Part 4 (1/2)

You think that every man has his price and it's only a matter of bidding to find out mine.”

”Now, now!” said Westland, spots of color coming into his cheeks.

”And more than that,” went on Joe, not heeding the interruption, ”you want to make me a tool to lead others to break their contracts, too. I'm to be the bellwether of the flock. You figure that if it's once spread abroad that Matson has jumped into the new league, it will start a stampede of contract breakers. I tell you straight, Westland, it's dirty business. If you want to start a new league, go ahead and do it in a decent way. Get new players and develop them, or get star players whose contracts have expired. Play the game, but do it without marked cards or loaded dice.”

Westland saw that he had lost, and he threw diplomacy to the winds.

”Keep your advice till it's asked for!” he snarled, s.n.a.t.c.hing up the money and jamming it viciously into his pocket. ”I didn't come to this jay town to be lectured by a hick----”

”What's that?” cried Joe, springing to his feet.

Westland was so startled by the sudden motion that he almost swallowed his cigar. Before Joe's sinewy figure he stepped back and mumbled an apology.

Then he reached for his hat, and without another word stalked out of the house, his features convulsed with anger and chagrin.

As he flung himself out of the gate, he almost collided with a messenger boy bringing a telegram to Joe.

The latter signed for it and tore it open hastily. It was from the Giants'

manager and read:

”I hear the new league is coming after you hotfoot. But I'm betting on you, Joe.

”McRae.”

He handed it over to Jim who read it with a smile.

”Betting on me, is he?” said Joe. ”Well, Mac, you win!”

CHAPTER IV

THE TOP OF THE WAVE

While they were still discussing the telegram, Joe's father came home to lunch from the harvester works where he was employed. He seemed ten years younger than he had before the trip to the World's Series, which he in his quiet way had enjoyed quite as much as the rest of the family.

He greeted the young men cordially.

”I met a man a little way down the street who seemed to have come from here,” he said, as he hung up his hat. ”He had his hat jammed down on his head, and was muttering to himself as though he were sore about something.”

”He was,” replied Jim with a grin. ”He laid twenty-five thousand dollars on the table, and he was sore because Joe wouldn't take it up.”

Mr. Matson looked bewildered, but his astonishment was not as great as that of Clara, who at that moment put her head in the door to announce that lunch was ready.

”What are you millionaires talking about?” she asked.

”What do millionaires usually talk about?” answered Jim loftily.

”Money--the long green--iron men--filthy lucre--yellowbacks----”

”If you don't stop your nonsense you sha'n't have any lunch,” threatened Clara, ”and that means something, too, for mother has spread herself in getting it up.”