“Miss Varley is in safe hands. If Matson loses his game to-day she will be returned this evening. If he doesn’t, it will cost $25,000 to get her back. Personal in papers to-morrow, signed T. Z., will give exact directions for carrying on further negotiations.”
“Now you see why I’ve got to see Joe right away,” said Reggie in frenzied impatience, snatching the note from Jim’s hands.
“You mustn’t!” ejaculated Jim, barring the way. “Don’t you see that that’s just what the rascals want you to do? You’d just be playing their game. They want to get Joe so frightened and upset that he can’t pitch. It’s the scheme of some gamblers who have bet on the Yanks to win. They want to make sure that they will win, and so they want to bribe or frighten Joe into losing. But probably if he did, they’d demand the ransom money just the same. We’ll have to keep it from Joe until the game is over. Nothing will be lost by that. I’ll give McRae a tip and he’ll let me off. Then you and I will get busy and do all that we can for the next two hours. If we turn nothing up, we’ll be back here when the game ends and tell Joe all about it. Wait here a minute till I see McRae, and then we’ll get on the job.”
In five minutes he was back with the required permission, and as soon as he had got into his street clothes he hailed a taxicab, and he and Reggie jumped in and were off.
When the bell rang for the game to begin, the Giants took the field, and Milton, the big center-fielder of the Yankees, came to the plate. Joe wound a high fast one about his neck, at which he refused to bite. The next one split the rubber, and Milton swung savagely at it and missed. The next was a called strike. On the following ball, he rolled an easy grounder to Burkett at first, who made the put out unassisted. The next man, Pender, Joe put out on strikes in jig time. Then the mighty Kid Rose strode to the bat.
He grinned at Joe and Joe grinned back. They were both good fellows, and each thoroughly respected the other. There was no bitterness in their rivalry.
“Now little ball, come to papa!” sang out Rose.
“Here he comes!” laughed Joe. “Take a look at baby.”
The ball whizzed over the plate, and Rose missed it by an inch. The next he fouled off, as he did the following one. Then Joe tried a fadeaway, and Rose fell for it, swinging himself halfway round with the force of his blow.
“You’re out!” cried the umpire, and the Giant supporters in the stands broke out in cheers. It was not often that Rose struck out, and the feat was appreciated.
In the Giants’ half, Hays set them down in one, two, three order. Curry flied to Russell in right, Iredell went out by the strike route, while Burkett’s grounder to Pender at short was whipped smartly down to first.
The Yankees were easy victims in the second. Russell fanned, Walsh lifted a twisting foul, on which Mylert made a superb catch close to the Giants’ dugout and Mullen hit a grounder between first and the box, which Joe captured and fielded to Burkett in plenty of time.
Joe was first up in the Giants’ half, and had to doff his cap in response to the cheers which greeted him as he came to the plate.
Hays sized him up carefully and did not like his looks. The first ball he threw him was so wide that Banks, the catcher, had to reach far out to nab it with one hand.
That might have been lack of control on Hays’ part, but when a second followed, that came nowhere in the range of Joe’s bat, the crowd jumped to the conclusion that he was deliberately trying to pass him, and a storm of protests rained down on the diamond.
“You’re a game sport—not!”
“Let Baseball Joe hit the ball!”
“Yellow streak!”
“Matson took a chance with Rose. Why don’t you take a chance with Matson?”
“Where’s your sand?”
Whether Hays was stung by these jibes or not, the next ball curved over the plate and just above the knee. There was a ringing crack, and the ball sailed aloft in the direction of the bleachers with home run written all over it. There was no need of hurrying, and Joe simply trotted around the bases, while pandemonium reigned in the stands and bleachers.
Wheeler went out on a fly to Milton, Willis fanned, and Larry closed the inning with a pop up to second. But the Giants had scored first blood, and in such a close game as this promised to be, that run stood out like a lighthouse.
In the third, McCarthy fell victim to Joe’s curves and went out on strikes. Banks was lucky and got to first on a grasser to Iredell that took a wicked bound just as the shortstop was all set to receive it and jumped into left. He was nipped a minute later, when Joe saw out of the corner of his eye that he was taking too long a lead off first and made a lightning throw to Burkett. Hays, after fouling off two, struck out on a mean drop, and the inning ended without damage.
