It was a long time before Joe could tear himself away from his hilarious team-mates and reach his party at the Marlborough. How his mother cried over him in her joy and pride, how Mr. Matson wrung his hand and patted his shoulder hardly trusting himself to speak, how Clara hugged and kissed him, how Mabel would have liked to do the same but did not dare to, how Jim and Reggie mauled and pounded him--all this can be easily guessed. They were happy beyond all words.
But there was an impalpable something in the air that gradually thinned out the party. Mrs. Matson motioned her husband to come with her. Jim and Clara, only too glad of the excuse, slipped away, casting a roguish glance behind them, and even the obtuse Reggie remembered a letter he had to write and vanished.
Joe and Mabel, left alone, looked at each other, but Mabel’s eyes fell instantly before what they read in Joe’s. Her cheeks flushed, her breath came faster and she began to tremble.
He took her little glove from his pocket and bent toward her tenderly.
“This little glove of yours has done wonders for me,” he said. “It has helped me to win two championships. But these victories are nothing to me unless I win you, too. Will you be my wife, Mabel--will you? You know I love you.”
He read his answer in the beautiful eyes full of love and trust that she turned up to his. The next instant she was in his arms.
And that good right arm of his had made it a winning day also for hosts of others. The whole National League was aflame with exultation. The city of New York was wild with joy. And every member of the Giant team was tasting the delights of victory to the full.
They had all played their parts well and ably. But they knew perfectly well that more credit belonged to Joe than to any one else and they were loud in their praises of his skill and courage.
“I’ve seen some dandy pitching in my life,” Robson declared to the group of Giant players who had gathered round for an impromptu jollification, “but that performance of Matson’s this afternoon was far and away the best of all. He was as cool as a cucumber and it was impossible to rattle him. He couldn’t have done better. He’s the greatest pitcher in the League to-day, barring none!”