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A Hot Game
“Come on, Sam, get a move on. I thought you’d be out on the diamond long ago. What’s the matter?”“Oh, I had to help dad put in some fence posts. I’m through now, Darrell, and I’ll be right with you.”“Setting fence posts; eh?” and Darrell Blackney, the young manager of the Silver Star baseball nine of Riverside looked critically at Sam Morton, the team’s pitcher. “Well, Sam, I hope it didn’t make you stiff so that you can’t put some good balls over the plate. It’s going to be a hot game all right.”“Oh, forget it!” cried Sam, as he finished buttoning his jacket while he joined his chum. “We’ll beat ’em to a frazzle all right. I’m going to pitch my head off to-day.”“You may—if you don’t go to pieces the way you once did.”“Say, what you talking about?” demanded Sam, with some warmth. “I can pitch all right, and don’t you forget it.” He seemed unnecessarily aroused.“Oh, I know you can pitch,” spoke Darrell easily, “only I don’t want you to be too sure about it. You know the Resolutes of Rocky Ford have a strong team this season, and their pitcher is——”“Oh, I know what Hen Littell is as well as you,” broke in Sam. “He thinks he’s a whole lot, but you wait. I’ve got a new drop ball, and——”“Well, then, you’d ought to have been out on the diamond this morning, practicing with Bart Ferguson. He’s got a new catching glove, and if you and he can connect on the curves we may do some good work. But I wish you’d had some practice this morning.”“So do I, but dad made me help him, and I couldn’t very well get off. I tried to sneak away, but he got on to my game and put a stop to it.”“Oh, well, of course if you had to help your father that’s different,” spoke Darrell, who was a manly young chap, somewhat in contrast to Sam, who was not as upright as he might have been.Sam had a boastful and confident air that caused many to dislike him, but as he was the best pitcher the Silver Stars had had in some seasons his short-comings were overlooked.And certainly Sam had been pitching pretty good ball thus far. True, at times, he “went up in the air,” but all pitchers are likely to do this on occasions. Sam...
Tieing the Score
Ping! The ball came in between Joe’s palms with a vicious thud, but there it stuck, and a moment later the newcomer had tossed it back over the fence with certain and strong aim.“I guess some one will pick it up,” he said.“Sure,” assented Tom. “Say, that was a good stop all right. Have you played ball before?”“Oh, just a little,” was the modest and rather quiet answer. In fact Joe Matson was rather a quiet youth, too quiet, his mother sometimes said, but his father used to smile and remark:“Oh, let Joe alone. He’ll make out all right, and some of these days he may surprise us.”“Well, that was a pippy stop all right,” was Tom’s admiring, if slangy, compliment. “Let’s go in, I may get a chance to play.”Joe turned toward the main entrance gate, and thrust one hand into his pocket.“Where you going?” demanded Tom.“Into the grounds of course. I want to get a ticket.”“Not much!” exclaimed his companion. “You don’t have to pay. Come with me. I invited you to this game, and I’m a member of the team, though I don’t often get a chance to play. Members are allowed to bring in one guest free. I’ll take you in. We’ll use the players’ gate.”“Thanks,” said Joe briefly, as he followed his new friend.“Here’s a good place to see it from—almost as good as the grandstand,” said Tom, as they moved to a spot along the first base line. “Though you can go up and sit down if you like. I’m going to put on my things. I may get a chance at first.”“No, I’ll stay here,” said Joe. “Then I can see you make some good stops.”“I can if Sam doesn’t put ’em away over my head,” was the reply.“Oh, yes, that’s so. You started to say that you thought our side—you see I’m already a Silver Star rooter—that our side would win, if something didn’t happen.”“Oh, yes, and then that ball came over the fence. Well, we’ll win, I think, if Sam doesn’t go to pieces.”“Who’s Sam?”“Sam Morton, our pitcher. He’s pretty good too, when he doesn’t get rattled.”“Then we’ll hope that he doesn’t to-day,” said Joe with a smile. “But go ahead and dress.”“All right,” assented Tom, and he started off on a run to the dressing rooms. It was only just in time, too, for at that moment Darrell came hastening...
Mrs. Matson is Worried
“What do you mean by that?” demanded the lad whom Sam had struck.“That’s what I mean by it. I mean you can’t insult me!”“I can’t, eh? Well, I can whip you all right,” and with those words Sam was nearly knocked off his feet by a return blow.“Here, cut that out!” yelled Darrell.“Aw, what’s eating you?” demanded another of the Resolute crowd. “If you fellows are looking for a fight you can have it; eh boys?”“Sure thing!” came in a chorus, as the players crowded up, with bats in their hands.“This may be serious,” murmured Darrell to Tom. “See if you can’t stop Sam from fighting.”But it was too late, as Sam and his opponent were at each other hammer and tongs.“Do you want to fight?” sneered the lad who had accosted the manager.“No, I don’t.”“Afraid?”“No, of course not.”“Then come on,” and the lad, half in fun perhaps, gave Darrell a shove.Now Darrell, though disliking fistic encounters, was no coward and he promptly retaliated with a blow that knocked his enemy down.“Wow! It’s a fight all right!” yelled another lad, and then Darrell and his antagonist were at it.The crowd from the stands and bleachers now began thronging about the enraged players. There had always been more or less bad blood between the two rival nines and now, when the Resolutes had taken a game that was almost won away from the Silver Stars, the feeling broke out anew.On all sides there were impromptu battles going on. Some of the lads were good-natured about it, and only indulged in wrestling contests, but others were striking viciously at each other and soon there were some bloody noses and blackened eyes in evidence.“I’ll show you whether I can pitch or not!” yelled Sam, as he aimed a hard blow at the lad with whom he had first had an encounter. He missed his aim, and went whirling to one side, to be met by a blow as he turned about, and almost sent down.“Do you want anything?” suddenly demanded a lad stopping in front of Joe, who was standing near Tom. Joe recognized his questioner as the Resolute shortstop.“No, he’s a stranger here—he isn’t on the nine,” said Tom quickly.“Well, can’t he fight?” was the sneering demand.“Yes, if I want to, but I don’t want to,” and Joe answered for himself.“I’ll make you want to,” was the retort, and Joe was struck...
A Row with Sam
“What are you thinking about, Joe?”It was his sister Clara who asked the question, and she had noticed that her brother was rather dreaming over his books than studying. It was the Monday night after the Saturday when the memorable game with the Resolutes had taken place.“Oh, nothing much,” and Joe roused himself from a reverie and began to pour over his books.“Well, for ‘nothing much’ I should say that it was a pretty deep subject,” went on Clara with a laugh, as she finished doing her examples. “It isn’t one of the girls here, is it Joe? There are a lot of pretty ones in our class.”“Oh—bother!” exclaimed Joe. “Let a fellow alone, can’t you, when he’s studying? We have some pretty stiff work I tell you!” and he ruffled up his hair, as if that would make his lessons come easier. “It’s a heap worse than it was back in Bentville.”“I think so too, but I like it, Joe. We have a real nice teacher, and I’ve met a lot of pleasant girls. Do you know any of the boys?”“Hu! I guess you want me to give you an introduction to them!” exclaimed Joe.“No more than you do to the girls I know,” retorted his sister, “so there!”“Now, now,” gently remonstrated Mrs. Matson, looking up from her sewing, “you young folks keep on with your lessons. Your father can’t go on reading his paper if you dispute so.”Involuntarily Joe and his sister glanced to where Mr. Matson sat in his easy chair. But he did not seem to be reading, though he held the paper up in front of him. Joe fancied he saw a look of worriment on his father’s face, and he wondered if he was vexed over some problem in inventive work, or whether he was troubled over business matters concerning his new position.Then there came to the lad’s mind a memory of his mother’s anxiety the night he had come in from the game, and he wondered if the two had any connection. But he knew it would not do to ask, for his father seldom talked over business matters at home.Finally, seeming to feel Joe’s look, Mr. Matson, after a quick glance at his son, began to scan the paper.“Go on with your studying, Joe and Clara,” commanded Mrs. Matson with a smile. “Don’t dispute any more.”“I was only asking Joe if he...