Hays put one over for Denton that the latter pickeled for a dandy grasser between third and short. Rose at left was slow in retrieving the ball, and Denton by fleet running and a hook slide reached the middle station. Here, however, he was caught napping. Then Hays braced and set the next two players down on strikes. It was a deft exhibition of “getting out of a hole,” and deserved the generous applause that it received.
In the Yankees’ half of the fourth, Milton sent one to Willis at third that the latter stopped neatly but threw to first too wide, the ball almost missing Burkett’s fingers as he reached for it. Pender knocked a grounder to Larry, but the latter hesitated a moment as to whether to make the play at first or second, and when he finally chose second, Milton had reached that bag, and both men were safe. Then Rose came to the bat, with the Yankee partisans shouting wildly for a homer.
Joe fooled him twice, but Rose caught the third one and poled a hit to right. Wheeler and Denton both raced for it, and the latter by a herculean effort just managed to get under it. In the meantime, Milton had started forward, and Pender too was on his way. Quick as a flash, Denton straightened up and sent the ball on a line to first. Pender had turned and was running back, but was an easy out. Burkett shot the ball to Larry, putting out Milton, who was scrambling back to second. It was a superb triple play and the crowd went crazy.
Iredell started the Giants’ fourth with a liner to McCarthy, that settled comfortably in the third baseman’s glove. Burkett lammed a single into right. Joe walloped a shrieking three-bagger between right and center, that brought Burkett galloping to the plate for the second run of the game. Wheeler was ordered to sacrifice, but his attempted bunt resulted in a little fly to Hays, and Joe was held on third. Hays turned on steam and struck Willis out.
The fifth inning passed without scoring by either side. Both Joe and Hays were pitching magnificent ball, and the crowds cheered each in turn lustily.
The first real hit that Joe yielded came in the sixth, when after McCarthy had struck out, Banks lined a beauty into right between first and second. It did no harm, however, for Joe tightened up immediately and made Hays and Milton hit at empty air.
The Giants in their half went the Yankees one better in the matter of hits, and yet could not score. Curry sent a twister over second that Mullen could not get under. Iredell followed with a slow roller down the third base line, that McCarthy could not reach in time to field. A moment later, however, Curry was caught napping at second, and Burkett hit into a snappy double play, retiring the side.
In the seventh, the Yankees broke the ice. Pender got a life, when his high fly to third was muffed by Willis. Kid Rose came to the bat.
“Put it over, Joe, and see me lose it,” he called. “I was robbed last time.”
“That’s nothing, Kid,” chaffed Joe. “You’ll be killed this time.”
The first ball, which completely baffled the most dangerous slugger of the American League, seemed to bear out this prediction. On the second, however, Rose sent a neat hit to right that was good for two bases and brought Pender over the plate, amid the thunderous roars of the Yankee supporters. Russell tapped a little one in front of the plate, that Joe got in time to put him out at first, but not to head Rose off at third. Walsh went out on strikes. Mullen rolled one to Burkett, and Joe ran over to cover the bag, but Burkett’s throw hit the dirt and Rose came over the plate, tying the score. McCarthy fanned, and the inning was over. One hit, sandwiched in with errors, had knocked the Giants’ lead into a cocked hat and tied up the game.
Not for long, however. Joe was the first man up, and came to the plate with blood in his eye. The first two offerings he let go by. The third was to his liking. There was an explosion like the crack of a gun and the ball started on its journey.
That journey was destined to be talked about for years to come. It was the longest hit that ever had been made on the Polo Grounds. On it went over right field, over the bleachers and over the fence, clearing it at a height of fifty feet.
In the wild roar that went up as Joe loped around the bases, even the Yankee supporters joined. It was an occasion that rose above partisanship, an outstanding event in the history of sport. The spectators cheered until they were hoarse, and it was a minute or two before play could be resumed.
