sistency. He could go in and pitch a
brilliant game, but he could not often do it two days in succession. In
this respect he was not unlike many celebrated young pitchers. Joe was
not fully developed yet. He had not attained his full growth, and he had
not the stamina and staying power that would come with added years. But
he was acquiring experience and practice that would stand him in good
stead, and his natural good health, and clean manner of living, were in
his favor.

The Cardinals had come back to St. Louis in high spirits over their
splendid work on the road.

"We ought to take at least three from the Phillies," said Boswell, for
they were to play four games with the Quaker City nine. "That will help
some."

"If we win them," remarked Joe, with a smile.

"Well, we're depending on you to help," retorted the trainer.

Joe only smiled.

There was some discussion in the papers as to who would pitch the first
game against the Phillies, and it was not settled until a few minutes
before the game was called, when Slim Cooney was sent in.

"I guess Mr. Watson wants to make sure of at least the first one,"
remarked Joe, as he sat on the bench.

"Oh, you'll get a chance," Boswell assured him. "You want to keep
yourself right on edge. No telling when you'll be called on."

It was a close game, and it was not until the eleventh inning that the
home team pulled in the winning run. Then, with jubilant faces, the
members hurried to the clubhouse.

"Whew!" whistled Cooney, as he swung his southpaw arm about. "I sure
will be lame to-morrow."

"You can have a rest," the manager informed him. "And be sure to have
your arm massaged well. This is going to be a stiffer proposition than I
thought."

"Did you see him at the game?" asked Rad of Joe, as they walked along
together.

"See who?"

"Shalleg."

"No. Was he there?"

"He sure was! I had a glimpse of him over in the bleachers when I ran
after that long drive of Mitchell's. He was with that Wessel, but they
didn't look my way."

"Humph!" mused Joe. "Well, I suppose he's got a right to come to our
games. If he bothers me, though, I'll take some action."

"What?"

"I don't know, yet. But I'm through standing for his nonsense."

"I don't blame you."

If Joe could have seen Shalleg and Wessel talking to a certain "tough"
looking character, after the game, and at the same time motioning in his
direction, he would have felt added uneasiness.

"Oh, let's go