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Baseball Joe in the Central League

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<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII THE RACE</h2> There was but one thing to do—make all speed back to the ball park. Already, in fancy, Joe could see his team trotting out for warming-up practice, and wondering, perhaps, why he was not there with them. “This is fierce!” he gasped. “I had no idea it was so late!” “Neither had I,” admitted Reggie. “It was such easy going that I kept on. It was my fault, Joe.” “No, it was my own. I ought to have kept track of the time on such an important occasion. Of course I don’t mean to say that they won’t win the game without me, but if Gregory should happen to call on me and I wasn’t there it would look bad. I’m supposed to be there for every game, if I’m able, whether they use me or not.” “Then I’ll get you there!” cried Reggie. “I’ll make this old machine hum, take my word for that! We’ll have a grand old race against time, Joe!” “Only don’t get arrested for speeding,” cautioned[221] the young pitcher. “That would be as bad as not getting there at all.” He looked at his watch while Reggie turned the car around in a narrow street, necessitating some evolutions. Again Joe compared his timepiece with the clock in the window of the jewelry store. His watch was more than an hour slow. “I can’t understand it,” he murmured. “It never acted like this before.” Joe’s watch was not a fancy one, nor expensive, but it had been recommended by a railroad friend, and could be relied on to keep perfect time. In fact it always had, and in the several years he had carried it the mechanism had never varied more than half a minute. “Maybe the hair spring is caught up,” suggested Reggie. “That happens to mine sometimes.” “That would make it go fast, instead of slow,” said Joe. “It can’t be that.” He opened the back case, and looked at the balance wheel, and the mechanism for regulating the length of the hair spring, which controls the time-keeping qualities of a watch. “Look!” he cried to Reggie, showing him, “the pointer is shoved away over to one side. And my watch has been running slow, no telling for how long. That’s what made us late. My watch has been losing time!” [222] “Did you do it?” asked Reggie. “Of course not.” “Then it was an accident. You can explain to your manager how it happened, and he’ll excuse you.” “It was no accident!” cried Joe. “No accident! What do you mean?” “I mean that someone did this on purpose!” cried Joe. “Someone got at my watch when I wasn’t looking, and shoved the regulator lever over to slow. That was so it would lose time gradually, and I wouldn’t notice. It has lost over an hour. This is too bad!” “Well, don’t worry,” advised Reggie, as he speeded the car ahead, turning into a long, country road that would take them almost directly to the ball park. “I’ll get you there on time if I have to do it on bare rims. Let the tires go! But who do you imagine could have slowed down your watch?” “I wouldn’t like to say—not until I have more proof,” answered Joe, slowly. “It would not be fair.” “No, I suppose not. Yet it was a mean trick, if it was done on purpose. They didn’t want you to get back in time to pitch. Say! Could it have been any of the Clevefield players? They have plenty of cause to be afraid of you for what you[223] did in the game yesterday—after you got a chance.” “No, it wasn’t any of them,” said Joe, with a shake of his head. “They’re too good sports to do a thing like that. Besides, I didn’t do so much to them yesterday. We couldn’t have had a much worse drubbing.” “But you prevented it from being a regular slaughter.” “Maybe. But it was none of them who slowed my watch.” “You don’t mean it was one of your own men!” cried Reggie. “I won’t answer now,” returned Joe, slowly. “Let’s see if we can get there on time.” Joe was doing some hard thinking. There was just one man on the Pittston nine who would have perpetrated a trick like this, and that man was Collin. He disliked Joe very much because of his ability, and since the game of yesterday, when Collin, unmercifully batted, had been taken out to let Joe fill his place, there was more cause than ever for this feeling of hatred—no good cause, but sufficient in the eyes of a vindictive man. Joe realized this. He also realized that Collin might even throw away the chance for his team to win in order to gratify a personal grudge. Other players had said as much to Joe, and it was almost an open secret that Gregory intended giving[224] Collin his release at the end of the season. But Joe had not believed his enemy would go to such lengths. “He must be afraid I’ll be put in first to-day,” thought