Baseball Joe of the Silver Stars; or, The Rivals of Riverside

by Lester Chadwick

  CHAPTER V

  JOE HELPS THE MANAGER

  "Well now, I'm real sorry," said Mrs. Holdney when, a little later, Joedismounted at her door, and held out the letter for her husband. "Rufusisn't home. You can leave the letter for him, though."

  "No, I have to have an answer," replied Joe. "I think perhaps I'd betterwait."

  "Well, maybe you had, though I don't know when Rufus will be back. Is itanything of importance?"

  "I guess it must be," spoke the lad, for, though he did not know thecontents of his father's letter, he reasoned that it would be on nounimportant errand that he would be sent to Moorville.

  "Hum," mused Mrs. Holdney. "Well, if you want to wait all right, thoughas I said I don't know when my husband will be back."

  "Do you know where he's gone? Could I go after him?" asked Joe eagerly.He was anxious to deliver the letter, get an answer, and return homebefore dark.

  "Well, now, I never thought of that!" exclaimed Mrs. Holdney. "Of courseyou might do that. Rufus has gone down town, and most likely you'll findhim in the hardware store of Mr. Jackson. He said he had some businessto transact with him, and he'll likely be there for some time."

  "Then I'll ride down there on my wheel. I guess I can find the place. Isit on the main street?"

  "Yes, turn off this road when you get to the big granite horse-drinkingtrough and swing in to your right. Then turn to your left when you getto the post-office and that's Main Street. Mr. Jackson's store is abouta block in."

  The lad repeated the woman's directions over in his mind as he rodealong, and he had no difficulty in picking out the hardware store. Hewas wondering how he would know Mr. Holdney, but concluded that one ofthe clerks could point him out.

  "Yes, Mr. Holdney is here," said a man behind the counter to whom Joeapplied. "He's in the office with Mr. Jackson."

  "I wonder if I could send a letter in to him," ventured the lad, for hedid not want to wait any longer than he had to.

  "I'm afraid not," answered the clerk. "Mr. Jackson is very strict aboutbeing disturbed when he's talking business."

  "Then I guess I'll have to wait," said Joe with a sigh. "I wonder ifhe'll be in there long?"

  "I wouldn't want to say for sure," spoke the clerk, leaning over thecounter in a confidential manner and speaking in a whisper. "I wouldn'teven dare to guess," he went on with a look toward the private officewhence came the murmur of voices, "but I'll venture to state that itwill be some time. Mr. Jackson never does anything in a hurry."

  "Does Mr. Holdney?"

  "Yes, he's just the opposite. He's as quick as a steel trap. Too quick,that's the trouble. He and Mr. Jackson are good friends, but when Mr.Holdney springs something sudden on my boss, why Mr. Jackson is slowerthan ever, thinking it over. I guess you'll have to wait some time. Isthere anything you'd like to buy?"

  "No, I think not," said Joe with a smile, and then he sat down on one ofthe stools near the counter while the clerk went off to wait on acustomer. The lad was getting impatient after nearly an hour had passedand there was no sign of Mr. Holdney coming out. The murmur of voicescontinued to come from the private office--one voice quick and snappy,and the other slow and drawling--an indication of the character of thetwo men.

  "I wish they'd hurry!" thought Joe. He began to pace back and forth thelength of the store, and he was just thinking he would have to ride homein the darkness, and was wondering whether there was oil in his bicyclelamp, when the door of the private office opened and two men came out.

  "Thank goodness!" exclaimed Joe to himself. The men were still talking,but Joe concluded that their business was about over so he chanced goingup to them.

  "Excuse me," he said, "but I have a letter for Mr. Holdney. It's from myfather, Mr. Matson."

  "Eh, what's--that--son?" asked the older of the two men, in drawlingtones.

  "It's for me. I'm Mr. Holdney!" exclaimed the other quickly. "From Mr.Matson, eh? Well tell him I can't help him any more. I haven't anyspare--but wait a minute, I'll write my answer."

  "Hadn't--you--better--read--the--letter--first," mildly and slowlysuggested Mr. Jackson.

  "Humph! I know what it is all right!" exclaimed the other quickly. "ButI'll read it. Let's have it!" He almost snapped it from the lad's handand Joe wondered what could be the business relations between his fatherand this man.

  With a flourish and a quick motion Mr. Holdney tore open the envelopeand read the letter almost at a glance.

  "Hum!" he exclaimed. "Just as I expected. No, I'm done with thatbusiness. I can't do any more. You may tell your father--hold on,though, I'll write it," and, whipping out a lead pencil Mr. Holdneyscribbled something on the back of Mr. Matson's note.

