ve
it all up, and go back to a smaller league.

But Joe had grit, and he stuck to it. He was determined to make as great
a name for himself as is possible in baseball, and he knew he must take
the bitter with the sweet, and accept defeat when it came, as it is
bound to now and then.

Nor did his determination to overcome obstacles fail of its object.
With the other members of the team, Joe played so surprisingly well that
suddenly the Cardinals took one of those remarkable "braces" that
sometimes come in baseball, and from eighth position the club leaped
forward into fifth, being aided considerably by some hard luck on the
part of the other teams. In other words, "things broke right" for the
Cardinals and the St. Louis "fans" began to harbor hopes of a possible
pennant.

Joe had several incentives for doing his best. There were his folks. He
wanted to justify his father's faith in him, and also his sister's. Joe
knew that his mother, in spite of her kind and loving ways, was secretly
disappointed that he had quit his college career to become a baseball
player.

"But I'll show her that it's just as honorable as one of the learned
professions, and that it pays better in a great many cases," reasoned
Joe. "Though of course the money end of it isn't the biggest thing in
this world," he told himself. "Still it is mighty satisfactory."

Then there was another reason why Joe wanted to make good. Or, rather,
there was another person he wanted to have hear of his success. I guess
you know her name.

And so the young pitcher kept on, struggling to perfect himself in the
technicalities of the big game, playing his position for all it was
capable of. As the season went on Joe's name figured more and more often
in the papers.

"He's got reporters on his staff!" sneered Willard.

"Well, I wish we all had," observed Manager Watson. "Publicity counts,
and I want all I can get for my players. It's a wonder some of you
fellows wouldn't have your name in the papers oftener."

"I don't play to the grandstand," growled the grouchy pitcher.

"Maybe it would help some if you did," the manager remarked quietly.

The baseball practice and play went on. Joe was called on more often now
to pitch a game, as Mr. Watson was kind enough to say some of the club's
success was due to him, and while of course he was not considered the
equal of the veteran pitchers, he was often referred to as a "comer."

What Joe principally lacked was con