CHAPTER XXI
TO THE RESCUE
Joe Matson felt as though he was walking in the air when he went homethat afternoon following the scrub game. That his ambition was about tobe realized, and so soon after joining the team, was almostunbelievable.
"Why, what's the matter, Joe?" asked Clara, as her brother fairlypranced into the house, caught her around the waist and swung her in thestart of a waltz.
"Matter? Plenty's the matter! I'm going to pitch on the Stars Saturday.Hurray!"
"My! Any one would think you were going to pitch up _to_ the stars theway you're going on. Let go of me; you'll have my hair all mussed up!"
"That's easily fixed. Yes, I'm going to pitch."
"Against whom?"
"The Fayetteville Academy, on their grounds. It won't be much of a game,and I'm not to go in until it's in the ice box----"
"In the ice box?"
"Yes, the refrigerator you know--safe. Then I'm to try my hand atputting 'em over. Of course I'd like to go the whole nine innings but Ican't have everything at the start. It's mighty decent of Darrell togive me this chance. Aren't you glad, sis?"
"Yes, of course I am. I'd like to see the game, but I've used up all ofmy allowance for this week, and----"
"Here!" and Joe held out a dollar. "Blow yourself, sis."
"Oh, what horrid slang!"
"I mean go to the game on me. I'll stand treat. Take a girl if you wantto and see yours truly do himself proud."
Joe hunted up his mother to tell her the good news. He found her in theroom which his father had fitted up as a workshop since the suspiciousactions of Mr. Benjamin at the harvester factory. Mrs. Matson waslooking over some papers, and there was on her face the same worriedlook Joe had seen there before.
"Has anything happened, mother?" he asked quickly, his own good newsfading away as he thought of the trouble that might menace his father.
"No, only the same trouble about the patent," she said. "There isnothing new, but your father thinks from the recent actions of Mr.Benjamin that the manager suspects something. Your father is gettingsome papers ready to go to Washington, and I was looking them over forhim. I used to work in a lawyer's office when I was a girl," she went onwith a smile, "and I know a little about the patent business so Ithought I would help your father if I could."
"Then there's nothing wrong?"
"Not exactly, and if all goes right he will soon have his patentgranted, and then those men can not harm him. But you look as though youhad good news."
"I have," and the lad fairly bubbled over in telling his mother of thechance that had so unexpectedly come to him.
Mr. Matson was quite enthusiastic about Joe's chance when he came homefrom work, and together they talked about it after supper.
"I wish I could go see the game," said Mr. Matson, "but I am too busy."
"How is the patent coming on?" asked Joe.
"Oh, pretty good. Thanks to you I was warned in time. If I had left mydrawings, patterns and other things in the shop I'm afraid it wouldn'tbe going so well. Mr. Benjamin evidently suspects something. Only to-dayhe asked me how I was coming on with it, and he wanted to know why Iwasn't working on it any more. I had to put him off with some excuse andhe acted very queer. Right after that I heard him calling up Mr. Holdneyon the telephone."
"But your worry will be over when your application is allowed,"suggested Mrs. Matson.
Joe went to his baseball practice with a vim in the days that intervenedbefore the game that was to be so important to him. Tom Davis helpedhim, and several times cautioned his chum about overdoing himself.
"If your arm gets stiff--it's good-night for you," he declared, in hisusual blunt way. "You've got to take care of yourself, Joe."
"I know it, but I want to get up more speed."
"That's all right. Speed isn't everything. Practice for control, andthat won't be so hard on you."
And, as the days went on, Joe realized that he was perfecting himself,though he still had much to learn about the great game.
It was the day before the contest when our hero was to occupy the boxfor the first time for the Stars. He and Tom had practiced hard and Joeknew that he was "fit."
Joe wondered how Sam Morton had taken the news of his rival's advance,but if Sam knew he said nothing about it, and in the practice with thescrub he was unusually friendly to Joe. For Darrell decided not to havethe new pitcher go into the box for the Stars until the last moment. Hedid not want word of it to get out, and Joe and the catcher did somepractice in private with signals.
The last practice had been held on the afternoon prior to the game, andarrangements completed for the team going to Fayetteville. Joe was onhis way home on a car with Tom Davis, for Riverside boasted of a trolleysystem.
"How do you feel?" asked Tom of his chum.
"Fine as a fiddle."
"Your arm isn't lame or sore?"
"Not a bit, I can----"
Joe was interrupted by a cry from two ladies who sat in front of them,the only other occupants of the vehicle save themselves. The car wasgoing down hill and had acquired considerable speed--dangerous speed Joethought--and the motorman did not seem to have it well under control.
But what had caused the cry of alarm was this. Driving along the street,parallel with the tracks, and about three hundred feet ahead of the car,was a boy in an open delivery wagon. He was going in the same directionas was the electric vehicle.
Suddenly his horse stumbled and fell almost on the tracks, the wagonsliding half over the animal while the boy on the seat was hemmed in andpinned down by a number of boxes and baskets that slid forward from therear of the wagon.
"Put on your brakes! Put on your brakes!" yelled the conductor to themotorman. "You'll run him down!"
The motorman ground at the handle, and the brake shoes whined as theygripped the wheels, but the car came nearer and nearer the wagon. Theconductor on the rear platform was also putting on the brakes there.
Suddenly the horse kicked himself around so that he was free of thetracks, lying alongside them, and far enough to one side so that the carwould safely pass him. There was a sigh of relief from the two womenpassengers, but a moment later it changed to a cry of alarm, for the boyon the seat suddenly fell to one side, and hung there with his head sofar over that the car would hit him as it rushed past. The lad wasevidently pinned down by the boxes and baskets on his legs.
"Stop! Stop the car!" begged one of the ladies. The other had coveredher eyes with her hands.
"I--I can't!" cried the motorman. "It's got too much speed! I can't stopit."
Joe sprang to his feet and made his way along the seat past Tom, to therunning board of the car, for the vehicle was an open one.
"Where are you going?" cried Tom.
"To save that lad! He'll be killed if the car strikes him!"
"Let the motorman do it!"
"He can't! He's grinding on the brakes as hard as he can and so is theconductor. I've got to save him--these ladies can't! I can lean over andpull him aboard the car."
"But your arm! You'll strain your arm and you can't pitch to-morrow."
For an instant Joe hesitated, but only for an instant. He realized thatwhat Tom said was true. He saw a vision of himself sitting idly on thebench, unable to twirl the ball because of a sprained arm. Then Joe madeup his mind.
"I'm going to save him!" he cried as he hurried to the front end of therunning board. Then, clinging to the upright of the car with his leftarm, he stretched out his other to save the lad from almost certaindeath, the conductor and motorman unable to lend aid and the womenincapable. There was not room on the running board for Tom to help Joe.