CHAPTER XXVIII
THE FIGHT
There was a moment of silence following Joe's remark about being maderegular 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 thebad news.
"Oh, you silly boy!" cried Clara. "Just as if your being made pitcherwas going to help. I suppose you'll turn all your salary in to help outnow; 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 roomand 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 Benjaminand his crowd beaten you?"
"I'm afraid so, son. At least they've won the first skirmish in thebattle. Now it's up to the courts, and it may take a year or more tosettle the question of whether or not I have any rights in theinventions I originated. But don't let that worry you," he went on morecheerfully. "We'll make out somehow. I'm glad you got the place youwanted. How was the game?"
"Pretty good. It was so tight we had to play ten innings. But can't I dosomething to help you, dad?"
"We can't do anything right away," rejoined Mr. Matson. "We can onlywait. I shall have to see a lawyer, and have him look after myinterests. I never thought that Mr. Benjamin and Mr. Holdney would treatme this way.
"But don't worry. Perhaps we shall come out all right, and in the endthis may be a good thing. It will teach me a lesson never again to trustany one where patents are concerned. I should have had a writtencontract 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'mcoming to see you pitch some day."
"But--but," ventured Clara, "if you haven't any work, dad, you won't getany money and----"
"Oh, so that's what is worrying you!" cried her father with a laugh ashe placed his arm around her. "Well, have no fears. There are still afew shots in the locker, and we're not going to the poorhouse rightaway. Now, Joe, tell us all about the ball game."
Which the young pitcher did with great enthusiasm.
"But won't this Sam Morton be angry with you?" asked Mrs. Matson, whowas a gentle woman, always in fear of violence.
"Oh, I don't suppose he'll be very _friendly_ toward me," replied Joe.
"Then he may do you some injury."
"Well, I guess I can take care of myself. I'm not afraid of him, mother,and if it comes to a fight----"
"Oh, you horrid boys--always thinking about fighting!" interruptedClara. "Don't you fight, Joe!"
"I won't if I can help it, sis."
Next morning, Joe was in two states of mind. He was delighted at beingthe regular pitcher for the Stars, but he was downcast when he thoughtthat to go to the boarding school was now out of the question. And thatit would be impossible for him to think of it under the presentfinancial state of the family was made plain to him when he spoke of thematter to his mother.
"I'm sorry, Joe," she said, "but you'll have to give up the idea."
"All right," he answered, as cheerfully as he could, but he went out ofthe house quickly for there was a suspicious moisture in his eyes, and alump in his throat that would not seem to go down, no matter how hard heswallowed.
"Oh, I'm a chump!" he finally exclaimed. "I shouldn't want to go to anexpensive boarding school when dad is in such trouble. And yet--andyet--Oh! I _do_ want to get on a big team and pitch!"
In the days that followed Joe saw little of his father, for Mr. Matsonwas out of town trying to get matters in shape for the courtproceedings. But Joe was kept busy at practice with the Stars, and inplaying games.
The season was in full swing and the Silver Stars seemed to have strucka streak of winning luck. Some said it was Joe's pitching, for really hewas doing very well. Others laid it just to luck and talked darkly of a"slump."
"There won't be any slump if you fellows keep your eyes open, and hitand run," said the manager.
The county league season was drawing to a close, and as it stood now thechampionship practically lay between the Stars and their old enemiesthe Resolutes. There was some talk of playing off a tie, if it shouldcome to that, but when Darrell mentioned this to the Resolute manager hewas told that the latter team had all dates filled to the end of theseason.
"We can't give you a game," he announced.
"It's too bad," said Darrell, "for we ought to decide which is the bestteam."
"Oh, ours is, of course. Didn't we wallop you once?"
"Well, you can't do it again," was the quick retort.
It was several days after this when Joe was coming home from afternoonpractice in preparation for a game Saturday with the Red Stockings. Ashe took a short cut over the fields to get home more quickly, he wasaware of a figure coming toward him. When too late to turn back he sawit was Sam Morton. Sam saw Joe and came to a halt.
"Well," asked Sam with a sneer, "how is the high-and-mighty pitcher? Isuppose you've been doing nothing else but handing out no-hit and no-rungames?"
"Not quite as good as that," admitted Joe with what he meant for afriendly smile.
"Who you laughing at?" demanded Sam fiercely.
"I wasn't laughing," replied Joe.
"Yes, you were! You were laughing at me and I won't stand it. You workedand schemed to get me out of the nine so you could go in, and now you'remaking fun of me, I won't stand it, I tell you. You think you're apitcher! Well you're not, and you'll never be. I won't be made fun of!"All the pent-up anger--unreasoning as it was,--all the hate that hadbeen accumulating for weeks in Sam, burst out at once.
He made a spring for Joe, but the pitcher stepped back. Not in time,however, for he received a blow on the chest.
Now I am not defending Joe for what he did. I am only telling of whathappened. Joe was a manly lad yet he had all the instincts and passionsthat normal lads have. When he was hit his first instinct was to hitback, and he did it in this case.
His left fist shot forward and clipped Sam on the chin. The blow was astaggering one and for a moment the former pitcher reeled. Then with aroar of rage he came back at Joe, and the pair were at it hammer andtongs.
"I'll show you that you can't come sneaking around here and steal myplace!" blubbered Sam, as he aimed a blow at Joe's face.
"I didn't sneak!" retorted Joe, as he dodged the blow and got aright-hander near Sam's solar plexus.
Both lads were evenly matched and the fight might have gone on for sometime but for Sam's rage which made him reckless. He left unguardedopenings of which Joe took quick advantage, and finally, with a straightleft, he sent Sam to the grass.
"I--I'll fix you for that!" yelled the former pitcher as he rushed atJoe. It was easy to step aside and avoid the clumsy blow, and once moreSam went down. This time he did not get up so quickly, and there was adazed look on his face.
"See here!" cried Joe, stepping over to him. "This has gone far enough.I didn't want to fight, but you made me. I can beat you and you know it.If you don't stop now I'll knock you down every time you get up untilyou've had enough."
It was brutal talk, perhaps, but it was well meant. For a moment Samlooked up at his antagonist. Then he murmured:
"I've had enough--for the present."