Chapter 4 THE ANONYMOUS LETTER

All rose to their feet in hearty welcome. It was not the first time Reggie had visited the Matson home, and all were fond of him. Joe and Jim especially gave him a hilarious greeting.

"Hello, Reggie, old man," cried Joe, as he shook hands. "I'm tickled to death to see you. What good wind blew you down this way? I didn't think you were within a thousand miles of here."

"Well, old top," explained Reggie, as he gracefully drew off his gloves and divested himself of his topcoat, "it was so beastly quiet in Goldsboro, don't y'know, that I got fed up with it and when the guv'nor suggested that there was a bit of business I could attend to in Chicago I just blew the bally town and ran out there. Then bein' so near, I thought I'd run down and see Sis and the rest of you. It's simply rippin' to see y'all again, don't y'know."

He sat down in a chair, carefully adjusting his trousers so as not to mar the creases in the legs, and beamed blandly upon the friendly faces that surrounded him.

Joe and Reggie had first met under rather unpleasant circumstances, that bore no promise of a close friendship later on. Reggie had left his bag in a seat of a railroad station while he went to buy his ticket. Upon his return he missed his bag, which had been left in a seat adjoining the one in which Joe had in the meantime seated himself, and had practically accused Joe of taking it. As may be readily imagined, Joe was not the one to take lightly such an accusation, and Reggie had to apologize. It was only after Joe had met Mabel that he again encountered Reggie and learned that he was the girl's brother. But apart from his relationship to Mabel, Joe had found further reason for liking Reggie, as time wore on and he became better acquainted with him.

Reggie had never been restrained much by his father, who was rich and indulgent. He had an inordinate love of fine clothes and an affectation of English customs and manner of speech. But these, after all, were foibles, and at heart Reggie was "true blue." He was a staunch friend, generous, kindly and honorable. He idolized his charming sister, who in return was devotedly attached to him.

Another thing that strengthened the friendship between Joe and Reggie was that they were both ardent lovers of the great national game. Reggie was a "dyed-in-the-wool fan," and though his general information was none too great he had the records of individual players and the history of the game at his tongue's end, and could rattle on for an hour on a stretch when he once got started on his favorite theme. He was a great admirer of Joe as a player, and intensely proud that he was going to be his brother-in-law. Whenever the Giants played and Joe was slated to pitch, the latter could be perfectly certain that Reggie, even if he chanced to be at the time in San Francisco, was "rooting" for him to win.

Jim also had met Reggie frequently and liked him thoroughly. The other members of the Matson family liked him, both for Mabel's sake and his own. So it was a very friendly circle into which Reggie had come so unexpectedly.

"But I didn't expect to see you two chaps here," said Reggie, as he looked from Joe to Jim. "I thought you were down in the training camp, or else on your way to New York with the rest of the Giants."

"It was just a bit of luck that we are here," replied Joe. "McRae thought that we were trained fine enough, and might go stale if we worked out in practice any longer. He wants us to be at the top of our form when the bell rings at the Polo Grounds."

"Bally good sense, I call it, too," replied Reggie, looking admiringly at their athletic forms. "Just now you look fit to fight for a man's life, don't y'know."

"Never felt better," admitted Joe. "Nor happier either," he added, as he glanced at Mabel, who dropped her eyes before his ardent look.

"You came just in time to see the boys," put in Mrs. Matson. "They're starting to-morrow for New York."

"Bah Jove, I'd like to go with them," said Reggie. "I'd give a lot to see that opening game on the Polo Grounds. But this beastly business in Chicago will make it necessary for me to go back there in a few days. In the meantime I thought that perhaps you might put me up here for a little while, don't y'know?"

He looked toward Mr. Matson as he spoke, and both he and Mrs. Matson hastened to assure the young man that they would be only too glad to do so.

All had a lot to talk about, and the evening passed quickly, until at last Mrs. Matson excused herself on the plea that she wanted to see about Reggie's room. Mr. Matson soon followed, and the young people were left to themselves.

"Well, what do you think the chances are of the Giants copping the flag again, old top?" asked Reggie, as he pulled down his cuffs and put up his hand to make sure that his immaculate tie was all right.

"The Giants look mighty sweet to me," answered Joe. "They've had a good training season and shown up well in practice. They've won every game they've played with the minor leaguers so far, and haven't had to exert themselves. Of course that doesn't mean very much in itself, as the bushers ought to be easy meat for us. But we've got practically the same team with which we won the pennant last year, and I can't see why we shouldn't repeat. Jim here has been coming along like a house afire, and he'll make the fans sit up and take notice when they see him in action."

"Oh, I'm only an also ran," said Jim modestly.

"Indeed you're not," Clara started to say indignantly, but checked herself in time. Not so quickly, however, that Jim failed to catch her meaning and note the flush that rose to her cheek.

"Funny thing happened when I was in Chicago," mused Reggie. "I heard a chap say in one of the hotels that there was heavy betting against the Giants winning this year. Some one, he didn't know who, was putting up cash in great wads against them, and doing it with such confidence that it almost seemed as though he thought he was betting on a sure thing. Taking ridiculous odds too. Queer, wasn't it?"

"A fool and his money are soon parted," remarked Joe. "That fellow will be a little wiser and a good deal poorer when the season ends, or I miss my guess. Who's going to beat us out? Nothing short of a train wreck can stop us."

"Now you're talking!" cried Jim.

"Another thing that's going to help us," said Joe, "was that trip we had around the world. We had some mighty hot playing on that tour against the All-Americans, and it kept the boys in fine fettle."

