As can be imagined, there was only one topic discussed and that was the striking change in Joe’s fortunes and the new vista that was opening up before him.
“Did you ever have any talk with McRae that made you think he might like to have you on his team?” asked his father, as Joe passed his plate for a second helping.
“Not at all,” was the reply. “In the first place I was just a ‘rookie’ last year, and the older men in the league rather stand aloof from the raw beginners. They don’t encourage any familiarity. Not but what McRae has spoken to me though,” he grinned.
“Is that so?” asked his mother with interest. “What did he say?”
“Oh, he stood on the side lines while I was pitching against his team and tried to rattle me,” laughed Joe. “He told me that I was rotten, that I never could pitch, that I ought to go back to the bushes, that I was going up in the air, that I couldn’t see the plate with a telescope, and other little things like that.”
“I think he was just horrid!” exclaimed Mrs. Matson, bristling at the thought of the taunts hurled at her offspring.
“Oh, I didn’t mind it a bit,” chuckled Joe. “It was all in the game. He was simply trying to ride me, to get my goat——”
“Ride you? Get your goat?” repeated his mystified mother.
“You blessed Momsey,” cried Joe. “What I mean to say is that he was trying to get me so excited that I couldn’t pitch well and then his team would win the game. But it didn’t work,” he ended grimly, as he thought of that memorable day when he had pitched the St. Louis team to victory and dragged the Giants’ colors in the dust.
“Now that I come to think of it though,” Joe went on, “I remember that the last time I was in New York, I caught him eyeing me pretty sharply while I was sitting on the bench. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, as I was all wrapped up in the game, but it may have been that he was sizing me up with just this deal in mind.”