Joe Helps the Manager
“Well now, I’m real sorry,” said Mrs. Holdney when, a little later, Joe dismounted at her door, and held out the letter for her husband. “Rufus isn’t home. You can leave the letter for him, though.”“No, I have to have an answer,” replied Joe. “I think perhaps I’d better wait.”“Well, maybe you had, though I don’t know when Rufus will be back. Is it anything of importance?”“I guess it must be,” spoke the lad, for, though he did not know the contents of his father’s letter, he reasoned that it would be on no unimportant errand that he would be sent to Moorville.“Hum,” mused Mrs. Holdney. “Well, if you want to wait all right, though as I said I don’t know when my husband will be back.”“Do you know where he’s gone? Could I go after him?” asked Joe eagerly. He was anxious to deliver the letter, get an answer, and return home before dark.“Well, now, I never thought of that!” exclaimed Mrs. Holdney. “Of course you might do that. Rufus has gone down town, and most likely you’ll find him in the hardware store of Mr. Jackson. He said he had some business to transact with him, and he’ll likely be there for some time.”“Then I’ll ride down there on my wheel. I guess I can find the place. Is it on the main street?”“Yes, turn off this road when you get to the big granite horse-drinking trough and swing in to your right. Then turn to your left when you get to the post-office and that’s Main Street. Mr. Jackson’s store is about a block in.”The lad repeated the woman’s directions over in his mind as he rode along, and he had no difficulty in picking out the hardware store. He was wondering how he would know Mr. Holdney, but concluded that one of the clerks could point him out.“Yes, Mr. Holdney is here,” said a man behind the counter to whom Joe applied. “He’s in the office with Mr. Jackson.”“I wonder if I could send a letter in to him,” ventured the lad, for he did not want to wait any longer than he had to.“I’m afraid not,” answered the clerk. “Mr. Jackson is very strict about being disturbed when he’s talking business.”“Then I guess I’ll have to wait,” said Joe with a sigh. “I wonder if he’ll be in there long?”“I wouldn’t want to say for...
Joe Has Hopes
“Yes, here’s the very thing, I guess!” said Joe, after rummaging about in his leather tool case. He produced a short but heavy bolt with a nut.“It isn’t exactly the same thing,” remarked Darrell, after looking at it carefully, “but it will do, if it’s long enough. Would you mind holding Prince’s head while I try it? He might start up, just as I got the shaft in place, and hurt my fingers, if he didn’t make me drop the bolt. Then we’d have a sweet time hunting for it in the dark.”Joe went to the animal’s head and patted the cold, velvety nose while the other lad lifted up the dropped shaft and fitted it in place. He was fumbling about in the flickering light of the bicycle lantern which he had temporarily fastened to the dashboard.“Will it do?” asked Joe.“Yes, it’s just the cheese. Lucky I met you, or, rather that you met me, or I don’t know what I would have done. The bolt is just long enough. Now if I can get the nut on——”“There’s a wrench in my tool bag,” interrupted Joe. “Shall I get it for you?”“No, thanks, you stay by Prince. I can find it. You haven’t been in town long, have you?” asked Darrell, as he was working away over the nut, which was a little tight.“No, about a week. I was at the Resolute ball game though.”“You were? It was a shame it broke up the way it did, but I don’t think it was our fault, though Sam Morton is pretty quick tempered.”Joe had good reason to know that.“No,” he answered from the darkness near the horse’s head, “it was the fault of the Resolutes all right. They ought to have been satisfied after pulling the game out of the fire the way they did.”“I should say so! They never ought to have won it, and they wouldn’t have, only Sam sort of—well they got his ‘goat’ I guess.”“Yes,” assented Joe, while Darrell went on fumbling with the wrench and nut.“Do you play at all?” came the manager’s voice from the vicinity of the flickering light.“Oh, yes,” and Joe’s tone was eager while his heart was strangely beating. It was a chance he had never dared hope for, to have the manager of the Silver Stars ask him that.“Where?” came the next inquiry.“In Bentville, where I used to live.”“Oh. Have...
Laughed at
“What’s that in your pocket, Joe?”“Which pocket?”“Your coat. I declare, you’ve got something in both pockets,” and Clara approached her brother as if with the intention of making a personal inspection of two big bulges on either side of his coat. “What are they?” she persisted, as Joe backed away. Brother and sister had just gotten up from the breakfast table, and were about to start to school.“Oh, never mind!” exclaimed Joe hastily, as he looked for his cap. “Got your lessons, Clara?”“Of course I have. But I’m curious to know what makes your pockets bulge out so. Don’t you know it will spoil your coat?”“I don’t care,” and Joe made another hasty move to get out of reach of Clara’s outstretched hand. But he was not successful, and, with a laugh, his sister caught hold of the bulging pocket on his left side.“A ball!” she declared. “A baseball upon my word! Two of them! Oh, Joe, are you really going to play on the nine Saturday?”“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll get a chance if Jed McGraw leaves in time. But I’m taking a couple of old balls to practice throwing this afternoon when I come from school.”“You’re starting in early,” commented Clara. “I hope you don’t sleep with a baseball under your pillow the way we girls do with pieces of wedding cake,” and she laughed merrily.“I’d be willing to sleep with a ball and a bat under my pillow if I thought I’d get in the game by it,” admitted Joe frankly. “But I’m not hoping too much. Well, I’m going. Good-bye momsey,” and he stopped to kiss his mother before he hastened away to school. He looked at her closely to discover whether there was any trace of worry, but she smiled at him.“I may not be home early,” he told her. “I’m going down to the fairgrounds.”“What for?” she asked quickly. “There isn’t a show there, is there?”“No, but I want to do a little baseball practicing, and that place is well out of the way.”“Baseball practice on the fairgrounds. How——”But she did not wait to finish her question for she exclaimed:“My cake is burning in the oven. Good-bye, Joe!” and she ran to the kitchen.“I wonder what Sam Morton will say?” Joe reflected as he walked along. “I certainly hope his arm isn’t lame, even if it was as much his fault as mine. I...
