THE WARNING
Joe hesitated a moment. Everything would depend on his one throw,
because there was no chance to get another ball of cord, and if this one
went wide it would fall into the fire and be rendered useless.
The fire was increasing, for all the chemicals in the tank on the wagon
had been used, and no fresh supply was available. Below the tower on
which the man stood, the flames raged and crackled. Even the tower
itself was ablaze a little and at times the smoke hid the man from view
momentarily.
"I'll have to wait until it clears," murmured the young pitcher, when,
just as he got ready to throw, a swirl of vapor arose.
"You can't wait much longer," said Tom, in an ominously quiet voice.
"I know it," agreed Joe desperately, and it was but too evident. The
tower itself, weakened by the fire, would soon collapse, and would
carry the man down with it into the seething fire below.
"Throw! Throw!" urged several in the throng.
Joe handed the loose end of the cord to Tom. He wanted to give all his
attention to throwing the ball. He poised himself as if he was in the
pitching box. It was like a situation in a game when his side needed to
retire the other in order to win, as when two men were out, three on
bases and the man at bat had two strikes and three balls. All depended
on one throw.
With a quick motion Joe drew back his arm. There was an intaking of
breath on the part of the crowd that could be heard even above the
crackling of the flames. All eyes were centered on the young pitcher.
"He'll never do it," murmured Hiram Shell.
"If he does he's a better pitcher than I'll ever be," admitted Frank
Brown.
Suddenly Joe threw. The white ball was plainly visible as it sailed
through the air, unwinding as it mounted upward. On and on it went, Joe,
no less than every one in the crowd, watching it with eager eyes. And as
for the man on the tower he eagerly stretched out his hands to catch the
ball of cord, on which his life now depended.
[Illustration: THE WHITE BALL WAS PLAINLY VISIBLE AS IT SAILED THROUGH
THE AIR.]
Straight and true it went, as swift and as direct a ball as Baseball
Joe had ever delivered. Straight and true--on and on and then----
Into the hands of the anxiously waiting man went the ball of cord.
Eagerly he clutched it, while the crowd set up a great cheer.
"That's the stuff!" yelled a man in Joe's ear. "You sure are one good
pitcher, my boy!"
"Never mind about that now," said the practical Joe. "Fasten on the
rope. Quick!"
Willing hands did this, and Joe looked to see if the knot would not
slip. He seemed to have assumed charge of the rescue operations.
"Haul up!" he yelled to the man through the newspaper megaphone. "Haul
up the rope and make it fast. Then, when I give the signal, slide down."
The man waved his hands to show that he understood, and the next moment
he began pulling on the cord. The rope followed. Quickly it uncoiled
from where the strands had been piled in readiness for just this. Up and
up the man on the tower pulled it until he held the end of the heavy
rope in his hands.
There now extended from the tower to the ground a slanting pathway of
rope, such as is sometimes seen leading down into a stone quarry. It was
high enough above the flames to enable a man to swing himself along
above them, though doubtless he would have to pass over a zone of fierce
heat.
"All ready! Come on down!" yelled Joe, and the man on the tower lost no
time in obeying.
He let go the rope as his feet touched the earth and then with a groan
he collapsed. The crowd closed in around him, and two minutes later the
tower, with a crash, toppled into the midst of the seething furnace of
fire. The rescue had been made none too soon.
"Don't crowd around him so!" shouted Joe, hurrying over to where the man
lay.
He pushed his way into the throng, followed by Tom, and the two lads
actually forced the men and boys away from the man, who had evidently
fainted. Joe whipped off his coat and made a pillow for the sufferer's
head.
As he bent over him, the man's face was illuminated by the glare from
the burning factory, and our hero started back in astonishment.
"Isaac Benjamin!" he exclaimed, as he recognized the former manager of
the Royal Harvester works where Mr. Matson had been employed. Isaac
Benjamin, the man who, with Mr. Rufus Holdney, had conspired to ruin
Joe's father by getting his patents away from him.
"Isaac Benjamin!" said Joe again.
Mr. Benjamin opened his eyes. Into them came the light of recognition as
he gazed into Joe's face. He struggled to a sitting position.
"Joe--Joe Matson!" he murmured. "I--I hope your father will forgive me.
I--I----"
"There, don't think of that now," said Joe gently. "Are you hurt?"
"No--nothing of any consequence. I'm not even burned, thanks to you. I
climbed up into the tower when I found the place on fire. I--I--Joe, can
you ever forgive me for trying to ruin your father?"
"Yes, of course. But don't talk of that now," Joe said, while the crowd
looked on and wondered at the man and boy knowing each other--wondered
at their strange talk.
"I--I must talk of that now--more--more danger threatens your father,
Joe."
Joe thought perhaps the man might be in a delirium of fright, and he
decided it would be best to humor him.
"That's all right," he said soothingly. "You'll be taken care of. We've
sent for a doctor. How did you come to be in the old factory?"
"I--I was sleeping there, Joe." Mr. Benjamin's tones did not indicate a
raving mind.
"Sleeping there?" There was surprise in the boy's voice.
"Yes, Joe, I'm down and out. I've lost all my money, my friends have
gone back on me--though it's my own fault--I have lost my home--my
position--everything. I'm an outcast--a tramp--that's why I was sleeping
there. There were some other tramps. They were smoking--I guess that's
how the fire started. They got away but I couldn't."
The man's voice was excited now, and Joe tried to calm him. But Mr.
Benjamin continued.
"Wait, Joe, I have something to tell you--something important--a warning
to give you. If we--can we talk in private?"
"Yes, later, when you are stronger," answered the lad soothingly.
"Then it may be too late," went on Mr. Benjamin. "I am strong enough
now. It was just a passing faintness. I--I am weak--haven't had much to
eat--I'm hungry. But no matter. Here, come over here, I'll tell you."
He struggled to his feet with Joe's aid and led the lad aside from the
crowd, which parted to make way for them.
"I'm down and out, Joe. Money and friends all gone."
"What about Mr. Holdney?"
"He too, has deserted me--turned against me, though I helped him in many
schemes. I'm nothing but a tramp now, Joe."
The young pitcher looked at the wreck of the man before him. Truly he
was "down and out." His once fine and well-dressed appearance had given
place to a slouchy attire.
"But I must tell you, Joe. Your father's patent rights are again in
danger. Rufus Holdney is going to try to get some valuable papers and
models away from him. That's what he and I quarreled over. I'd do
anything to spoil his plans, after he has thrown me off as he has. I
left him, and since then I have had only bad luck. I don't know how I
came to come here. I didn't know you were here. But warn your father,
Joe, to look well after his new patents. Warn him before it is too
late."
"I will," promised Joe. "I will. Thank you for telling me. Now we must
look after you." And indeed it was high time, for, as the young pitcher
spoke Mr. Benjamin tottered and would have fallen had not our hero
caught him.
"Quick, get a doctor!" cried Joe, as the crowd surged up again around
the unfortunate man, who had fainted.