Joe, “and that he won’t get a chance at all. Jove, what a mean trick!” Joe had no “swelled head,” and he did not imagine, for a moment, that he was the best pitcher in the world. Yet he knew his own abilities, and he knew he could pitch a fairly good game, even in a pinch. It was but natural, then, that he should want to do his best. For Joe was intensely loyal to the team. He had always been so, not only since he became a professional, but while he was at Yale, and when he played on his school nine. “Hold on now!” called Reggie, suddenly breaking in on Joe’s musings. “I’m going to speed her up!” The car sprang forward with a jump, and Joe was jerked sharply back. Then the race was on in earnest. The young pitcher quickly made up his mind. He would say nothing about the slowed watch, and if he arrived too late to take part in the game—provided he had been slated to pitch—he would take his medicine. But he resolved to watch Collin carefully. “He might betray himself,” Joe reasoned. [225] He could easily see how the trick had been worked. The players came to the ball field in their street clothes, and changed to their uniforms in the dressing rooms under the grandstand. An officer was always on guard at the entrance, to admit none but the men supposed to go in. But Collin could easily have gone to Joe’s locker, taken out his watch and shoved over the regulator. It was the work of only a few seconds. Naturally when one’s watch had been running correctly one would not stop to look and see if the regulator was in the right position. One would take it for granted. And it was only when Joe compared his timepiece with another that he noticed the difference. Could they make it up? It was almost time for the game to start, and they were still some distance from the grounds. There was no railroad or trolley line available, and, even if there had been, the auto would be preferable. “I guess we’ll do it,” Joe murmured, looking at his watch, which he had set correctly, also regulating it as well as he could. “We’ve just got to!” exclaimed Reggie, advancing the spark. They were certainly making good time, and Reggie was a careful driver. This time he took chances that he marveled at later. But the spirit of the race entered into him, and he clenched his[226] teeth, held the steering wheel in a desperate grip, with one foot on the clutch pedal, and the other on the brake. His hand was ready at any moment to shoot out and grasp the emergency lever to bring the car up standing if necessary. And it might be necessary any moment, for though the road was good and wide it was well crowded with other autos, and with horse-drawn vehicles. On and on they sped. Now some dog would run out to bark exasperatingly at the flying machine, and Reggie, with muttered threats, would be ready to jam on both brakes in an instant. For a dog under an auto’s wheels is a dangerous proposition, not only for the dog but for the autoist as well. “Get out, you cur!” yelled Joe, as a yellow brute rushed from one house. “I wish I had something to throw at you!” “Throw your watch!” cried Reggie grimly, above the noise of the machine. “No, it’s a good watch yet, in spite of that trick,” answered Joe. “It wasn’t the fault of the watch.” Once more he looked at it. Time was ticking on, and they still had several miles to go. The game must have been called by this time, and Joe was not there. He clenched his hands, and shut his teeth tightly. [227] “We’ll do it—or bust!” declared Reggie. His car was not a racer, but it was capable of good speed. He did not dare use all that was available, on account of the traffic. Many autos were taking spectators to the game, and they were in a hurry, too. Amid dust clouds they sped on, the engine whining and moaning at the speed at which it was run. But it ran true and “sweet,” with never a miss. “They’re playing now!” spoke Joe, in a low voice. In fancy he could hear the clang of the starting gong, and hear the umpire cry: “Play ball!” And he was not there! “We’ll do it!” muttered Reggie. He tried to pass a big red car that, unexpectedly, swerved to one side. Reggie, in desperation, as he saw a collision in prospect, whirled the steering wheel to one side. His car careened and almost went over. Joe clung to the seat and braced himself. An instant later there was a sharp report, and the car, wobbling from side to side, shot up a grassy bank at the side of the road. “A blow-out!” yelled Reggie, and then, as he managed to bring the car to a sudden stop, the vehicle settled over on one side, gently enough, tossing Joe out on the grass with a thud. <hr class="chap" /> [228] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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