A Mean Protest
Finally Sam ceased his laughter, straightened up and prepared to ride out of the fairgrounds on his wheel.“I was just going past,” he said, in needless explanation, “when I heard something banging against the fence. First I thought it might be one of the cattle left over from the last show, but when I saw it was you, Matson—Oh, my! It’s too rich! I’ll have to tell the boys.”“Look here!” exclaimed Joe, who disliked as much as any one being laughed at, “what have you got against me, anyhow? Are you afraid I’ll displace you as pitcher?”“What’s that? Not much. You couldn’t do that you know,” and Sam laughed again.“Then what do you want to be so mean for?” asked Joe.“None of your business, if you want to know,” snapped Sam. “But if you think you’re going to get on our team you’ve got another think coming. Look out, now, don’t break the fence with those balls, or the fair committee might make you pay for it,” and with this parting insult Sam rode out of the grounds.Joe’s heart was beating fast, and he clenched his hands. He would liked to have gone after Sam and given him a well deserved thrashing, but he knew that would never do.“I’ve just got to grin and bear it!” murmured Joe through his clenched teeth. “If the fellows laugh at me I’ll have to let ’em laugh. After all I can stand it, and I do want to get on the team.“Queer why Sam Morton should be so down on me. I don’t see his reason unless it’s jealousy, or because he’s mad at me for running into him. Maybe it’s both.“Well, there’s no use practicing any longer. My arm is tired, and besides he might be hiding behind the fence to laugh some more. I’ll have to find a different place if I want to practice getting up my speed and curves.”Picking up the balls and his books Joe slowly made his way out of the grounds. Sam Morton was nowhere in sight, for which the young ball player was glad.“Maybe this will end it,” thought Joe. “He just wanted to amuse himself at my expense.” But our hero was soon to find that the vindictive spirit of the pitcher was not quelled.“Coming out to see us practice this afternoon?” asked Tom Davis of Joe several days later. “We’re getting ready to...
Joe in the Game
There was a period of silence following Sam’s unfair protest. Then could be heard a low murmur from some of his mates.“Oh, what’s eating him, anyhow?”“What’s he got against Matson?”“Something has Sam by the ear all right.”“Yes, guess he didn’t like the way the scrub batted him around.”These were some of the comments made, not loud enough for Sam to hear, for he was a power in the nine, and none of the lads wanted to get on bad terms with him.For a moment all eyes were turned on Sam and then toward Joe who, it can easily be imagined, was much embarrassed.“I don’t think your protest is a fair one,” said Darrell at length.“I don’t think so either,” added Captain George Rankin. “Just because Matson is a newcomer in town is no reason why he can’t play with us.”“Sure, that’s right!” put in Seth Potter. “You weren’t born here yourself, Sam, and neither were lots of us. We moved here.”“I’ve lived in Riverside nearly all my life,” snapped the pitcher, “and I like to see a representative team. If we need a new member why not pick one who has been living here longer than a couple of weeks?”“Look here!” exclaimed Darrell. “I don’t think this is fair to me.”“How do you mean?” asked Sam, for the manager had spoken with some warmth.“Just this much. You elected me manager and the captain and I were to select the players. Now, when we make our choice, there comes a kick. It isn’t right. Rankin and I decided to give Matson a chance, and he gets it. That goes, too!” and the manager looked straight at Sam.“Oh, well, if you put it that way I suppose I might as well keep still about it,” and Sam, shrugging his shoulders, turned away. He had not yet shaken hands with Joe.“As for there being other players just as good and who have lived here longer, that may be true,” went on Darrell. “I’m not saying Matson is the only fellow I could pick for centre field, and I’m not saying anything against any of the fellows on the scrub when I don’t take them. We want the best team we can get to represent the Silver Stars and Matson is my choice for the place. If you want to go over my head——”“No! No!” came a chorus of objections. “It’s all right!”“Then Matson...
A Tight Contest
“Strike one!” yelled the young umpire, as the ball landed with a resounding thud in Bart Ferguson’s big mitt.“That’s the stuff!” called several in the crowd.“Send back the Reds with a whitewash brush,” added another enthusiast.“I guess Sam’s in form to-day,” remarked Tom Davis to Rodney Burke near whom he sat. Tom was not playing, for Darrell was holding down the initial bag.“Wait a bit and see what happens along about the seventh inning,” said Rodney. “Sam generally falls down then if he’s going to.”“Well, I hope he doesn’t, that’s all,” said Tom, and then he gave all his attention to watching the game.“Ball one,” was the next decision of the umpire.“Aw what’s the matter with you?” cried Sam, starting toward home where Bart stood holding the ball. “That clipped the plate as good as anyone would want. You’d better get a pair of glasses, Kern. You can’t see straight.”“I can see as well as you!” retorted Frank Kern, the umpire.“It wasn’t anywhere near over the plate,” retorted Jack King, the batter.“Aw, you don’t know a good ball when you get one,” snapped Sam. “I guess——”“That’ll do now!” called Darrell sharply from first. “This isn’t a kid game. Play ball. Don’t be always kicking, Sam.”“Who is always kicking?” demanded the pitcher, and it was evident to all that he was in unusually bad temper.“I hope it isn’t on my account,” thought Joe who, from his position in deep centre, was waiting for anything that might come his way. He had been told to play far out, for King was known as a heavy hitter.Sam received the ball from Bart with a scowl and wound up for the next delivery. Sam was a natural pitcher. That is, he had good control, as a rule, and he made his shoulder and back do most of the work of the pitching arm, as all professionals do. Still his unpleasant temper often made his efforts go to waste.“Strike two!” called the umpire this time, and there was no doubt about it for King had swung viciously at the ball. But Sam had sent in a puzzling little drop, and the knowledge that he had fooled a good batter brought a smile to his otherwise scowling face.“Here’s where I get you!” he predicted.But alas for his hopes! The bat met the ball squarely and Sam had made the mistake of sending a fast ball to...
Joe’s Run
“Water here! Bring some water!” yelled Smart, who was holding down second base for the Reds. “He’s fainted I guess.”There was a rush of players toward Joe, and Darrell was the first to reach him.“What’s the matter, old man?” he asked sympathetically.“I’m afraid I spiked him,” answered Smart, ruefully. “I jumped for the ball, and came down on his hand I guess.”“Too bad,” murmured Darrell.They turned Joe over, for he was lying on his face, and saw his left hand covered with blood.“Where’s that first-aid kit?” called Tom Davis, who had rushed on the field on seeing his friend hurt.“Here it is,” answered Rodney Burke, who acted as the amateur surgeon on the few times his services had been required. “I’ll bandage it up. Had we better get a doctor?”Meanwhile some water had been sprinkled in Joe’s face and some forced between his lips. He opened his eyes as the others were washing the blood from his hand.“I—I’m all right,” he murmured, as he strove to rise.“Now that’s all right—you just lie still,” commanded Darrell. “Look at it Rod, and see how bad it is.”Fortunately the wound was not as serious as had at first seemed and when cleansed of dirt and blood it was seen to be a long cut, lengthwise of the finger.“I’ll have that done up in a jiffy,” remarked Rodney, who was not a little proud of his skill. His father was a physician, and had shown the son how to make simple bandages. The wound was cleansed with an antiseptic solution and wrapped in the long narrow strips of bandage cloth. Joe got to his feet while this was being done, and, after a little water containing aromatic spirits of ammonia had been given to him, he declared that he was all right.“Are you sure?” asked Darrell anxiously.“Sure, I’ll bring in a run yet if some one knocks the ball far enough,” said Joe with a smile, though it was rather a feeble one.“Nonsense, you can’t run after that,” exclaimed Murphy, the Red captain. “Give him a man,” he added generously to his rival. “We don’t care.”“I think I had better send Newton down to run for you,” said Captain Rankin.“But I’m going to play,” insisted Joe.“Yes, next inning,” he was assured, and the game went on.However, even the substitution of a runner in Joe’s place availed nothing, as the side was soon afterward retired...
