season, and if I'd had decent support----"

"Easy now, boys!" broke in Mr. Watson. "You know what the papers said
about last year--that there were too many internal dissensions among the
Cardinals to allow them to play good ball. You've got to cut that out if
I'm going to manage you."

I might add that Sidney Watson, who had made a reputation as a
left-fielder, and a hard hitter on the Brooklyn team, had lately been
offered the position as manager of the Cardinals, and had taken it. This
would be his first season, and, recognizing the faults of the team, he
had set about correcting them in an endeavor to get it out of the
"cellar" class. Quarrels, bickerings and disputes among the players had
been too frequent, he learned, and he was trying to eliminate them.

"Have a heart for each other, boys," he said to the men who gathered
about him, incidentally to covertly inspect Joe, the recruit. "It wasn't
anybody's fault, in particular, that you didn't finish in the first
division last season. But we're going to make a hard try for it this
year. That's why I've let some of your older players go, and signed up
new ones. I'm expecting some more boys on in a few days, and then we'll
hike for the Southland and see what sort of shape I can pound you into."

"Don't let me keep you from your game," said Joe to the manager. "Oh,
I'll let Campbell finish it for me, he's better at the ivories than I
am," and Watson motioned for the centre fielder to take the cue. "I'll
see what sort of a room we can give you," the manager went on. "Nothing
like being comfortable. Did you have a good trip?"

"Yes, indeed."

"Contract satisfactory, and all that?"

"Oh, yes. And, by the way, Mr. Watson, if it isn't asking too much I'd
like to know how you came to hear of me and sign me up?"

"Oh, I had scouts all over last fall," said the manager with a smile.
"One of them happened to see you early in the season, and then he saw
the game you pitched against Clevefield, winning the pennant. You looked
to him like the proper stuff, so I had you drafted to our club."

"I hope you won't repent of your bargain," observed Joe, soberly.

"Well, I don't think I will, and yet baseball is pretty much of a chance
game after all. I've often been fooled, I don't mind admitting. But,
Matson, let me tell you one thing," and he spoke more earnestly, as they
walked along a corridor to the lobby of the hotel. "You mustn't imagine
that you're going in right off t