Reggie.

“They do,” replied Joe, promptly. “All of them have some weakness, and sooner or later you find it out. If there’s any exception to that rule at all, it’s Ty Cobb of Detroit. If he has any weakness, no one knows what it is. For the last seven years he’s led the American League in batting, base stealing and everything else worth while. All pitchers look alike to him. He’s a perfect terror to the twirlers.”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about him, anyway,” smiled Mabel. “It’s lucky that he’s on the Detroits instead of the Bostons. For I suppose it’s the Bostons you’ll have to face in the World Series.”

“I guess it will be,” answered Joe. “Their season doesn’t end until Friday. They’ve had almost as tight a race in their league as we’ve had in ours, for the Athletics have been close on their heels. But the Bostons have to take only one game to clinch the flag while the Athletics will have to win every game. So it’s pretty nearly a sure thing for the Red Sox.”

“Which team would you rather have to fight against?” asked Reggie.

“Well, it’s pretty near a toss-up,” answered Joe, thoughtfully. “Either one will be a hard nut to crack. That one hundred thousand dollar infield of the Athletics is a stone wall, but I think the Boston outfield is stronger. That manager of the Athletics is in a class by himself, and what he doesn’t know about the game isn’t worth knowing. He’s liable to spring something on you at any time. Still the Boston manager is mighty foxy, too, and you have to keep your eyes open to circumvent him. Take it all in all, I’d just about as lief face one team as the other.”

“It will be a little shorter trip for you between the two cities, if you happen to have the Athletics for your opponents,” suggested Mabel.

“Yes,” assented Joe. “In that case we’d have a good long sleep in regular beds every night, while on the Boston trip we’d have to put up with sleeping cars. Still the jumps wouldn’t be big in either case, and it’s a mighty sight better than if we had to go out West for the Chicagos or Detroits.

“From a money point of view the boys are rooting for Boston to win,” he went on.

“Why, what difference would that make?” asked Mabel in surprise.

“Because the Boston grounds hold more people than the Athletics’ park,” was the answer.

“That’s something new to me,” put in Reggie. “I’ve attended games at both grounds, and it didn’t seem to me there was much difference between them.”

“The answer is,” replied Joe, “that we’re not going to play at Fenway Park, the regular American League grounds in Boston, in case Boston is our opponent.”

“How is that?”

“Because Braves Field, the National League grounds there, will hold over forty-three thousand people, and the owners have put it at the disposal of the American League Club,” Joe answered.

“That’s a sportsmanlike thing to do,” commented Mabel, warmly.

“It certainly is,” echoed her brother.

“Oh, the days of the old cutthroat policy have gone by,” said Joe. “The National and American Leagues used to fight each other like a pair of Kilkenny cats, but they’ve found that there is nothing in such a game. This act of the Boston people shows the new spirit. We saw it, too, when the grandstand was burned at the Polo Grounds. The ruins hadn’t got through smoking before the Yankee management offered the use of its grounds to McRae as long as he needed them. And then a little later when the Yankees lost their grounds because streets were going to be cut through them, McRae returned the favor by giving them the use of the Polo Grounds. It’s the right spirit. Fight like tigers to win games, but outside of that, let live and wish the other luck.”

“Tell me honestly, Joe, what you think the New York’s chances are, in case they have to stack up against Boston,” said Reggie.

“Well,” answered Joe, thoughtfully, toying with his spoon, “if you’d asked me that question a week ago, I’d have said that New York would win in a walk. But just now I wouldn’t be anywhere near so sure of that.”

“You mean the accident to Hughson?” put in Mabel.

“Exactly that. He was going like a house afire just before that. You saw what he did to Chicago in the first game. He had those fellows eating out of his hand. He was simply unhittable. That fadeaway of his was zipping along six inches under their bats. They didn’t have a Chinaman’s chance.

“Then, too, in addition to that splendid pitching his reputation helps a lot. The minute it is announced that Hughson is going to pitch, the other fellows begin to curl up. They’re half whipped before they start, because they feel that he has the Indian sign on them, and it’s of no use to try.”

“That’s so,” assented Reggie. “Besides, when he’s in the box his own team feel they’re in for a victory and they play like demons behind him.”

“It’s going to take away a lot of confidence from our boys,” said Joe, “and in a critical series like that, confidence is half the battle. We could have lost two or three other men and yet have a better chance than we will have with Hughson out of the game.”

“Isn’t there any chance of his recovering in time to take part in some of the games?” asked Mabel.

“A bare chance only,” Joe replied. “I saw the old boy yesterday, and he’s getting along surprisingly fast. You see, he always keeps himself in such splendid physical condition that he recovers more quickly than an ordinary man would. We’ve got over a week yet before the Series starts, and he may possibly be able to go in before the games are over. If he does, that will be an immense help. But McRae had figured on having him pitch the first game, so as to get the jump on the other fellows at the very start. Then he could have gone in at least twice more, perhaps three times, and it would have been all over but the shouting.”

“It’s lucky that McRae has you at hand to step into Hughson’s shoes,” declared Reggie.

“Step into them!” exclaimed Joe. “Yes, and rattle around in them. Nobody can fill them.”

“I don’t believe a word of it,” cried Mabel warmly—so warmly in fact that her brother looked at her in some surprise.

“Yes,” she repeated, holding her ground valiantly, “I mean just what I say. It’s awfully generous of you, Joe, to praise Hughson to the skies, but there’s no use in underrating yourself. I don’t think Hughson can pitch one bit better than you can. Look at that game this afternoon. I heard lots of people around me say that they never saw such pitching in all their lives. And what you did to-day you can do again. So there!”—she caught herself up, smiling a little confusedly, as though she had betrayed herself, but finished defiantly—“if that be treason, make the most of it.”

Joe’s heart gave a great leap, not only at the tribute but at the tone and look that had gone with it. So this was what Mabel thought of him! This was how she believed in him!

His head was whirling, but in his happy confusion one thought kept pounding away at his consciousness, a thought that never left him through all the tremendous test that lay before him:

“I’ve got to make good! I’ve got to make good!”

CHAPTER IV
THE SPOILS OF WAR

The rest of the evening flew by as though on wings,