Discontent
“Leg it, Joe! Leg it!”“Keep on! Keep on!”“He can’t get you in time!”“A home run! A homer, old man!”“Keep a-going! Keep a-going!”These and other frantic appeals and bits of advice were hurled at Joe as he dashed madly on. He had a glimpse of the centre fielder racing madly after the ball, and then he felt for the first time that he really had a chance to make a home run. Still he knew that the ball travels fast when once thrown, and it might be relayed in, for he saw the second baseman running back to assist the centre fielder.“But I’m going to beat it!” panted Joe to himself.The grandstand and bleachers were now a mass of yelling excited spectators. There was a good attendance at the game, many women and girls being present, and Joe could hear their shrill voices mingling with the hoarser shouts of the men and boys.“Keep on! Keep on!” he heard yelled encouragingly at him.“That’s the stuff, old man!” shouted Darrell, who was coaching at the third base line.“Shall I go in?” cried Joe as he turned the last bag.Darrell took a swift glance toward the field. He saw what Joe could not. The centre fielder instead of relaying in the ball by the second baseman (for the throw was too far for him), had attempted to get it to third alone. Darrell knew it would fall short.“Yes! Yes!” he howled. “Go on in, Joe! Go on in!”And Joe went.Just as the manager had anticipated, the ball fell short, and the pitcher who had run down to cover second had to run out of the diamond to get it. It was an error in judgment, and helped Joe to make his sensational run.He was well on his way home now, but the pitcher had the ball and was throwing it to the catcher.“Slide, Joe! Slide!” yelled Darrell above the wild tumult of the other players and the spectators.Joe kept on until he knew a slide would be effective and then, dropping like a shot, he fairly tore through the dust, feet first, toward home plate. His shoes covered it as the ball came with a thud into the outstretched hands of the catcher.“Safe!” yelled the umpire, and there was no questioning his decision.“Good play!” yelled the crowd.“That’s the stuff, old man!” exclaimed Darrell, rushing up and clapping Joe on the back.“A few more like...
Scientific Practice
There was a period of silence following Sam’s offer of his resignation, and no one seemed to know just what to say. Several of the lads glanced at Joe, as if expecting him to say something in his own defense. In fact the young centre fielder was about to speak but he did not get the chance, for Sam exclaimed again:“Well, do you want my resignation, Darrell?”“You know I don’t!” declared the manager.“Then things have got to be changed!”“Look here!” burst out Darrell. “I’ve stood about all I’m going to from you, Sam Morton. There has got to be a change in this team.”“That’s just what I’m giving you a chance to make,” the pitcher fairly sneered. “You can fill my place any time you like.”“But I’m not going to,” and though Darrell spoke pleasantly there was a sternness in his words. “Fellows, it’s like this,” he went on. “The Silver Stars are a good team and you know it. So does every one in this town, but the last two games we’ve played in hard luck, and——”“Do you mean to say it was my pitching?” demanded Sam.“No more than it was the way we all played. As I said, we’ve got to take a brace. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Sam, to say you’ll resign if Joe Matson plays. What have you against him?”“Well, I hate to see a newcomer made so much of. Here we fellows have worked hard all season, and——”“And you’re going to work hard the rest of the season!” exclaimed Darrell. “Let me tell you that! I’m not going to hear any more talk of resignations, and this bickering has got to stop. Otherwise we’ll be the laughing stock of the county. You all played pretty well to-day, but you all need to do better.”“All but Matson; I suppose he’s the star,” sneered Sam.“Look here,” burst out Joe, unable to stand the taunts of the pitcher any longer, “if you think——”“Now, go easy,” advised Darrell with a smile. “I’m giving this little lecture. I give Matson due credit for one of the three runs we got,” he went on, “but that’s not saying that he didn’t make errors. We all did.“Oh, fellows!” he pleaded and they could see that he was very much in earnest, “let’s get together and wallop every nine we play against from now on! Take a brace. Forget all...
A Kettle of Apple Sauce
“Well, Joe, are you all ready?” It was Tom Davis, and he had called at Joe’s house on his way from school, as Tom had to remain in physics class to finish an experiment, and Joe had gone on ahead.“I sure am, Tom. Where are we going to practice? Over on the fairgrounds?”“No, that’s too far. We’ll go down in the vacant lots back of Mrs. Peterkin’s house. There’s a high fence back of her house and that will be a good backstop, in case I can’t hold your hot ones.”“Oh, I guess you can all right,” replied Joe with a laugh, “though I wish I did have lots of speed.”“Say now, don’t make that mistake,” said Tom earnestly, as Joe came out to join him, having picked up some old balls and a pitcher’s glove.“What mistake?”“Trying for speed before you have control. I saw an article about that in the pitching book last night. I brought it along. Here it is,” and both boys looked eagerly over the book as they walked along.As Tom had said, some of the best authorities on pitching did advocate the trying for control before a prospective boxman endeavored to get either speed or curves.“The thing seems to be,” remarked Joe, “to get a ball just where you want it, ten times out of ten if you can, and then when you can do that, try for the in and out shoots and the drop.”“That’s it,” agreed Tom. “Are you any good at throwing stones?”“I don’t know. Why?”“Well, one fellow says that the lad who can throw a stone straight can generally throw a ball straight. We’ll have a contest when we get down to the lots. Nobody will see us there.”“I hope not,” remarked Joe. “I don’t want to be laughed at the way I was when Sam caught me down at the fairgrounds. I guess he thought I was trying for his place then, and that’s what made him mad.”The two friends were soon down behind the high board fence that marked the boundaries of the Peterkin property. It was rather a large place—the Peterkin one—and was occupied by an aged couple. Mrs. Alvirah Peterkin was quite a housewife, always engaged in some kitchen or other household duties, while Ebenezer, her husband “puttered” around the garden, as the folks of Riverside expressed it.“Well, I guess we’re all ready,” remarked Tom, when he...
Joe Overhears Something
“Are you the boys who threw the baseball through my kitchen window into my kettle of apple sauce?” demanded Mrs. Peterkin, as she confronted the two culprits.“I threw it,” admitted Joe.“But we didn’t know it went into the apple sauce,” added Tom.“Nor through the window,” spoke Joe for want of something better to say. “It was a wild throw.”“Humph!” exclaimed the irate lady. “I don’t know what kind of a throw it was but I know I was wild when I saw my kitchen. I never saw such a sight in all my born days—never! You come and look at it.”“If—if you please I’d rather not,” said Joe quickly. “I’ll pay you whatever damages you say, but I—I——”“I just want you to see that kitchen!” insisted Mrs. Peterkin. “It’s surprising how mischievous boys can be when they try.”“But we didn’t try,” put in Tom. “This was an accident.”“Come and see my kitchen!” repeated Mrs. Peterkin firmly and she seemed capable of taking them each by an ear and leading them in.“You—you’d better go,” advised Mr. Peterkin gently.So they went, and truly the sight that met their eyes showed them that Mrs. Peterkin had some excuse for being angry. On the stove there had been cooking a large kettle of sauce made from early apples. The window near the stove had been left open and through the casement the ball, thrown with all Joe’s strength, had flown, landing fairly into the middle of the soft sauce.The result may easily be imagined. It splattered all over the floor, half way up on the side walls, and there were even spots of the sauce on the ceiling. The top of the stove was covered with it, and as the lids were hot they had burned the sugar to charcoal, while the kitchen was filled with smoke and fumes.“There!” cried Mrs. Peterkin, as she waved her hand at the scene of ruin. “Did you ever see such a kitchen as that? And it was clean scrubbed only this morning! Did you ever see anything like that? Tell me!”Joe and Tom were both forced to murmur that they had never beheld such a sight before. And they added with equal but unexpressed truth that they hoped they never would again.“I’m willing to pay for the damage,” said Joe once more, and his hand went toward his pocket. “It was an accident.”“Maybe it was,” sniffed Mrs....
