a dainty letter in feminine handwriting that told him Mabel was coming to New York. She did not know how long she should stay, but it would be for a week at least. Reggie was coming with her. She was not sure at what hotel she should stop, but if Joe would like to have her do so, she would call him up by ’phone and tell him where she was stopping.
If Joe would like!
His blood raced wildly a few days later when he took up the telephone and heard Mabel’s voice.
“Is that you, Joe?” she asked. “This is Mabel.”
“Don’t I know it?” he answered. “Tell me quick where you are!”
“I’m at the Marlborough,” she answered, “but——”
“Yes, I know,” said Joe. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”