sipated, and
then, reforming, had become a star player. So Joe had little chance to
get a "swelled head," which is a bad thing for any of us.

The first part of the journey South was made in record time, but after
the private car was transferred to one of the smaller railroad lines
there were delays that fretted the players.

"What's the matter?" asked Manager Watson of the conductor as that
official came through after a long stop at a water tank station, "won't
the cow get off the track?" and he winked at the players gathered about
him.

"That joke's a hundred years old," retorted the ticket-taker. "Think up
a new one! There's a freight wreck ahead of us, and we have to go slow."

"Well, as long as we get there some time this week, it will be all
right, I reckon," drawled the manager.

Reedville was reached toward evening of the second day, and the
travel-weary ball-tossers piled out of their coach to find themselves at
the station of a typical Southern town.

Laziness and restfulness were in the air, which was warm with the heat
of the slowly setting sun. There was the odor of flowers. Colored men
were all about, shuffling here and there, driving their slowly-ambling
horses attached to rickety vehicles, or backing them up at the platform
to get some of the passengers.

"Majestic Hotel right this yeah way, suh! Right over yeah!" voiced the
driver of a yellow stage. "Goin' right up, suh!"

"That's our place, boys," announced the manager. "Pile in, and let me
have your checks. I'll have the baggage sent up."

Joe and the others took their place in the side-seated stage. A little
later, the manager having arranged for the transportation of the
trunks, they were driven toward the hotel that was to be their
headquarters while in the South.

They were registering at the hotel desk, and making arrangements about
who was to room with who, when Joe heard the hotel clerk call Mr. Watson
aside.

"He says he's with your party, suh," the clerk spoke. "He arrived
yesterday, and wanted to be put on the same floor with your players.
Says he's going to be a member of the team."

"Huh! I guess someone is bluffing you!" exclaimed the manager. "I've got
all my team with me. Who is the fellow, anyhow?"

"That's his signature," went on the clerk, pointing to it on the hotel
register.

"Hum! Wessel; eh?" said Mr. Watson. "Never heard of him. Where is he?"

"There he stands, over by the cigar counter."

Joe, who had heard