CHAPTER XXIX
QUICK WORK
Joe's father and mother, together with Mabel and Reggie, had reached thestation a few minutes before train time, and Clara and Jim, who might beexcused for tarrying, had joined them a little later. They were somewhatpuzzled at not finding Joe on the platform.
"You folks get on anyway," suggested Jim. "Probably Joe is up in the carwith the team. McRae may have nabbed him to have a talk with him."
After they were safely in their coach, Jim hurried forward to theGiants' cars. He went through both of them, but before he had finishedhis search the gong rang and the train started.
"Seen anything of Joe?" he asked McRae.
"No," was the answer. "I suppose he's in the car behind with his folks."
"But he isn't," replied Jim. "I thought I'd find him here."
"What?" fairly yelled McRae, springing to his feet. "You don't mean tosay he's missed the train?"
In an instant all was agitation.
The smoker was first searched, then every car in the train from end toend, but, of course, Joe was not to be found.
McRae and Robson were wild and the rest of the team were glum.
"Of course, he can get that eight o'clock train in the morning," wasthe only comfort McRae would allow himself. "That will get him to thegrounds in time, but he won't be in good shape to pitch right after thetrip."
But Jim had reasons of his own for fear, and a cold sweat broke out onhim as he thought of Fleming. But he put on as good a face as possiblein order to reassure the girls and the rest of Joe's party, who weretorn with anxiety and apprehension.
It was broad daylight when Joe woke to a sense of his surroundings. Hishead swam and it was some time before he could recall the events of thepreceding night.
He was in a shabby room, sitting on the floor against the wall with hishands tied behind him. As his brain cleared he was conscious of a facelooking at him curiously. There was a sweet sickly odor in the room.
"Waking up, eh?" asked Moriarty with a grin.
"You'll pay for this," said Joe, thickly.
Moriarty laughed.
"Now don't get sore," he counseled. "Nobody's going to hurt you. You'llbe out of this in a little while now. We're going to let you go just assoon as the New York train has gone."
Joe tried to digest this. Why should they keep him from getting thetrain for New York. Then in a blinding flash his brain woke from itsdaze.
It was the day of the last game! And he was in Boston! And if he missedthe morning train he could not get to New York before the game was over!
His heart turned sick. What would McRae and the rest of the boys say?What would Mabel and the folks think?
He pictured the consternation when he should fail to turn up in time.The team would be demoralized. Whom would they pitch? Only Jim wasavailable and he had pitched two days before. And he would be so full ofworry over his friend that he could not be at his best.
Was the World Series then to be lost? Was the splendid fight the boyshad put up to go for nothing?
"You only got a little tap on the head," Moriarty was saying. "It wasjust enough to make you quiet, and chloroform did the rest. We didn'tfigure to be any rougher than we had to be."
Joe made no reply but he was thinking hard and fast.
He tested the bonds that held his hands behind him. They seemed tightbut not excessively so. Probably his captors had put most of their faithin the chloroform.
With as little apparent exertion as possible, he began to stretch andstrain at them. His powerful wrists and hands seemed endowed with doubletheir ordinary strength and to his delight he could feel the cords give.
Moriarty was alone with him, but Joe could hear low voices in anadjoining room. One of them he thought he recognized as Fleming's, andhis teeth gritted with rage.
At last he wriggled one hand free, although he had rasped his wrist tillhe felt it was bleeding. A moment more and he had freed his other hand,though he still kept both behind him.
Moriarty was yawning after his night's vigil.
"What time is it now?" Joe muttered sleepily.
"Just a little after eight," Moriarty answered. "The train's just aboutstarted now, but we'll let you cool your heels here for another hour orso. Then you can walk the ties if you want to."
"You've got me pretty well trussed up here," said Joe. "The fellow whotied these knots knew his business."
"Yes," said Moriarty, complacently, strolling over to look at them."He's a dandy when it comes to doing----"
But he got no further.
As he bent down, Joe's muscular hands darted out and clutched him bythe throat. The yell he started to give was stifled at its birth. In amoment Joe was on top of him with his knee on his chest.
Moriarty struggled as hard as he could, but his liquor-soaked framespeedily collapsed before Joe's onslaught, and in a moment he lay limpand senseless. Then Joe flung him aside and rose to his feet.
He rubbed his legs vigorously to restore the circulation until he feltthe strength coming back into them.
