im, the mysterious man who had tried to quarrel with him. He
was evidently taking "French leave," going out in the middle of the
night to "jump" his hotel bill.

"What's up?" asked Rad, as he, too, left his bed. "What is it, Joe?"

The young pitcher came back into the room, and switched on a light. A
quick glance about showed that neither his baggage, nor Rad's, had been
taken.

"It must have been his own grip he had," said Joe.

"His? Who do you mean--what's up?" demanded Rad.

"It was Wessel. He's sneaking out," remarked Joe in a low voice. "Shall
we give the alarm?"

"No, I guess not. We don't want to be mixed up in a row. And maybe he's
going to take a midnight train. You can't tell."

"I think he was in this room," went on Joe.

"He was? Anything missing?"

"Doesn't seem to be."

"Well, then, don't make a row. Maybe he made a mistake."

"He'd hardly unlock our door by mistake," declared Joe.

"No, that's so. Did you see him in here?"

"No, but I heard someone."

"Well, it wouldn't be safe to make any cracks. Better not make a row, as
long as nothing is gone."

Joe decided to accept this advice, and went back to bed, after taking
the precaution to put a chair-back under the knob, as well as locking
it. It was some time before he got to sleep, however. But Rad was
evidently not worried, for he was soon in peaceful slumber.

Rad's theory that Wessel had gone out in the middle of the night to get
a train was not borne out by the facts, for it became known in the
morning that he had, as Joe suspected, "jumped" his board bill.

"And he called himself a ball player!" exclaimed Mr. Watson in disgust.
"I'd like to meet with him again!"

"Maybe you will," ventured Joe, but he did not know how soon his
prediction was to come to pass.

"Well, boys, we'll see how we shape up," said the manager, a little
later that morning when the members of the team, with their uniforms on,
had assembled at the ball park. "Get out there and warm up. Riordan, bat
some fungoes for the boys. McCann, knock the grounders. Boswell, you
catch for--let's see--I guess I'll wish you on to Matson. We'll see what
sort of an arm he's got."

Joe smiled, and his heart beat a trifle faster. It was his first trial
with the big league, an unofficial and not very important trial, to be
sure, but none the less momentous to him.

Soon was heard the crack of balls as they bounded off the bats, to be
followed by the thuds as they landed in