Joe looked up at this point to see three shining pairs of eyes fixed upon him, although a suspicious moisture threatened to dim the brightness of those belonging to his mother and his sister.
“Four thousand five hundred dollars!” exclaimed Mr. Matson. “That’s an advance of fifteen hundred dollars over what you got last year. They certainly do things up in liberal style.”
“And that isn’t all,” cried Joe eagerly, as his eyes fell on a paragraph near the bottom of the page. “Here’s a bonus clause.”
“A bonus clause?” interrupted Clara. “What is that?”
“Something they offer as a premium if you do more than is expected of you,” explained her brother. “This says that I’ll get an extra thousand dollars if I win twenty games during the season.”
“That ought to be easy enough, I should think,” said Clara.
“Don’t you believe it,” laughed Joe. “In the first place, if it were easy they wouldn’t offer me anything extra for doing it. A pitcher is doing very well who wins two-thirds of the games he pitches. On that basis I’d have to pitch thirty games to have a chance of winning twenty. But if his old pitchers are going strong, McRae may keep me on the bench half the season and only put me in when they fall down. He’s a great one for depending on his old standbys. Then, too, I’ll be a newcomer, and perhaps the team won’t play behind me with the same confidence as when Hughson or Markwith are on the mound. That will make it harder for me to win games. You must remember, too, that all the teams on the circuit play harder against the New Yorks than they do against any other team. They take a special delight in downing the Giants before their home crowds, and they always save up their best pitchers for those occasions. So, take it altogether, there’s only a mere chance to win my twenty games during the season. I’m going to take that chance, though,” and into Joe’s eyes came a steely look that would have delighted McRae if that fighting leader of the Giants could have seen it.
The precious document was read and reread and discussed in all its bearings until Mrs. Matson insisted that supper would be stone cold if they did not come to the table at once. It is safe to say that in all Riverside that night no happier family grouped itself around the table than that in the Matson home.
“What’s the idea of the three-year clause, Joe?” asked his father, when they had fairly settled down to the meal. “Rather a compliment, I take it.”