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." "Take it all back," said Jim promptly. "I'm as sober as a judge. Lead me to this lunch, fair maiden, and I'll tell you nothing but the plain, unvarnished truth. But even at that, I'm afraid you'll think I'm romancing." The merry group seated themselves at the table, and Clara, all alive with curiosity, demanded the fulfilment of Jim's promise. "Well," said Jim, "the simple truth is that that fellow who was here this morning offered Joe sixty-five thousand dollars for three years' work." Mrs. Matson almost dropped her knife and fork in her amazement. Mr. Matson sat up with a jerk, and Clara's eyes opened to their widest extent. "Sixty-five thousand dollars!" gasped Joe's father. "For three years' work!" exclaimed Mrs. Matson. "Why," stammered Clara, "that's--that's--let me see--why, that's more than twenty-one thousand dollars a year." "That's what," replied Jim, keenly relishing the sensation he was causing. "And it wasn't stage money either. He had brought twenty thousand dollars with him in bills, and he laid it down on the table as carelessly as though it was twenty cents. And all that this modest youth, who sits beside me and isn't saying a word, had to do to get that money was to put his name on a piece of paper."