Joe flushed a little and Jim laughed.

"Can you blame him?" he asked.

"Not a bit," answered Clara. "Mabel's a darling and I'm crazy to get hold of her. After Joe, though, of course," she added.

Joe threw his napkin at her but missed.

"Sixty-five thousand dollars for a baseball player who can't throw any straighter than that," she mocked. "It's a lucky thing for the new league that you didn't take their money."

"Maybe I had better take their money after all!" cried Joe tantalizingly.

At these words Clara threw up her hands in mock horror.

"You just dare, Joe Matson, and I'll disown you!"

"Ah-ha! And now I'm disowned and cast out of my home!" exclaimed the young baseball player tragically. "Woe is me!"

"I don't believe any decent player would ever have anything to say to you, Joe, if you did such a mean thing as that," went on Clara seriously. And at this Joe nodded affirmatively.

An hour later, all three, chatting merrily, were on their way to the train. But their progress was slow, for at almost every turn they were stopped by friends who wanted to shake hands with Joe and congratulate him on his presence of mind the night before.

"One of the penalties of having a famous brother," sighed Clara, when this had happened for the twentieth time.

"You little hypocrite," laughed Jim. "You know that you're just bursting with pride. You're tickled to death to be walking alongside of him. Stop your sighing. Follow my example. I'm tickled to death to be walking alongside of you and you don't hear _me_ sighing. I feel more like singing."

"For goodness' sake, don't," retorted Clara in mock alarm. "Oh, dear, here's another one!"

"Were you addressing me when you said 'dear'?" asked Jim politely.

Clara flashed him an indignant glance, just as Professor Enoch Crabbe, of the Riverside Academy, stepped up and greeted Joe. He was earnest in his congratulations, but his manner was so stilted that they looked at each other with an amused smile, as he stalked pompously away.

"I wonder if he believes now that I can throw a curve," laughed Joe.

"He ought to ask some of the Red Sox who whiffed away at them in the World Series," said Jim with a grin. "They didn't have any doubt about it."

"Professor Crabbe had very serious doubts," explained Joe. "In fact, he said it was impossible. Against all the laws of motion and all that sort of thing. I had to rig up a couple of bamboo rods in a line, and get d.i.c.k Talbot, a friend of mine in the moving-picture business, to take a picture of the ball as it curved around the rods, before I could prove my point."

"Did it convince him?" queried Jim.

"It stumped him, anyway," replied Joe. "But sometimes I have a sneaking notion that he thinks yet that d.i.c.k and I played some kind of a bunco game on him by doctoring the film."

"Well, I hope that n.o.body else stops us," remarked Clara. "It seems to me that almost everybody in Riverside is on the street this afternoon."

"It wouldn't be such an awful mob at that," replied Jim. "But it's a safe bet that one man at least won't stop Joe to shake hands with him."

"Who is that?" asked Clara.

"The fellow who yelled 'Fire' in the hall last night," answered Jim with a grin.

"I hope I didn't hurt him," observed Joe, thoughtfully.

"Perish the thought," replied Jim. "You just caressed him. He was a big fellow, and he probably sat down just to take a load off his feet."

"I'm glad he wasn't a Riverside man, anyway," remarked Joe, loyal to his home town. "I never saw him before. Probably he came from some place near by."

"Oh, then, of course he won't mind it," chaffed Jim.

"Of all the nonsense----" Clara was beginning, when her eye caught sight of a figure she recognized on the station platform which they had nearly reached.

She nudged her brother's elbow.

"There's the man you were talking to this morning," she said in a low voice.

"By George, so it is!" replied Joe, as he followed her glance. "And he's talking to Altman. Trying to make him a convert."

"A renegade, you mean," growled Jim.

CHAPTER V

LUCKY JOE

Westland saw the party coming, and with a scowl turned his back upon them.

Altman, however, greeted Joe with a smile and, excusing himself to Westland, went over to meet him with extended hand.

"How are you, old scout?" he exclaimed. "You sure batted .300 last night."

Joe greeted him cordially, while Jim and Clara strolled on toward the end of the platform. It was astonishing what good company those two were to each other, and how well they bore the absence of anybody else from their conversation.

"I'm feeling fine as silk," was Joe's response to Altman's question.

"Didn't sprain your salary wing, or anything like that?" grinned Altman.

"You fetched that fellow an awful hit in the jaw."

"I hated to do it, but it was coming to him," laughed Joe.

"Well, if there are any doctors' bills, I guess the Riverside people will be willing to take up a collection to pay them," replied Altman. "It's mighty lucky for the town that you happened to be in the crowd last night."

"I suppose you're off to keep your next engagement," said Joe, to change the subject. "By the way, Nick, that was a mighty nifty skit of yours at the hall last night. It brought down the house. It ought to pull big everywhere."

"I'm glad you liked it," replied Altman. "I'm booked for twenty weeks and I'm drawing down good money."

"I suppose you'll be with the White Sox next year, as usual," said Joe.

Altman hesitated.