And about extra money. Who's going to give it to you?"

"Nobody. I'll have to earn it with this pitching arm of mine," and the
young baseball player swung it around, as though "winding-up" for a
swift delivery.

"Look out, Joe!" cried Clara, but she gave the warning too late.

At that moment Mrs. Matson entered the room with a jug of water, which
she intended pouring on a window-box of flowers. Joe's arm struck the
jug a glancing blow, and sent it flying, the water spraying over the
floor, and the jug itself falling, and cracking into many pieces.

For a moment there was a momentous silence, after two startled
screams--one each from Mrs. Matson and Clara. Then Joe cried gaily:

"Out at first! Say, Momsey, I hope I didn't hit you!"

"No, you didn't," and she laughed now. "But what does it all mean? Are
you practicing so early in the season? Oh, my carpet! It will be
ruined!" she went on, as she saw the water. "But I'm glad I didn't bring
in a good jug. Did you hurt your hand?"

"Nary a hurt," said Joe, with a smile. "Ha! I'll save _you_ from a
wetting!" he exclaimed, as he stooped quickly and picked up an unopened
letter, the address of which was in a girlish hand.

"Get the mop, while you're at it," advised Clara. A little later Joe had
sopped up the water, and quiet was restored.

"And now suppose you tell us all about it," suggested Mrs. Mason. "Why
were you practicing gymnastics, Joe?" and she smiled at her athletic
son.

"I was just telling Clara that my pitching arm was likely to bring me in
more money this year, Momsey, and I was giving it a twirl, when you
happened to get in my way. Now I'll tell you all about it. It's this
letter," and Joe held out the one he had been reading.

"Are you sure it isn't the _other_?" asked Clara, with a sly look at her
brother, for she had glanced at the writing on the unopened envelope Joe
had picked up from the floor. "Let me read that other letter, Joe," she
teased.

"A little later--maybe!" he parried. "But this one," and he fluttered
the open sheet in his hand, "this one is from Mr. Gregory, manager of
the Pittston team, with whom I have the honor to be associated," and Joe
bowed low to his mother and sister. "Mr. Gregory gives me a bit of news.
It is nothing less than that the manager of the St. Louis Nationals is
negotiating for the services of yours truly--your humble servant, Joseph
Matson," and again the young ball player bowed, and laughed.

"Joe, you don