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Baseball Joe in the Central League

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<h2>CHAPTER VII THE GIRL</h2> Joe Matson bent over the unconscious girl, and, even in the excitement of the moment, out of breath as he was from his fast run, he could not but note how pretty she was. Though now her cheeks that must usually be pink with the flush of health, were pale. She lay in a heap on the grass, at the side of the overturned carriage, from which the horse had partly freed itself. The animal was now showing signs of recovering from the stunning blow of the stone. “I’ve got to get her away from here,” decided Joe. “If that brute starts kicking around he may hurt her. I’ve got to pick her up and carry her. She doesn’t look able to walk.” In his sturdy arms he picked up the unconscious girl, and carried her some distance off, placing her on a grassy bank. “Let’s see—what do you do when a girl faints?” mused Joe, scratching his head in puzzled fashion. “Water—that’s it—you have to sprinkle her face with water.” [59] He looked about for some sign of a brook or spring, and, listening, his ear caught a musical trickle off to one side. “Must be a stream over there,” he decided. He glanced again at the girl before leaving her. She gave no sign of returning consciousness, and one hand, Joe noticed when he carried her, hung limp, as though the wrist was broken. “And she’s lucky to get off with that,” decided the young pitcher. “I hope I did the right thing by stopping the horse that way. She sure would have gone over the cliff if I hadn’t.” The horse, from which had gone all desire to run farther, now struggled to its feet, and shook itself once or twice to adjust the harness. It was partly loose from it, and, with a plunge or two, soon wholly freed itself. “Run away again if you want to now,” exclaimed Joe, shaking his fist at the brute. “You can’t hurt anyone but yourself, anyhow. Jump over the cliff if you like!” But the horse did not seem to care for any such performance now, and, after shaking himself again, began nibbling the grass as though nothing had happened. “All right,” went on Joe, talking to the horse for companionship, since the neighborhood seemed deserted. “Stay there, old fellow. I may need[60] you to get to a doctor, or to some house. She may be badly hurt.” For want of something better Joe used the top of his cap in which to carry the water which he found in a clear-running brook, not far from where he had placed the girl. The sprinkling of the first few drops of the cold liquid on her face caused her to open her eyes. Consciousness came back quickly, and, with a start, she gazed up at Joe uncomprehendingly. “You’re all right,” he said, reassuringly. “That is, I hope so. Do you think you are hurt anywhere? Shall I get a doctor? Where do you live?” Afterward he realized that his hurried questions had given her little chance to speak, but he meant to make her feel that she would be taken care of. “What—what happened?” she faltered. “Your horse ran away,” Joe explained, with a smile. “He’s over there now; not hurt, fortunately.” “Oh, I remember now! Something frightened Prince and he bolted. He never did it before. Oh, I was so frightened. I tried—tried to stop him, but could not. The rein broke.” The girl sat up now, Joe’s arm about her, supporting her, for she was much in need of assistance, being weak and trembling. “Then he bolted into a field,” she resumed,[61] “and he was headed for a cliff. Oh, how I tried to stop him! But he wouldn’t. Then—then something—something happened!” She looked wonderingly at Joe. “Yes, I’m afraid I happened it,” he said with a smile. “I saw that your horse might go over the cliff, so I threw a stone, and hit him on the head. It stunned him, he fell, and threw you out.” “I remember up to that point,” she said with a faint smile. “I saw Prince go down, and I thought we were going over the cliff. Oh, what an escape!” “And yet not altogether an escape,” remarked Joe. “Your arm seems hurt.” She glanced down in some surprise at her right wrist, as though noticing it for the first time. Then, as she moved it ever so slightly, a cry of pain escaped her lips. “It—it’s broken!” she faltered. Joe took it tenderly in his hand. “Only sprained, I think,” he said, gravely. “It needs attention at once, though; I must get you a doctor. Can you walk?” “I think so.” She struggled to her feet with his help, the red blood now surging into her pale cheeks, and making her, Joe thought, more beautiful than ever. “Be careful!” he exclaimed, as she swayed. His arm was about her, so she did not fall. [62] “I—I guess I’m weaker than I thought,” she murmured. “But it isn’t because I’m injured—except my wrist. I think it must be the shock. Why, there’s Prince!” she added, as she saw the grazing horse. “He isn’t hurt!” “No, I only stunned him with the stone I threw,” said Joe. “Oh, and so you threw a stone at him, and stopped him?” She seemed in somewhat of a daze. “Yes.” “What a splendid thrower you must be!” There was admiration in her tones. “It’s from playing ball,” explained Joe, modestly. “I’m