he reel and clean things up. You'll have
to go a bit slow. I want to watch you, and I'll give you all the
opportunity I can.

"But you must remember that I have several pitchers, and some of them
are very good. They've been playing in the big leagues for years. You're
a newcomer, and, unless I'm much mistaken, you'll have a bit of stage
fright at first. That's to be expected, and I'm looking for it. I won't
be disappointed if you fall down hard first along. But whatever else you
do, don't get discouraged and--don't lose your nerve, above all else."

"I'll try not to," promised Joe. But he made up his mind that he would
surprise the manager and make a brilliant showing as soon as possible.
Joe had several things to learn about baseball as it is played in the
big leagues.

"I guess I'll put you in with Rad Chase," said Manager Watson, as he
looked over the page of the register, on which were the names of the
team. "His room is a good one, and you'll like him. He's a young chap
about your age."

"Was he in there?" asked Joe, nodding toward the billiard room, where he
had met several of the players.

"No. I don't know where he is," went on the manager. "Is Rad out?" he
asked of the clerk.

That official, stroking his small blonde mustache, turned to look at the
rack. From the peg of room 413 hung the key.

"He's out," the clerk announced.

"Well, you might as well go up and make yourself at home," advised the
manager. "I'll tell Rad you're quartered with him. Have his grip taken
up," went on Mr. Watson to the clerk.

"Front!" called the young man behind the desk, and when the same
freckle-faced lad, who had pointed out to Joe the manager, came
shuffling up, the lad took our hero's satchel, and did a little one-step
glide with it toward the elevator.

"Tanks," mumbled the same lad, as Joe slipped a dime into his palm, when
the bellboy had opened the room door and set the grip on the floor by
the bed. "Say, where do youse play?" he asked with the democratic
freedom of the American youth.

"Well, I'm supposed to be a pitcher," said Joe.

"Left?"

"No, right."

"Huh! It's about time the Cardinals got a guy with a right-hand
delivery!" snorted the boy. "They've been tryin' southpaws and been
beaten all over the lots. Got any speed?"

"Well, maybe a little," admitted Joe, smiling at the lad's
ingenuousness.

"Curves, of course?"

"Some."

"Dat's th' stuff! Say, I hopes you make good!" and the lad, spinni