I'd like to see him have his chance."

"Well, I'll give it to him. We play Boston next week. They happen to be
in the second division just at present, although they seem to be going
up fast. I'll let Joe go up against them."

"That won't be as good as letting him go against New York," said
Boswell.

"Well, it'll have to do," decided the manager, who could be very set in
his ways at times.

The Braves proved rather "easy," for the Cardinals and, as Boswell had
indicated, there was little glory for Joe in pitching against them. He
won his game, and this, coupled with the fact that the reporter friendly
to Joe made much of it, further incensed the other pitchers.

"Don't mind 'em," said Rad, and Joe tried not to.

The season was advancing. Try as the Cardinals did, they could not get
to the top of the second division.

"And if we don't finish there I'll feel like getting out of the game,"
said the manager gloomily, after a defeat.

"Pitch Matson against the Giants," advised the coach.

"By Jove! I'll do it!" cried the manager, in desperation. "We open with
New York at St. Louis next week for four games. I'll let Matson see what
he can do, though I reckon I'll be roasted and laughed at for taking
such a chance."

"Well, maybe not," the coach replied, chuckling.

In the meanwhile Joe had been working hard. Under the advice of Boswell
he adopted new training tactics, and he had his arm massaged by a
professional between games. He was surprised at the result of the new
treatment, and he found he was much fresher after a hard pitching battle
than he had been before.

"He thinks he's going to be a Boy Wonder," sneered Willard.

"Oh, cut it out!" snapped Boswell. "If some of you old stagers would
take better care of yourselves there'd be better ball played."

"Huh!" sneered Willard.

The Cardinals came back to St. Louis to play a series with New York.

"Wow!" exclaimed Rad as he and Joe, discussing the Giants' record, were
sitting together in the Pullman on their way to their home city, "here's
where it looks as if we might get eaten up!"

"Don't cross a bridge before you hear it barking at you," advised Joe.
"Maybe they won't be so worse. We're on our own grounds, that's sure."

"Not much in that," decided his chum, dubiously.

When Joe reached the hotel he found several letters awaiting him. One,
in a girl's handwriting, he opened first.

"Does she still love you?" laughed Rad, noticing his friend's rapt