“Never mind, Momsey,” said Joe, cheerily, as he kissed her. “It’ll be some time before I have to go and, after I do, I’ll keep the mails working overtime.”
He put on his hat and coat and started out, walking as swiftly and lightly as though he trod on air. The atmosphere was crisp and bracing, his blood coursed strongly through his veins, and the world had never before seemed so good a place to live in.
He turned his steps first toward the gymnasium. He had found this place of the greatest value to him through the winter season. He had not practised so hard that there was danger of his going “stale” before the actual beginning of the season, but he had done just enough work to keep him in superb physical condition and hold the flesh down. There was scarcely an ounce of superfluous flesh upon his bones and he felt as though he could go in the box tomorrow if he were called upon. He never dissipated—had never touched a drop of liquor in his life—and one might have gone a long way before finding a more perfect specimen of the athlete than Joe presented that afternoon.
He found several of his chums awaiting his coming, and of course the first thing he did was to tell them of the great news that had come to him that morning.
“The New York Giants!”
“Bully for Joe!”
“Some class to old Riverside, eh?”
“They’ll win the pennant sure, now!”
“You’ll have a look-in at the World’s Series, Joe!”
They all crowded round with warm and hearty congratulations and wrung his hand until he winced.