"Of course you can have one of my neckties if you want it, Joe," returned the fashionable young man quickly. "I've got a beautiful lavender one that ought to just suit you. And then there is a fancy striped one, red and green and gold, which is the most stunning thing, don't you know, you ever saw. I purchased it at a fashionable shop on Fifth Avenue the last time I was in New York. If you wore that tie, Joe, you would certainly make a hit." "Well, you see, I'm not so much of a hitter as I am of a pitcher," returned Joe; "so I guess I'd better not rob you of that tie. Come to think of it, I got several new ties myself last Christmas and on my birthday. I think they'll see me through very nicely. But I'm much obliged just the same. And now, Reggie, make yourself thoroughly at home." "Oh, I'll be sure to do that," returned Mabel's brother. "You're a fine fellow, Joe; and I often wonder how it was I quarreled with you the first time we met." "We'll forget about that," answered Joe shortly. Naturally the men returned to the living room first, and while they were waiting impatiently for the girls to rejoin them, Joe caught sight of a letter resting against the clock on the mantelpiece. He took it up and saw that it was addressed to himself, and that it bore the postmark of New York. He recognized the handwriting at once. "It's from McRae," he said. "The second message I've received from the old boy to-day, counting the telegram this morning. Excuse me, fellows, while I look it over." He tore it open hastily and read with glowing interest and excitement. "The World Tour's a go!" he cried, handing the letter over to Jim. "Mac's got it all settled at last. When we said good-bye to him in New York it was all up in the air. But trust Mac to hustle--he's got enough promises to make up the two teams and now he's calling on us, Jim, to keep our word and go with the party. We're all to meet in Chicago for the start on the nineteenth of the month." "Gee!" exclaimed Jim. "That doesn't give us very much time. Let's see," as he snatched up a newspaper and scanned the top line. "To-day's the sixteenth. We'll have to get a wiggle on." "Bah Jove," lisped Reggie. "It's bally short notice, don't you know? How long will you fellows be gone?" "Just about six months," said Joe, his face lengthening as he reflected on what it meant to be all that time away from Mabel. "What's all this pow-wow about?" came a merry voice from the door, as the girls tripped in, their arms about each other's waist. "I'm glad we girls aren't as talkative as you men," said Clara, mischievously. "When we do talk we at least say something," added Mabel. "What is it, Joe?"