Mr. Matson is Alarmed
Joe Matson did not know what to do. He wanted to rush away from where he was concealed, get home as quickly as possible, and tell his father what he had overheard. While Mr. Matson’s name had not been mentioned, knowing, as Joe did, that his parent was engaged on some patents, seeing Mr. Benjamin, manager of the Harvester works, and having heard the conversation between him and Mr. Holdney, the lad was almost certain that some danger threatened his father.“And yet I can’t get away from here until they’re well out of sight,” reasoned Joe. “If I go now they’ll see or hear me, and they’ll be bound to suspect something. Yet I’d like to warn dad as soon as I can. There’s no telling when they may put up some job against him.”But Joe could only crouch down there and wait.At length he could stand it no longer. He reasoned that the men must be far enough away by this time to make it safe for him to emerge.“They’re on the road to Riverside,” thought Joe, “and I may run into them, but if I see them I can slip into the fields and go around. Mr. Benjamin doesn’t know me, for he’s hardly ever noticed me when I’ve been to the Harvester works to see dad. But Mr. Holdney might remember me. I can’t take any chances.”Cautiously he emerged from the bushes, and looked as far down the road as he could. There was no one in sight, and he started off. A little distance farther on, the road made a sharp turn and, just at the angle stood an old barn which hid the rest of the highway from sight until one was right at the turn. It was a dangerous place for vehicles, but the owner of the barn had refused to set it back.No sooner had Joe turned this corner than he came full upon Mr. Benjamin and Mr. Holdney standing just around the barn, apparently in deep conversation. At the sight of Joe they looked up quickly, and Mr. Benjamin exclaimed:“Ha! Perhaps this lad can tell us. We want to hire a carriage. Do you know any one around here who would let us take one for a short time?”Joe, who had started back at the unexpected sight of the two men, took courage on hearing this, and realizing that he had not...
A Throwing Contest
“Ha!” exclaimed Mr. Benjamin. “There’s that same lad again!”“What lad?” quickly demanded Mr. Holdney. “Oh, the one who sent us out this rig. I wonder——”“Did you want to see any one around the works?” interrupted Mr. Benjamin. “I don’t want to seem impolite, after the service you rendered, but we don’t allow loiterers here.”A number of thoughts passed rapidly through Joe’s mind. He realized that his father might come out at any moment and be seen by the manager carrying off the valuable patterns. Mr. Matson ought to be warned, for Joe realized that if they were to frustrate the conspiracy it would be best that the men did not know that they were on the verge of discovery.“I want to take a message to Mr. Matson,” said Joe boldly, for this was the truth. He had quickly formed a plan in his mind, and he hoped that it would not be discovered that he was Mr. Matson’s son. It was this very trick of quick thinking that afterward became of so much service to Joe in his notable career on the diamond.“Oh, then it’s all right,” said Mr. Benjamin. “You may go in. You’ll find Mr. Matson in his office, I dare say.” He smiled at Joe in what he doubtless meant to be a friendly fashion, but the young baseball player could not help but see the hypocrisy in it.Not pausing to exchange any other talk, Joe slipped in through the big iron gate and made his way to his father’s office. He had been there before.Just as he reached it the heavy whistle blew, announcing closing time, and hundreds of hands began pouring from the various machine and casting shops.“Hello, Joe!” called Seth Potter, who played left field for the Silver Stars. “What you doing here, looking for a job?” Seth was employed in one of the offices, and was considered a valuable young man.“Yes, I want to learn how to make a machine so I don’t miss any flies that come my way,” laughed Joe.“That’s right! Going to play with us Saturday?”“I hope so,” and then, with a few other pleasant words, Seth hurried on, and Joe sought his father. He found Mr. Matson wrapping up some models.“Quick dad!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Benjamin and Mr. Holdney are out at the gate. They just drove up. I slipped in to warn you!”“Good, Joe! I’m glad you did....
Another Defeat
For a moment there was some embarrassment, as Sam was not in the habit of mingling with this crowd of boys. He had his own friends, not very many, to tell the truth, but he was usually with them. The lads did not know exactly how to take his request, but Joe came to the rescue.“Sure you can come in,” he said heartily. “We’re just seeing who can put the most balls in the basket.”“What good do you think that does?” asked Sam.“Well, doesn’t it help a fellow to get a straight aim?” asked Tom, half defiantly.“Oh, I don’t know,” was the rather sneering answer. “It might, if you kept at it long enough.”“Let’s see you try it,” suggested Rodney Burke, who did not hold Sam in much awe.Carelessly the Silver Star pitcher accepted a ball that Joe obligingly held out. He threw quickly and the ball landed squarely in the basket. Then he did the trick again, and there was a little murmur of applause, for only a few of the boys had “two straight” to their credit.“Joe did three straight a while ago,” said Tom proudly. “He and I are playing off a tie.”Sam did not answer but threw again, and the ball went wide of the basket by two feet at least. Rodney laughed.“You’re not such a much, even if you are the pitcher,” he declared.“Who asked you anything about it?” demanded Sam savagely.He darted a look of anger at the lad, but as Rodney was well built and had a reputation for “scrappiness” Sam concluded not to tackle him just then.“I’ll show you how to throw!” he exclaimed the next moment, and two balls went squarely in the basket. “Now, let’s see you and Matson play it off,” commanded Sam to Tom as though he was in the habit of having his wishes complied with.Whether it was nervousness or not, or whether he wanted to see his chum do well when Sam was present, was not made manifest, but Tom did not come up to his previous record, and Joe easily won. In fact Joe made a much better score than Sam, and there were several curious glances directed at the pitcher.“Don’t you want to try it some more?” asked Rodney Burke, and there was mockery in his voice.“No!” half-growled Sam. “I’ve got to save my arm for the next game. We’re going to win that...
