What heights of eloquence Joe would have reached in his enthusiasm was checked at this moment by the entrance of his father.
“What seems to be the special thing that’s turning all you sensible people into lunatics?” he laughed.
Clara flew to him.
“Oh, Dad!” she exclaimed, “it’s the greatest thing that ever happened. Joe is going to be a member of the New York Giants. He’s just got a telegram telling him about it. Isn’t it glorious?”
Mr. Matson’s face lighted up. More than the women folks he could understand all it was likely to mean to his son.
He wrung Joe’s hand jubilantly.
“I congratulate you with all my heart, my boy,” he said. “It’s a great step forward in your profession and I know you’ll make good on your new team. But how did the matter come about? Didn’t you have any idea that it was in the wind?”
“Not the least in the world,” answered Joe. “The thing’s been carried on so quietly that I haven’t seen it even hinted or whispered in the papers. Of course, they don’t usually go about those things with a brass band, because they’re afraid some other manager may hear about it and try to butt in on his own account. McRae, the manager of the New Yorks, is as foxy as they make them, and he doesn’t let the newspapers get hold of anything till he’s ready to have them. To think that he’s picked me out for his pitching staff!” and Joe again displayed such alarming symptoms of seizing his mother for another whirl that she retreated behind the table.
“Come and eat your dinner, you silly boy,” she smiled fondly. “I suppose you’ll have to do such a simple thing as eating, even if you are going to play on your wonderful New Yorks.”
“Just watch me if you have any doubt about it,” replied Joe, as the happy family seated itself at the table.