  "So you're John Matson's son; eh?" he asked of Joe.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Hum! Go to school?"

  "Yes, the Riverside High."

  "Hum! Ever invent anything?"

  "No, not yet," answered Joe with a smile.

  "That's right--never do it. It's a poor business. Play ball?"

  "I did in Bentville where we lived, but I haven't had a chance hereyet."

  "Hum! Yes, Bentville. That's where I met your father. Here's theanswer. There you are. Now don't lose it," and quickly handing thecommunication to Joe, Mr. Holdney turned and resumed his talk with thehardware merchant.

  Joe was a little dazed by the quickness of it all, and there were manyquestions running through his mind. Somehow the manner of Mr.Holdney--the message he had started to ask Joe to deliver by word ofmouth, his apparent refusal of something Mr. Matson had evidently askedhim to do--all made Joe vaguely uneasy. He connected it with hisfather's nervousness the night before and with his mother's anxiety.

  "But there's no use worrying until I have to," concluded Joe with aboy's philosophy as he left the hardware store, and truth to tell, hewas thinking more of his chances of going to boarding school in the fallperhaps, and whether or not he would get an opportunity to play ball,than he was of any possible trouble.

  On leaving the hardware store Joe was surprised to find it growing dusk.Gathering clouds added to the gloom and he made up his mind that thelast part of his homeward journey would be made in darkness.

  "Guess I'll see if I have any oil in the lamp," he remarked as he wasabout to mount his wheel. "If I haven't I can get some here." But hefound, on shaking the lantern, that it was filled enough to carry him toRiverside, and he was soon pedaling along that country road.

  The clouds continued to gather, and as the journey back was partly uphill, and as the bent pedal did not permit of fast riding, Joe soonfound it necessary to alight and set the lamp aglow.

  He was riding on, looking carefully ahead of him, to avoid stones andruts that the gleam of light revealed, when, as he came to rather alonely spot on the road, he heard, just ahead of him, a commotion.

  There was a sound of carriage wheels scraping on the iron body guards,the tramping of a horse's feet, and then a voice called out:

  "Whoa now! Stand still, can't you, until I see what's the matter? Whoa!Something's broken, that's evident, worse luck! And I'm two miles fromnowhere. Whoa, now!"

  "Where have I heard that voice before?" mused Joe as he rode more slowlyso as not to have another collision in the darkness.

  He could hear some one jump to the ground and then the restless horsequieted down under the soothing words of the driver.

  "Yes, it's broken all right," the voice went on. "And how in themischief am I going to mend it? Whoa, now!"

  Then Joe rode up, and in the glow of his light he saw Darrell Blackney,the manager of the Silver Stars, who was standing beside a carriage oneside of the shafts of which hung down from the axle. The bolt hadevidently broken.

  "What's the matter?" asked Joe, dismounting.

  "Who's that?" quickly asked Darrell.

  "I'm Joe Matson," was the answer. "I know you. I'm in the junior highclass."

  "Oh, yes. Matson, I think I heard Tom Davis speak of you. Well, I've hadan accident. I was out drivin
g when all at once one side of the shaftsfell down. It's a bad break I'm afraid; bolt sheared off."

  "It's a wonder your horse didn't run away."

  "Oh, Prince is pretty steady; aren't you Prince old fellow?" and Darrellpatted the animal's nose. "But what the mischief am I to do? It's toofar to go to the next town and leave Prince here, and I can't ride him,for he isn't used to it and might throw me off."

  "Can I help you?" asked Joe. "I might ride to the nearest place and geta bolt, if you told me what kind."

  "All the places would be closed by this time I guess," was the ruefulanswer. "Much obliged to you just the same. I certainly am in a pickle!Next time I go out driving I'll bring part of a hardware store along."

  "What sort of a bolt is it?" asked Joe.

  "Oh, just an ordinary carriage one, flat headed. Bring your light here,if you don't mind, and I'll take a look at it. I could only tell it wasbroken by feeling in the dark."

  In the glow of the bicycle lamp it could be seen that the bolt hadbroken squarely in two in the middle, and could not be used again. Butat the sight of it, as Darrell held the two parts in his hand, Joeuttered an exclamation.

  "What's the matter?" asked the manager of the Silver Stars.

  "I think I have the very thing!" said Joe quickly. "I've got some sparebolts in my tool bag. They may not be the same size, but they'll holdthe shaft in until you get home I think. I'll take a look."

  "Good for you!" cried Darrell. "Most anything will do in a pinch. Even apiece of wire, but I can't find any along the road in the dark. I hopeyou have something," and while Joe opened his tool bag Darrell pattedthe somewhat restive horse.