Joe is Watched
There was an uproar in an instant. Players started for Sam and the unoffending lad whom he had struck. There were savage yells, calling for vengeance. Even Sam’s mates, used as they were to his fits of temper, were not prepared for this. The Whizzer players were wild to get at him, but, instinctively Darrell, Joe, Rankin, and some of the others of the Silver Stars formed a protecting cordon about their pitcher.“Are you crazy, Sam? What in the world did you do that for?” demanded the manager.“He made a rank decision, an unfair one!” cried Sam, “and when I called him down he was going to hit me. I got in ahead of him—that’s all.”“That’s not so!” cried the Whizzer captain. “I saw it all.”“That’s right!” chimed in some of his mates.“Farson never raised his hand to him!” declared another lad, who had been standing near the umpire. “You’re a big coward to hit a chap smaller than you are!” he called tauntingly to Sam.“Well, I’m not afraid to hit you!” cried the pitcher, who seemed to have lost control of himself. “And if you want anything you know how to get it.”“Yes, and I’m willing to take it right now,” yelled the other, stepping up to Sam.There might have been another fight then and there, for both lads were unreasonable with anger, but Darrell quickly stepped in between them.“Look here!” burst out the Stars’ manager, in what he tried to make a good-natured and reasoning voice, “this has got to stop. We didn’t come here to fight, we came to play baseball and you trimmed us properly.”“Then why don’t you fellows take your medicine?” demanded the home captain. “What right has he got to tackle our umpire?”“No right at all,” admitted Darrell. “Sam was in the wrong and he’ll apologize. He probably thought the man was out.”“And he was out!” exploded the unreasonable pitcher. “I’ll not apologize, either.”“Wipe up the field with ’em!” came in murmurs from the home players. Several of the lads had grasped their bats.It was a critical moment and Darrell felt it. He pulled Sam to one side and whispered rapidly and tensely in his ear:“Sam, you’ve got to apologize, and you’ve got to admit that the runner was safe. There’s no other way out of it.”“Suppose I won’t?”There was defiance in Sam’s air. Darrell took a quick decision.“Then I’ll put you out of...
“Would You Like to Pitch?”
“Come now, fellows, let’s get into practice. Are all the scrub here?”Darrell Blackney looked around over the diamond, where about twenty lads were assembled one fine afternoon.“I don’t know about the scrub, but all our fellows are on hand,” replied Rankin. “Is it all arranged about the game Saturday?”“Yes, we’re to play the Fayetteville Academy lads on their grounds.”“A trip out of town, eh? That’s two in two weeks.”“Well it gives our fellows experience in playing on some other diamond than their own.”“Oh, it doesn’t much matter. The Fayettevilles will be easy fruit for us.”“Don’t be too sure. They’re a younger team, that’s true, and they haven’t been doing well this season, but neither have we of late.”“Oh, we’ll beat ’em,” declared the captain confidently.“I think so myself, but I don’t want you to take too many chances. Here comes Sam. You and he get in for some warm-up work, Bart, and I’ll get the scrub together.”Darrell went about the diamond, calling to the various members of the “scrub,” or second team.“We haven’t any pitcher,” remarked Blake Carrington, who acted as captain of the scrub organization.“What’s the matter with Slater?”“He hasn’t showed up, and none of the other fellows feel like getting in the box against you boys. You’ll have to find us a pitcher before we can play.”A sudden idea came to Darrell.“All right,” he answered. “I guess I can. Wait a minute.”He ran over to where Rankin was talking to some of his players.“Can you play Tom Davis in centre field for to-day?” asked the manager.“Yes, I guess so. Why?”“I’m going to have Joe Matson pitch on the scrub. It will be a good time to get a line on him, and I’ll see if he shapes up as well as the day he did when I watched him practice.”“All right; maybe it will be a good idea.”Joe hardly knew what to say when Darrell, as calmly as if he had done it several times before, asked him to go in the box for the scrub and pitch against the Silver Stars.“And do your best,” added Darrell. “I don’t care how many of our fellows you strike out. Every one, if you can.”Joe’s heart gave a bound of delight. It might be the beginning of the very chance he had been waiting for so long. He calmed himself with an effort for he did not want to get...
To the Rescue
Joe Matson felt as though he was walking in the air when he went home that afternoon following the scrub game. That his ambition was about to be realized, and so soon after joining the team, was almost unbelievable.“Why, what’s the matter, Joe?” asked Clara, as her brother fairly pranced into the house, caught her around the waist and swung her in the start 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 the way 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 at putting ’em over. Of course I’d like to go the whole nine innings but I can’t have everything at the start. It’s mighty decent of Darrell to give 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 of my 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 want to and see yours truly do himself proud.”Joe hunted up his mother to tell her the good news. He found her in the room which his father had fitted up as a workshop since the suspicious actions of Mr. Benjamin at the harvester factory. Mrs. Matson was looking over some papers, and there was on her face the same worried look Joe had seen there before.“Has anything happened, mother?” he asked quickly, his own good news fading away as he thought of the trouble that might menace his father.“No, only the same trouble about the patent,” she said. “There is nothing new, but your father thinks from the recent actions of Mr. Benjamin that the manager suspects something. Your father is getting some papers ready to go to Washington, and I was looking them over for him. I used to work in a lawyer’s office when I was a girl,” she went on with a smile, “and I know a little...
A Delayed Pitcher
The motorman was grinding away at the brakes but the heavy car continued to slide on, for the hill was steep. The horse lay quiet now, for a man had managed to get to him and sit on his head, so the animal could not kick and thresh about with the consequent danger of getting his legs under the trolley. The car would pass the horse and the wagon by a good margin, but the boy, leaning far over, was sure to be hit unless Joe saved him, and no one in the street seemed to think of the boy’s danger. He said later that he did not realize it himself.The lad was struggling to free himself but could not, and he did not seem to be able to raise himself to an upright position on the seat, in which case he would have been safe.“Steady now!” called Joe, and he braced himself for the shock he knew would come.The next instant, as the car kept on, Joe found himself opposite the lad and reaching forward his right hand he grasped him by the collar, shoving him away so the car would not strike him. Then, holding on in grim despair Joe pulled the youth toward him, aided by the momentum of the vehicle. His idea was to get him aboard the car to prevent his being struck by it, and in this he succeeded.There was a ripping sound, for some part of the lad’s clothing was caught on the seat and tore loose. A shower of boxes and baskets followed the body as it slid forward, and a moment later Joe had the lad on the foot board beside him, safe and sound, but very much astonished by his sudden descent from the wagon seat.Joe felt an excruciating pain shoot through his arm—his pitching arm. It was numb from the shock but even yet he did not dare let go, for the lad was on uncertain footing. The pain increased. It was like being kicked by the back-fire of an auto or motor boat. For a moment there was a dull sensation and then the outraged nerves and muscles seemed to cry out in agony.“There—there!” murmured Joe between his clenched teeth to the lad he had saved. “You’re all right I guess. Will—will somebody——”He did not finish, but turned to the conductor, who had rushed toward him on the...