There was but one door leading from the room. Joe went to it on tiptoe.He could still hear the murmur of voices. He flung the door opensuddenly and burst into the adjoining room.
Fleming and Connelly sprang to their feet in consternation. With apowerful uppercut, Joe sent Fleming crashing to the floor. Connellyretreated and Joe had no time to bother with him.
He flung himself down the stairs and out into the street. Half a blockaway he saw a taxicab coming toward him. He rushed toward it.
"To the South Station!" he gasped. "Quick! Quick! Quick!"
In an amazingly short time, the taxicab, running at high speed, landedhim at the depot. Joe saw by the station clock that it was a quarter tonine.
Frantically, he sought out the traffic manager and ordered a special.
"I must be in New York by one o'clock," he cried. "I must, I tell you.Never mind the price. Get me a special."
The official hummed and hawed. "It would take a little time to make itup, to get a car. It would----"
"Don't wait for a car," interrupted Joe, in frenzy. "I'll ride on thelocomotive."
In ten minutes the train despatcher had arranged for the right of way,and one of the road's fastest locomotives puffed up. Joe sprang into thecab, the engineer flung the throttle open and they were off.
"Can you make it?" questioned our hero, anxiously.
"We'll make it or bust," was the grim response of the engineer.
He was one of the oldest and most reliable men on the road and as Joelooked at him he felt his confidence rising.
Yet a good many miles lay between our hero and New York City.
And a hundred things might happen to delay the special.
On and on they went, humming over the steel rails at such a rate ofspeed that Joe could scarcely see the telegraph poles.
Suddenly the engineer pulled on a lever and the big locomotive slackenedspeed so quickly that our hero was all but thrown to the floor of thecab.
"Wh--what's the matter?" he gasped, when he could catch his breath.
"Signal against us," was the short reply. "It's O. K. now;" and oncemore the locomotive sped on its way.
"Phew! you have to have your eyes open, don't you?"
"That's it--just like you do, when you are pitching," answered the oldengineer.
"Some work, running a locomotive," mused the young baseball player. "Iguess an engineer earns all the money he gets."
Half an hour later came another scare. Again the locomotive pulled up,this time to allow an automobile full of people to pass over the tracks.An instant sooner and the big engine would have ground the "joy riders"to death.
"Meet such fools almost every trip," said the engineer. "Seems as ifthey wanted to be killed."
"Why don't you have gates at such crossings?"
"It would cost too much money to have a gate at every crossing," was theexplanation. "We do have 'em on the main roads. That was only a littledir
t road--I don't know why the auto was on it. I wasn't looking foranything faster than a farm wagon or a buggy."
"You must have some accidents?"
"Oh, yes, but not many, considering the risks we run. But we wouldn'thave hardly any accidents if the folks were a bit more careful. But someof 'em don't heed the warnings. They will read a 'Safety First' sign andthen run right into danger, just as if they were blind," went on the oldengineer, with a grimace.
They were now on an upgrade, but presently they gained the top of therise and down they streaked on the other side, at a rate of speed thatfairly took Joe's breath away.
"Some running, and no mistake!" he gasped. "You must be making a mile aminute, or better!"
"Running at the rate of seventy-five miles an hour. But we can't keepit up. Here is where we slow down," and they did so, as a long curveappeared in the tracks.
"I don't know as I want to be a locomotive engineer. You run too fast."
"And I don't want to be a baseball player--you pitch too fast," chuckledthe old engineer.
"Well, everyone to his own calling, I suppose."
On they plunged in the wildest ride Baseball Joe had ever known. Underarches and over bridges, thundering through towns with scarcely alessening of speed, past waiting trains drawn up on side tracks to givethe special the right of way, on, on, lurching, swaying, tearing along,until at ten minutes before one the panting engine drew up in the yardsat New York City.
The game was to begin at two.
Baseball Joe leaped into a taxicab with orders to scorch up thepavements in a mad dash to the Polo Grounds. Then the clubhouse, intowhich Joe tumbled, covered with grime and cinders, amid the franticexclamations of the rubbers and attendants. Then the cooling showerand a quick shift into his uniform, after which Joe, cool, collected,thoroughly master of himself, strolled out on the field where the wholeGiant team forgot their practice and made a wild rush for him.
He had fought a good fight. He had kept the faith.
Baseball Joe in the World Series; or, Pitching for the Championship Page 29