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. I wouldn't want them to see me taking
these things away, for it would tell them that their game was
discovered, and I want to find out more of what their plans are before
they are aware of it."
"But how you going to get out?" asked his son. "They're there yet," he
added, for he could look from a window and see the carriage still at the
gate.
"Oh, you and I can slip out the back way. It's lucky you told me. There,
I'm ready," and having locked his desk, Mr. Matson took his package and
with Joe went out of a rear exit, going home by a roundabout way so that
the conspirators did not see them.
"My! I wish this thing hadn't happened, or that it was postponed for a
while," said Mr. Matson thoughtfully as he walked along.
"Why, is it likely to be serious, dad?"
"I'm afraid so. You see I have a peculiar arrangement with the harvester
concern in regard to things that I might invent. It is too complicated
to go into all the details, but I have to trust to their honor to give
me my rights in certain matters. If they wanted to they could deprive me
of the benefits of my patents and the law could not help me. So I have
to be very careful. Up to now I have trusted Mr. Benjamin implicitly,
but now--now I will be on my guard. It is a lucky thing you overheard
that talk."
There was an earnest consultation between Mr. and Mrs. Matson that
night, to which Joe and his sister were not admitted, for it was
business they would not have understood. But at the close they were told
to say nothing of what had happened that day.
"I will keep right on at the harvester works as if nothing had
occurred," said Mr. Matson, "and then they will not get suspicious. But
I will do the most important and secret work on my invention here at
home."
"Now that it is all settled," said Clara, "I'm going to say 'apple
sauce' to you, Joe. What does it mean?"
"Oh, yes," and the young baseball player laughed. "Well I guess you've
got to join the Dorcas and Sewing societies, mother, to keep me out of a
scrape," and with many funny touches Joe told about his wild throw that
day, making an amusing story of it.
"Oh, I would have given anything if some of the girls and I could have
been there when you and Tom were blacking the stove!" exclaimed Clara
with a laugh.
"I'm glad you weren't," declared Joe, "though it's lucky we didn't have
to mop up the floor. After this I'm going to go a mile away from her
house when I want to practice throwing."
"I should think you would," agreed Mr. Matson.
"But you'll join those societies; won't you mother?" asked Joe.
"Oh, I suppose I'll have to, in order to keep you out of prison," she
agreed with a laugh. "But please don't make any more engagements for me,
as my time is pretty well occupied."
It was two days after this when Tom Davis, coming out of school, caught
up with Joe who was a little in advance of him.
"Got anything special to do?" asked the substitute first baseman.
"No, why?"
"I thought maybe you'd like to go out in the lot again, and have some
more practice."
"Back of Mrs. Peterkin's house?" asked Joe with a smile.
"I should say not! But I've got a new scheme. I read about it in that
baseball book. We'll have a contest for long distance throwing and
accuracy."
"How do you mean?"
"Why you and I'll go down in the same lots but we'll throw in the other
direction. Then we can't hit anything. We'll see who can throw the
farthest. You'll need to practice that if you are to play centre field."
"What's the other contest?"
"For straight aim. I'll get an old basket, and we'll see who can land
the most balls in it. Want to try?"
"Sure. Anything to improve myself," said Joe earnestly.
A little later he and his chum were on their way to the vacant lots. As
they walked along they met several other lads, some of whom played on
the regular team, a few from the High School nine, and some from the
Silver Star scrub.
"What's doing?" demanded Rodney Burke.
"We're going to see who is the best thrower," answered Tom.
"Give us a show at it?" requested Ford Wilson.
"Sure," assented Joe. "The more, the merrier."
Soon a jolly crowd of youngsters were taking turns at the long distance
throwing. After several tries the record lay between Joe and Rodney
Burke, and they played off a tie, Joe winning by about seven feet.
"That's a good throw all right," complimented the loser.
"A fellow who's playing centre field needs to have a pretty good heave,"
said Joe. "Especially if he's up against a heavy-hitting team."
"And that's been our luck for some time past," spoke Tom. "Well, now for
the basket test."
This was more difficult than straight throwing for distance and several
of the lads dropped out, being disqualified by failures. But Tom, Joe
and Rodney remained in, and for a time it was pretty even between them.
Finally it narrowed down to Tom and Joe, and they were just ready to
throw the deciding round when a new voice called out:
"Any objections to me joining?"
Joe and the others turned, to see the half-mocking face of Sam Morton.