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 coming Saturday."
"I thought they said all their dates were filled," commented Tom Davis.
"They were, but some team they counted on busted up and that left an
opening. Then, too, I fancy that little dig I gave them about being
afraid had its effect. Joe, it's up to you now."
"All right!" and our hero accepted the responsibility with a smile.
There was considerable excitement among the Silver Stars over the
prospective game. They were almost too excited to keep on with the
practice against the scrub, but Darrell talked like a "Dutch uncle" to
them, to quote Rodney Burke, and they went at their work with renewed
vigor.
When Joe got home that evening after some hard practice there was
another letter from his father. It was brief, merely saying:
"In a few days I will know all. My next will contain good news--or bad."
"Oh, this suspense is terrible," complained Mrs. Matson.
The day of the game between the Silver Stars and their old enemies drew
nearer. Joe had practiced hard and he knew he was in good shape to
pitch. In fact the Stars were much improved by their season's work, and
they were as good an amateur nine in their class as could be found in
the country.
Word came to them, however, that the Resolutes were trained to the
minute, and were going to put up a stiff fight for the county
championship.
"Let 'em," said Darrell briefly. "We don't want a walk-over."
"Well," remarked Clara to her brother, on the Saturday of the game,
"isn't it almost time for you to start if you're going to Rocky Ford?"
"Yes, I guess I had better be going," answered Joe. "I want to put a few
stitches in my glove. It's ripped."
"I'll do it," offered Clara and she had just finished when the door bell
rang.
"I'll go," volunteered Joe, and when he saw a messenger boy standing
there, with a yellow envelope in his hands somehow the heart of the
young pitcher sank.
Quickly he took the telegram to his mother, to whom it was addressed.
"You open it, Joe," she said. "I can't. I'm afraid it's bad news. My
hand trembles so."
Joe tore open the telegram. It was from his father.
"I'm afraid it's all up," the message read. "I have practically lost my
case, and it looks as if I'd have to start all over again. But don't
worry. I'm coming home."
A silence followed Joe's reading of the few words aloud. Then indeed it
was all over. He could not go to boarding school after all. He looked at
his mother. There were tears in her eyes but she bore the shock bravely.
Clara was very pale.
"Well, it might be worse!" said Joe philosophically. "There is just a
bare chance--but it's mighty slim."
And then from outside came the hail of Tom Davis:
"Come on, Joe! Come on! It's time you started for Rocky Ford. We're
going to wallop the Resolutes!" and with the freedom of an old friend,
Joe's chum burst into the room.