one. His arm hurt worse, and he gritted
his teeth to keep from crying out.

"Strike!" grunted the umpire, and there was some balm for Joe in that.

The batter hit the next one for a dribbler, and just managed to reach
first.

"If I could only have managed to get him out!" mused Joe. "I'd be done
now. But I've got to do it over again. I wonder if I can last out?"

To his relief the next batter up was one of the weakest of the Giants,
and Joe was glad. And even yet a weak batter might make a hit that would
turn the tables.

"I've got to do it!" murmured Joe, and he wound up for the delivery.

"Strike!" announced the umpire. Joe's heart beat hard.

"Here goes for the fadeaway," he said to himself, "though it will hurt
like fun!"

It did, bringing a remembrance of the old hurt. But it fooled the
batter, and there were two strikes on him.

The game was all but over. With two out, and two strikes called, there
could be but one result, unless there was to be something that occurs
but once in a lifetime. And it did not occur.

"Strike! You're out!" was the umpire's decision, and that was the end.
The Cardinals had won, thanks, in a great measure, to Joe Matson's
splendid work.

"That's the stuff!"

"Third place for ours!"

"Three cheers for Joe Matson--Baseball Joe!" called his teammates, who
crowded around him to clap him on the back and say all sorts of nice
things. Joe stood it, blushingly, for a moment, and then he made his way
over to the box. As he walked along, a certain quiet man who had been
intently watching the game said softly to himself.

"He must be mine next season. I guess I can make a trade for him. He'd
be a big drawing card for the Giants."

"Oh, Joe, it was splendid! Splendid!" cried Mabel, enthusiastically.

"Fine!" said his father.

"Do you get any extra when your side wins?" asked his mother, while the
crowd smiled.

"Well, yes, in a way," answered Joe. "You get treated extra well."

"And it's going to be my treat this time," said Mabel, with a laugh. "I
want you all to come to dinner with me. You'll come; won't you, Joe?"
she asked, pleadingly.

"Of course," he said.

"And bring a friend, if you like," and she glanced at Clara.

"I'll bring Rad," Joe answered.

They lived the great game over again at the table of the hotel where
Mable was stopping.

"Is your arm lame?" asked Mrs. Matson, noticing that her son favored his
pitching member a trifle.

"Oh, I can finish out t