e wished his folks could have been present. Compared to the time when
he had gone South to train for the Pittston team, this was a big
occasion.

A reporter from the most important St. Louis paper was to accompany the
team as "staff correspondent," for St. Louis was, and always has been, a
good "fan" town, and loyal to the ball teams.

"All aboard!" called the conductor.

There were final cheers, final good-byes, final hand-shakes, final
wishes of good luck, and then the train pulled out. Joe and his
teammates were on their way South.

It was the start of the training season, and of what would take place
between that and the closing Joe little dreamed.

CHAPTER XII

THE QUARRELING MAN

Quite a little family party it was the St. Louis players composed as
they traveled South in their private car, for they enjoyed that
distinction. This was something new for Joe, as the Pittston team was
not blessed with a wealthy owner, and an ordinary Pullman had sufficed
when Joe made his former trip. Now it was travel "de luxe."

The more Joe saw of Rad Chase the more he liked the fellow, and the two
soon became good friends, being much in each other's company, sharing
the upper and lower berths by turns in their section, eating at the same
table, and fraternizing generally.

Some of the older players were accompanied by their wives, and after the
first few hours of travel everyone seemed to know everyone else, and
there was much talk and laughter.

"Can't you fellows supply me with some dope?" asked a voice in the aisle
beside the seats occupied by Joe and Rad. "I've gotten off all the
departure stuff, and I want something for a lead for to-morrow. Shoot
me some new dope; will you?"

"Oh, hello, Jim!" greeted Rad, and then, as Joe showed that he did not
recognize the speaker, the other player went on: "This is the
_Dispatch-Times's_ staff correspondent, Jim Dalrymple. You want to be
nice to him, Joe, and he'll put your name and picture in the paper. Got
anything you can give him for a story?"

"I'm afraid not," laughed Joe.

"Oh, anything will do, as long as I can hang a lead on it," said
Dalrymple hopefully. "If you've never tried to get up new stuff every
day at a training camp of a ball team, you've no idea what a little
thing it takes to make news. Now you don't either of you happen to have
a romance about you; do you?" he inquired, pulling out a fold of copy
paper. (Your real reporter never carries a note