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Baseball Joe of the Silver Stars

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<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> <h3>THE CHALLENGE</h3> 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,[229] 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. [230] “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: [231] “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[232] 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. <hr class="cb" /> [233] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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