"Thank you a thousand times!" cried the man as Joe handed up the valise. "I wish--I didn't ask your name--mine is--I ought to have a card--I--er----" he began fumbling in his pocket, and Joe half feared he was going to offer money again. But the man seemed to be hunting for a card. However his search was unsuccessful. He waved his hand to Joe, and called: "Thank you once more. Perhaps I may meet you again. I meant to ask your name--too much occupied--mine is----" But just then the train gathered speed and the engineer, opening the exhaust, effectually drowned out all other sounds in the puffing of the locomotive. Joe saw the man's lips moving, and realized that he was calling out his name, but he could not hear it. Then, with a wave of his hand the stranger went inside the car. He had caught the train just in time. CHAPTER II A HOME CONFERENCE "Well, I wonder if I'll ever see him again," mused Joe, as the train swung out of sight around a curve in the track. "It sure was a hustling time. I wonder who he was? Seemed like some sort of an athlete, and yet he didn't talk sports--nor much of anything, for that matter. "I'm glad I could help him get his train. Funny he should want to pay me, and yet I suppose he isn't used to having favors done him. He seemed like a nice sort of fellow. Well, I've got to get over with these patterns. I'll be late getting home, I expect." Joe's first visit was to the livery stable, where he told the proprietor of the accident. "Hum! Well, I s'pose he was driving reckless like," said Mr. Munn, who hired out old horses and older vehicles to such few of the townspeople as did not have their own rigs. "No, he was going slowly," said Joe. "I guess that wheel was pretty well rotted." "Mebby so. I'm glad I charged him a good price, and made him pay in advance. Yes, I'll send out and get the rig. Much obliged to you, Joe. Did he pay ye for bringin' him back?" "No, I didn't want anything," and with this parting shot the young pitcher went on his way. And, while he is jogging along to Birchville, musing over the recent happenings, I will, in a paragraph or two, tell you something more about our hero, since he is to occupy that place in these pages. Those of you who have read the previous books in this series, need no introduction to the youth. But to those who pick up this volume to begin their acquaintance, I might state that in the initial book, called "Baseball Joe of the Silver Stars," I related how he first began his upward climb as a pitcher. Joe Matson lived with his father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. John Matson, in the town of Riverside, in one of our New England states. Mr. Matson was an inventor of farming machinery, and after a hard struggle was now doing well financially.