Joe in the Box
“Well, when are you fellows going to start?” asked Tony Johnson, captain of the Academy nine, as he ceased his catching practice with Ed. Wilson, the pitcher. “The game ought to have been called ten minutes ago.”“Our pitcher isn’t here,” said Darrell anxiously. “We’re expecting him every minute. If you could wait a little longer——”“Haven’t you any one else you can put in?” asked Ferd Backus, the manager. “I saw some one practicing a while ago.”“He isn’t our regular pitcher,” said George Rankin, “but if Sam doesn’t come we’ll have to lead off with him.”Joe had been aware that Sam was not on hand. He looked up as car after car passed the grounds, thinking to see Sam enter, for the electric vehicles from Riverside ran close to the Academy diamond.“I suppose they’ll put Parnell in at the start,” Joe mused, naming the second baseman who sometimes acted as pitcher for the Stars. Joe did not dare hope that he himself would be chosen.“Well, how much longer?” demanded Johnson, when two more cars had passed and Sam was on neither of them. “We want to finish this game before dark.”“All right,” assented Darrell briskly. “Get your men ready, Rankin.”“But who will pitch?”“Joe Matson, of course. It’s the only thing we can do. Take the field, fellows. Joe, take your place in the box!”“Who—me?” gasped our hero, unable to believe the words.“Yes, you,” and Darrell smiled. “Do your prettiest now. You’re going in at the beginning instead of at the end. It’s different from what I planned, but I guess I can depend on you. Hold ’em down!”“I will!” cried Joe fiercely and he forgot his injured arm.“Play ball!” ordered the umpire and Joe took his place as pitcher for the Silver Stars for the first time. No wonder his heart beat faster than usual. The Stars were to bat last, Rankin having won the toss. It must be remembered that these boys were amateur players and did not always follow league rules of having the home team up last.The usual number of practice balls were allowed between Joe and the catcher at the plate and Bart noted with satisfaction that Joe was cool and steady and that he did not try for speed.Then the first man for the Academy—their best hitter—faced our hero. Bart gave the signal for a slow straight ball over the plate at an angle. It was...
Sam Arrives
Whether the Stars were determined to show their opponents what they could do when they tried or whether it was because they wanted to show their confidence in Joe, or even whether it was due to a slump in the playing of the Academy team, was not made manifest, but at any rate in their half of the sixth inning our friends gathered in four runs, making the score ten to three in their favor.“Oh, it’s a walk-over,” boasted Tom Davis as he did an impromptu war dance.“Yes, we’ve got ’em beat a mile,” added Seth Potter.“Don’t be too sure,” commented the Academy captain. “No game is won until it’s over and we’ve got three more innings yet. The seventh is always our lucky number.”“You’re welcome to all you can get,” rejoined Captain Rankin with a laugh. “Seven is where we always eat pie, too.”The Stars were about to take the field for the beginning of the seventh when there was a commotion over at one entrance gate. A lad came running through the crowd.“Hold on!” he cried. “Wait! I’m going to play. Let me pitch!”“Sam Morton!” burst out Tom Davis. “Why couldn’t he stay away until we had the game won? I’ll bet we slump as soon as he goes in the box.”Sam came on running. He was panting and out of breath.“What’s the matter? Where were you?” demanded Darrell.“I got on—the wrong car. I thought it—came here. They—took me off—in the woods—somewhere. I’ve had an awful time—getting here. Is the game—over?”“No, we’re just starting the seventh.”“Can’t I pitch?”Darrell hesitated. It was a perfectly natural request for Sam and yet Joe had been doing so well that both the manager and the captain disliked to take him off the mound.“Can’t I pitch?” again demanded Sam. “You don’t mean to tell me that Joe Matson has——”“Joe hasn’t done anything but what we wanted him to,” put in Rankin quickly, “and he’s made a good record.”“Oh, I suppose so,” sneered Sam. “Well, if you don’t want me to——”“Of course you can pitch,” said Darrell quietly. It was unquestioningly Sam’s right and though he was in rather an exhausted condition still the manager and captain knew that he was at his best early in his game.“What are you going to do; change pitchers?” demanded the manager of the Academy team, striding up to Darrell and Captain Rankin.“Yes.”“You can’t do it now.”“Why not?”“It’s...
Joe Foils the Plotters
There was a carriage waiting just outside the ball grounds, a carriage drawn by one horse. A man whom Joe had never seen before, so far as he knew, held the reins.“There’s the man who wants you,” explained the lad who had acted as messenger.“Who is he?” asked the young pitcher quickly. “I don’t know him. Where did he come from? Where did you meet him?”“I guess he’ll tell you all you want to know,” said the lad. “All I know is that I was standing outside the ball grounds after the game, and he give me that note to bring in to you. I didn’t come with him.”“Oh, I see,” replied Joe, but he was wondering who the man was, and how the fellow came to know that he was in Fayetteville.“Hope I didn’t take you away from the game,” began the man with what he evidently meant for a pleasant smile. Yet, somehow Joe did not like that smile. The man seemed to have a shifty glance and Joe mistrusted him.“Oh, the game is over,” answered the young pitcher. “I didn’t play in the last part. But what is the matter? Is my mother or father ill?”“It’s nothing serious,” spoke the man. “No one is ill. I came to get you about your father’s patents.”“Oh!” exclaimed Joe. He felt a sensation of relief until he realized the danger that threatened his father’s inventions. Then he asked: “What’s wrong? Is Mr.——” Then he stopped for he did not know whether or not to mention names to this stranger.“I can’t give you any particulars,” said the man with another smile. “All I can say is that they engaged me to come and get you to save time.”“Who engaged you?” asked Joe.“Your father,” replied the man. “He sent me off in a hurry and said I’d find you at this game. I sent you in the note by the lad. Your father had no time to write one, but you are to go to him at once. He wants you to help him about the patent models I think. We’d better hurry.”Joe’s suspicions vanished at once. He knew his father was preparing to send on some models to Washington and now probably some need of haste had arisen necessitating his aid. He climbed up into the carriage, and though he noted at the time that the rig did not seem to...
Sam Resigns
“Those desperate men! You must have them arrested at once!” exclaimed Mrs. Matson when Joe, a little later, had reached home, having left the horse and carriage at the local livery stable to be claimed. “You ought to go to the police at once, John! Why think of what might have happened to Joe,” for the boy had told the whole story.“Oh, it wasn’t so bad,” said Joe who, now that the excitement was over, and he had so completely turned the tables on the plotters, was rather inclined to laugh at the experience.“There are worse things than that done to get possession of valuable patents,” said Mr. Matson. “Those men are evidently desperate, though why Mr. Holdney should turn against me I cannot understand. But I would rather wait, and take no action right away. My work is almost finished and if all goes well I shall soon be independent of the harvester people. If, however, there is a slip-up I will be dependent on my position for a living. I think I will wait and see what develops.”But in the morning there was a new turn to affairs. It was announced at the harvester factory that Mr. Benjamin had gone away for an indefinite stay, and a new manager had his place. This made it unnecessary for Mr. Matson to say anything. He wrote a strong letter of protest to Mr. Holdney, and then worked harder than ever to get his patents in shape so he would be fully protected in them.As for Joe he said nothing to any of his chums about his experience. The rig was claimed later by a man who would not give his name, and who drove off hurriedly, as if he feared arrest.“And now I’m going to get back to baseball,” announced the young pitcher.His arm got better rapidly after the Academy game, and he was soon pitching in practice with his former vim and vigor. He was now regarded as the regular substitute twirler for the Silver Stars.Sam Morton, too, was regular in his practice, and there seemed to be something different about him. He was more careful in his conduct, and not as surly as he had been. He accepted criticism in a better spirit, and in one game against the scrub he did such unusually excellent work that the manager complimented him.“Just keep that up on Saturday,” said Darrell,...