"Speaking about that trip, old chap," put in Reggie, "reminds me of another thing that happened in Chicago. I was going down State Street one afternoon, and almost ran into that Braxton that you handed such a trimming to over in Ireland."

"Braxton!" cried Joe.

"Braxton!" echoed Jim.

"Sure thing," replied Reggie, mildly puzzled at the agitation that the name aroused in the two chums. "I'm not spoofing you. Braxton it was, as large as life. The bounder recognized me and started to speak, but I gave him the glassy eye and he thought better of it and passed on. Funny what a little world it is, don't y'know."

"It surely is a little world," replied Jim, as a significant glance passed between him and Joe.

"I glanced back," Reggie went on, "and saw him getting into a car drawn up at the curb. As classy a machine as I've seen, too, for a long time. Built for speed, y'know. If he hadn't driven off too quickly, I'd have made a note of the make. My own is getting rather old, and I've been thinking about replacing it."

The conversation turned into other channels and finally began to drag a little. The others made no sign of being ready to retire, and at last Reggie woke to the fact that he would have to make the first move. He looked at his watch, remarked that he was rather tired after his journey, and thought that he would "pound the pillow."

Joe showed him to his room, chatted with him a few minutes, and then returned to the living room where he found Mabel alone, as Clara and Jim had drifted into the dining room. It was the last night the boys would have at home, and the two young couples had a lot to talk about. To Jim especially the time was very precious, for he had made up his mind to ask a very momentous question, and there is little doubt but that Clara knew it was coming and had already made up her mind how it should be answered.

It was an exceedingly agitated Jim that asked Mr. Matson for a private interview the next morning, and it was an exceedingly happy Jim that emerged from the room a few minutes later and announced to the family already seated at the breakfast table that Clara had promised to be his wife. There was a stampede from the chairs, to the imminent danger of the coffee being upset, and Clara was hugged and kissed by Mabel and hugged and kissed and cried over by her mother, while Jim's hand was almost wrung off by Joe and Reggie in the general jubilation. For Jim was a splendid fellow, a Princeton graduate, a rising man in his chosen calling, and an all round good fellow. And there was no sweeter or prettier girl than Clara in all Riverside, or, as Jim stood ready to maintain, in the whole world.

Needless to say that for the rest of that morning Reggie and Joe had no other masculine society than each could furnish to the other, for Jim had shamelessly abandoned them. Soon Reggie, too, had to chum with himself, as Joe and Mabel had found a sequestered corner and seemed to be dead to the rest of the world.

Just before noon, however, when Mabel had gone in to help Mrs. Matson to prepare lunch, Joe had a chance to talk with Reggie alone.

"Mabel's looking rippin', don't you think?" remarked Reggie, as he caught a glimpse of his sister passing the door of the room in which they sat.

"Most beautiful girl that lives," returned Joe, with enthusiasm.

"I guess she's stopped worrying about--" began Reggie, and then checked himself as though he had said more than he intended to.

"Worrying about what?" asked Joe, with the quick apprehension of a lover.

"Oh, about-about things in general," replied Reggie, in some confusion and evading Joe's searching eyes.

"Look here, Reggie," said Joe with decision. "If anything's worrying Mabel, I've got a right to know what it is. I've noticed lately that she seemed to have something on her mind. Come now, out with it."

Reggie still tried to put him off, but Joe would have none of it.

"I've got to know, Reggie," he declared. "You've simply got to tell me."

Reggie pondered a moment.

"Well, old top," he said at last, "I suppose you have a right to know, and perhaps it's best that you should know. The fact is that Mabel got a letter a little while ago telling her that it would be a sorry day for her if she ever married Joe Matson. Threatened all sorts of terrible things against you, don't y'know."

"What!" cried Joe, wild with rage and leaping to his feet. "The scoundrel! The coward! Who signed that letter? What's his name? If I ever lay my hands on him, may heaven have mercy on him, for I won't!"

"That's the worst of it," replied Reggie. "There wasn't any name signed to it. The bounder who wrote it took good care of that."

"But the handwriting!" cried Joe. "Perhaps I can recognize it. Where is the letter? Give it to me."

"I haven't got it with me," Reggie explained. "It's at my home in Goldsboro. The poor girl had to confide in somebody, so she sent it to me. And even if you had it, it wouldn't tell you anything. It was in typewriting."

"But the postmark!" ejaculated Joe. "Perhaps that would give a clue. Where did it come from?"

"There again we're stumped," responded Reggie. "It was postmarked Chicago. But that doesn't do us any good, for there are two million people in Chicago."

"Oh!" cried Joe, as he walked the floor and clenched his fists until the nails dug into his palms. "The beastliness of it! The cowardice of it! An anonymous letter! That such a villain should dare to torture the dearest girl in the world! But somewhere, somehow, I'll hunt him out and thrash him soundly."

"Don't take the beastly thing so much to heart," returned Reggie. "Of course it's just a bluff by some bally bounder. Nobody ought to do anything with such a letter but tear it up and think no more about it. Some coward has done it that has a grudge against you, but he'd probably never have the nerve to carry out his threats."

"It isn't that I care about," answered Joe. "I've always been able to take care of myself. I'd like nothing better than to have the rascal come out in the open and try to make his bluff good. But it's Mabel I'm thinking about. You know a woman doesn't dismiss those things as a man would. She worries her heart out about it. So that's what has been weighing on her mind, poor, dear girl. Oh, if I only had my hands on the fellow that wrote that letter!"

And here he yielded again to a justified rage that was terrible to behold. It would have been a bad day for the rascally writer of that anonymous letter if he had suddenly stood revealed in the presence of Joe Matson!

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