"Great Scott Look at this " Joe Matson, or "Baseball Joe," as he was better known throughout the country, sprang to his feet and held out a New York paper with headlines which took up a third of the page.

"Now then, Joe, send it over " "Show us what you can do " "Make the ball hum " "Split the ozone " These and a host of similar cries greeted Joe Matson as he carelessly caught the ball tossed to him by one of his friends and walked over to a corner of the gymnasium that was marked off as a pitcher's box. "All right, fellows," he answered, laughingly. "Anything to oblige my friends."

"Here he comes " "Hurrah for Matson " "Great game, old man." "You stood the Chicagos on their heads that time, Joe." "That home run of yours was a dandy." "What's the matter with Matson?" "He's all right " A wild uproar greeted the appearance of Joe Matson, the famous pitcher of the New York Giants, as he emerged from the clubhouse at the Polo Grounds after the great game in which he had pitched the Giants to the head of the National League and put them in line for the World Series with the champions of the American League.

"Why, here's Joe " "So soon? I didn't expect him until night." The girl who had uttered the first exclamation, and her mother whose surprise was manifested in the second, hurried to the door of the cottage, up the gravel walk to which a tall, athletic youth was then striding, swinging a heavy valise as though he enjoyed the weight of it.

"Whew " whistled Joe Matson, the astonishment on his bronzed face being indicated by his surprised exclamation of: "Well, what do you know about that, Sis?" "What is it, Joe?" asked his sister Clara, as she looked up from a letter she was reading to see her brother staring at a sheet of paper he had just withdrawn from an envelope, for the morning mail had been delivered a few minutes before. "What is it?" the girl went on, laying aside her own correspondence. "Is it anything serious-anything about father's business? Don't tell me there is more trouble, Joe "

"Look out now, fellows; here goes for a high one " "Aw come off; you can't throw high without dislocating your arm, Peaches. Don't try it." "You get off the earth; I can so, Teeter. Watch me." "Let Joe Matson have a try. He can throw higher than you can, Peaches," and the lad who had last spoken grasped the arm of a tall boy, with a very fair complexion which had gained him the nickname of "Peaches and Cream," though it was usually shortened to "Peaches." There was a crowd of lads on the school grounds, throwing snowballs, when the offer of "Peaches" or Dick Lantfeld was made.

"Joe Matson, I can't understand why you don't fairly jump at the chance " "Because I don't want to go-that's why." "But, man alive Half the fellows in Riverside would stand on their heads to be in your shoes." "Perhaps, Tom. But, I tell you I don't think I'm cut out for a college man, and I don't want to go," and Joe Matson looked frankly into the face of his chum, Tom Davis, as they strolled down the village street together that early September day.

"Come on, Sam, get a move on. I thought you'd be out on the diamond long ago. What's the matter?" "Oh, I had to help dad put in some fence posts. I'm through now, Darrell, and I'll be right with you." "Setting fence posts; eh?" and Darrell Blackney, the young manager of the Silver Star baseball nine of Riverside looked critically at Sam Morton, the team's pitcher. "Well, Sam, I hope it didn't make you stiff so that you can't put some good balls over the plate. It's going to be a hot game all right."