Bad News
Joe was plainly nervous. Being called on so suddenly had its effect as did the unexpected action of Sam in resigning because Joe had supplanted him. But the young pitcher knew that he must pull himself together.The game was slipping away from the Stars and the crowd of shouters that accompanied the Blues would redouble their efforts to get Joe’s “goat” as soon as he got in the box.He had a foretaste of what they would do when he got up to bat in Sam’s place and struck out. It was no discredit to Joe, for the Blues had a fine pitcher, still it added to his nervousness.“If that’s a sample of what your new pitcher can do we’ll take a few more runs!” yelled a Blue sympathizer.“Oh, he only did that for fun!” yelled Rodney.“Yes,” added Tom Davis. “He’s saving his arm to strike you fellows out. Go to it, Joe! Don’t let ’em rattle you.”The Stars took a brace, whether it was the knowledge that Joe was to pitch or not, but they certainly braced, and in that inning got enough runs to make the score six to eight in favor of the visiting team.“Now, Joe, hold ’em down!” pleaded Darrell, “and we can do the rest, I think.”“I’ll try,” answered our hero.It would be too much to expect Joe to do wonders, but he did very well. He only allowed two hits in the inning when he first pitched and only one run came in, chiefly through an error on the part of the third baseman.“I guess we’ve got their number now,” exulted Darrell, when it came the turn of the Stars to bat. “Keep up the good work, boys. We’ve got ’em going.”The Stars managed to knock out two runs in their half of the third inning and that made the score eight to nine—one extra tally only against them.And then began what was really a remarkable game for one played between amateur nines. For the next four innings neither side got a run. Talk of a “pitchers’ battle” began to be whispered, and for the credit of the visitors be it said that they no longer tried to get Joe’s “goat.”Both pitchers were on their mettle. Of course they were not perfect and probably some deliveries that the umpire called strikes were balls, just as some that he designated as balls were good strikes. But...
The Fight
There was a moment of silence following Joe’s remark about being made regular pitcher. Then Clara laughed and it was almost a laugh of relief, for she had been under quite a strain since she came in and heard the bad news.“Oh, you silly boy!” cried Clara. “Just as if your being made pitcher was going to help. I suppose you’ll turn all your salary in to help out now; won’t you?” but there was no sting intended in her words and, fearing there might have been just the touch of it, she crossed the room and tried to slip her arm up around Joe’s neck.“No, you don’t!” he cried as gaily as possible under the circumstances, “fen on kissing. But say, dad, is it as bad as all that? Have Benjamin and his crowd beaten you?”“I’m afraid so, son. At least they’ve won the first skirmish in the battle. Now it’s up to the courts, and it may take a year or more to settle the question of whether or not I have any rights in the inventions I originated. But don’t let that worry you,” he went on more cheerfully. “We’ll make out somehow. I’m glad you got the place you wanted. How was the game?”“Pretty good. It was so tight we had to play ten innings. But can’t I do something to help you, dad?”“We can’t do anything right away,” rejoined Mr. Matson. “We can only wait. I shall have to see a lawyer, and have him look after my interests. I never thought that Mr. Benjamin and Mr. Holdney would treat me this way.“But don’t worry. Perhaps we shall come out all right, and in the end this may be a good thing. It will teach me a lesson never again to trust any one where patents are concerned. I should have had a written contract and not taken their mere word that they would treat me right.”“And you are out of the harvester works?” asked Joe.“Out completely,” and Mr. Matson smiled. “I have a holiday, Joe, and I’m coming to see you pitch some day.”“But—but,” ventured Clara, “if you haven’t any work, dad, you won’t get any money and——”“Oh, so that’s what is worrying you!” cried her father with a laugh as he placed his arm around her. “Well, have no fears. There are still a few shots in the locker, and we’re not going...
The Challenge
The fight was over. Sam arose and started away. Joe called after him:“Won’t you shake hands? I’m sorry this happened, but can’t we be friends after this?”“No!” snarled Sam. “I don’t want anything to do with you.”There was nothing more to be said, and Joe walked away. He was somewhat stiff and sore, for a number of Sam’s blows had landed with telling effect. One in particular, on the muscles of his right forearm, made that member a bit stiff and numb.“I’ve got to take care of that,” thought Joe, “or I can’t pitch Saturday.” He had only a few marks of the fight on his face and he was glad of it, for he did not want his mother or sister to know.Joe’s mother did not ask embarrassing questions. In fact she was thinking of other things, for she had received a letter from her husband that day, sent from a distant city. Matters it appeared were not going as well as they might, but Mr. Matson had hopes that all would come out right in the end.Joe rubbed his sore arm well that night, and when Saturday came he pitched a great game against the Red Stockings, allowing only a few scattered hits. The Stars took the contest by a big margin.“Now, if we could wind up with a game against the Resolutes and wallop them we’d finish out the season in great shape,” commented Captain Rankin, as he followed his lads off the diamond.“I’m going to make another try to get them to play us,” said Darrell. “I’m going to send a challenge, and intimate that they’re afraid to tackle us since we’ve got our new pitcher.”It was several days later when the nine was at practice and Darrell had not come out. Tom Davis was in his place at first and Rodney Burke was in centre field.“I wonder what’s keeping Darrell?” said the captain. “He hardly ever misses practice.”“Here he comes now,” announced Joe, “and he’s got a letter,” for Darrell was waving a paper as he ran across the field.“Good news, boys!” he cried. “The Resolutes will play us. I just got word in a special delivery letter. That’s what kept me. Hurray! Now we’ll show ’em what’s what. It will be a grand wind-up for the season and will practically decide the county championship.”“That’s the stuff!” cried the lads.“When do we play?” asked Joe.“This...
The Winning Throw—Conclusion
For a moment Tom stood there a bit embarrassed, for he saw that something unusual had happened.“I—I hope I’m not intruding,” he stammered. “I didn’t think—I came right in as I always do. Has anything——”“It’s all right!” exclaimed Joe quickly. “We just got word that dad has lost his patent case.”“Gee! That’s too bad!” exclaimed Tom, who knew something of the affair. “What are you going to do?”“I’m going to pitch against the Resolutes, the first thing I do!” cried Joe. “After that I’ll decide what’s next. But is my glove mended, Clara? Come on, Tom, we mustn’t be late. We’re going to wallop them—just as you said.”“I hope you do!” burst out Clara.“Play a good game and—and—don’t worry,” whispered Mrs. Matson to her son as he kissed her good-bye.The team and substitutes were to go to Rocky Ford in two big stages, in time to get in some practice on the grounds that were none too familiar to them. A crowd of Silver Star “rooters” were to follow on the trolley. The captain and managers of the rival teams watched their opponents practice with sharp eyes.“They’re snappier than when they beat us before,” was Darrell’s conclusion.“They’ve got a heap sight better pitcher in Joe than Sam Morton ever was,” concluded Captain Hen Littell of the Resolutes, who twirled for his team. “I shouldn’t wonder but what we’d have a mighty close game.”The last practice was over. The scattered balls had been collected, the batting list made out and final details arranged. Once more came the thrilling cry of the umpire:“Play ball!”The Resolutes were to bat last, and Seth Potter went up to bat first for the Stars.“Swat it,” pleaded the crowd, and Seth smiled. But he fanned the air successively as well as successfully and soon went back to the bench. Then came Fred Newton’s turn and he knocked a little pop fly that was easily caught before he reached first. Captain Rankin himself was up next and managed to get to first on a swift grounder that got past the shortstop. But he died on second, for the next man up fanned. No runs for the Stars.The Resolutes were jubilant, thinking this augured well for them, but they looked a little blank when Joe retired their first two men hitless. For Joe had started off in good form. With the first ball he delivered he knew that he...