a pitcher on the Pittston nine. We’re training over at Montville.” “Oh,” she murmured, understandingly. “If I could get you some water to drink, it would make you feel better,” said Joe. “Then I might patch up the broken harness and get you home. Do you live around here?” “Yes, just outside of Goldsboro. Perhaps you could make a leaf answer for a cup,” she suggested. “I believe I would like a little water. It would do me good.” She moistened her dry lips with her tongue as Joe hastened back to the little brook. He managed to curl an oak leaf into a rude but clean cup, and brought back a little water. The girl sipped[63] it gratefully, and the effect was apparent at once. She was able to stand alone. “Now to see if I can get that horse of yours hitched to the carriage,” spoke the young pitcher, “that is, if the carriage isn’t broken.” “It’s awfully kind of you, Mr.——” she paused suggestively. “I’m Joe Matson, formerly of Yale,” was our hero’s answer, and, somehow, he felt not a little proud of that “Yale.” After all, his university training, incomplete though it had been, was not to be despised. “Oh, a Yale man!” her eyes were beginning to sparkle now. “But I gave it up to enter professional baseball,” the young pitcher went on. “It’s my first attempt. If you do not feel able to get into the carriage—provided it’s in running shape—perhaps I could take you to some house near here and send word to your folks,” he suggested. “Oh, I think I can ride—provided, as you say, the carriage is in shape to use,” she answered, quickly. “I am Miss Varley. It’s awfully good of you to take so much trouble.” “Not at all,” protested Joe. He noticed a shadow of pain pass over her face, and she clasped her sprained wrist in her left hand. “That must hurt a lot, Miss Varley,” spoke Joe with warm sympathy. “I know what a sprain is.[64] I’ve had many a one. Let me wrap a cold, wet rag around it. That will do until you can get to a doctor and have him reduce it.” Not waiting for permission Joe hurried back to the brook, and dipped his handkerchief in the cold water. This he bound tightly around the already swelling wrist, tying it skillfully, for he knew something about first aid work—one needed to when one played ball for a living. “That’s better,” she said, with a sigh of relief. “It’s ever so much better. Oh, I don’t know what would have happened if you had not been here!” “Probably someone else would have done as well,” laughed Joe. “Now about that carriage.” Prince looked up as the youth approached, and Joe saw a big bruise on the animal’s head. “Too bad, old fellow, that I had to do that,” spoke Joe, for he loved animals. “No other way, though. I had to stop you.” A look showed him that the horse was not otherwise injured by the runaway, and another look showed him that it would be impossible to use the carriage. One of the wheels was broken. “Here’s a pickle!” cried Joe. “A whole bottle of ’em, for that matter. I can’t get her home that way, and she can’t very well walk. I can’t carry her, either. I guess the only thing to do is to get her to the nearest house, and then go for help—or ’phone, if they have a wire. I’m in[65] for the day’s adventure, I guess, but I can’t leave her.” Not that he wanted to, for the more he was in the girl’s presence, the more often he looked into her brown eyes, the more Joe felt that he was caring very much for Miss Varley. “Come, Matson!” he chided himself, “don’t be an idiot!” “Well?” she questioned, as he came back to her. “The carriage is broken,” he told her. “Do you think you could walk to the nearest house?” “Oh, I’m sure of it,” she replied, and now she smiled, showing two rows of white, even teeth. “I’m feeling ever so much better. But perhaps I am keeping you,” and she hung back. “Not at all. I’m glad to be able to help you. I suppose I had better tie your horse.” “Perhaps.” As Joe turned back to the grazing animal there was the sound of a motor car out in the road. He and the girl turned quickly, the same thought in both their minds. Then a look of pleased surprise came over Miss Varley’s face. “Reggie! Reggie!” she called, waving her uninjured hand at a young man in the car. “Reggie, Prince bolted with me! Come over here!” The machine was stopped with a screeching of brakes, and the young fellow leaped out. [66] “Why, Mabel!” he cried, as he came sprinting across the field. “Are you hurt? What happened? Dad got anxious about you being gone so long, and I said I’d look you up in my car. Are you hurt, Mabel?” Joe made a mental note that of all names he liked best that of Mabel—especially when the owner had brown eyes. “Only a sprained wrist, Reggie. This gentleman hit Prince with a stone and saved me from going over the cliff.” “Oh, he did!” By this time the youth from the auto was beside Joe and the girl. The two young men faced each other. Joe gave a gasp of surprise that was echoed by the other, for the youth confronting our hero was none other than he who had accused Joe of robbing that odd valise. <hr class="chap" /> [67] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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