The rest of the inning was short and sweet. Wheeler, Willis and Larry went out in order, the first two on strikes and the latter on a grounder fielded by Mullen.
The eighth was on the same snappy order. Joe was determined to maintain his advantage, and was invincible. Banks grounded to the box, and Joe tossed him out. Hays fanned for the second time and Milton followed suit.
Hays, too, was going strong, and the Giant batsmen went down before him like a row of tenpins. Denton made three futile attempts and threw down his bat in disgust. Mylert cut three successive swaths in the atmosphere and went back to the bench, while Curry fouled out to Banks.
In the ninth, the Yankees again sewed it up. Pender got to first, when Larry was slow in fielding his grounder. The mighty Rose came up amid frantic cheering. But Joe summoned all his cunning, and for the second time that day struck him out, while the crowd cheered his sportsmanship in not passing him to first. Russell popped up an infield fly that Willis and Iredell ran for but collided, the ball dropping between them. In the scramble that ensued, Pender reached third and Russell made second. Iredell was still a little shaken by the collision, and fumbled the easy grounder of Walsh that ought to have resulted in an out at the plate, Walsh reaching first in safety. In consequence Pender scored, and again the game was tied at 3 to 3. A single now would have brought in another run, but Joe by a quick throw caught Walsh asleep at first and struck out Mullen, thus ending the inning.
With the frenzied adjurations of McRae and Robbie in their ears, the Giants came to the bat for the last half of the ninth. Iredell made a mighty effort, but came back to the bench after three fruitless swings at Hays’ benders. Burkett sent up a towering skyscraper that was gathered in after a long run by Milton in center.
On Joe now rested the Giants’ hopes. Twice that day he had poled out homers, and once he had ripped out a three-bagger. Could he repeat?
Hays was determined that he shouldn’t have a chance. Amid the jeers and taunts of the crowd, he deliberately sent three balls wide of the plate. In attempting to do the same with the fourth, however, he sent it a trifle too close. Joe caught it on the end of his bat.
How that ball traveled! Almost on a line it whistled through the air in the direction of the right field bleachers. On and on went that terrific, screeching liner straight into the crowd in the bleachers who scrambled frantically to get out of its path.
Round the bases went Joe, amid shouts and yells that were deafening. Down on the home plate he came with both feet. The game was won, the series was over and the Giants were the champions of the world!
Like a deer Joe made for the clubhouse, to escape the crowds that came swarming over the field. He reached it just as a man was being carried inside.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Any one hurt?”
“Only a glancing blow,” remarked the club doctor, who had been looking the man over. “He’s dazed, but he’ll come to his senses soon.”
Joe bent over to look at him and started back in surprise.
“Why, I know that man!” he exclaimed. “His name’s Fleming!”
“It’s Fleming all right,” said Jim’s voice beside him. “And he’s got just what was coming to him.”
Joe looked up and saw Jim and Reggie. They were grave and worried, and Joe’s sixth sense told him that something was wrong.
“What’s happened?” he asked in alarm. “And where is Mabel? What kept her from the game? Don’t stand there dumb! Tell me, quick!”
“Now, Joe——” began Jim soothingly, but was interrupted by the injured man who opened his eyes, looked wildly around and struggled to a sitting posture. His eyes dilated with fright when he saw Joe and Jim.
“I didn’t do it!” he half screamed. “I didn’t kidnap her! It was Braxton. He——”
Jim interposed.
“Clear a space here,” he commanded. “This is a private matter for Joe and me. Now, Fleming,” he went on in short, menacing words that cut like a knife, “tell me this instant where Miss Varley is. You know. Tell me. Quick! Don’t lie, or I’ll tear your tongue out by the roots.”
Before the blazing fury in his eyes Fleming quailed.
“She’s at Inwood,” he muttered. “She’s safe enough. She’s——”
“Reggie,” commanded Jim, “jump into the car and take the wheel. Joe, help me to get this man into the car. Don’t talk. I’ll explain as we go along. Doyle,” he continued, turning to a police lieutenant who was a warm admirer of the boys and who happened to be standing near, “come along with us if you don’t mind. It may be a case for you.”
“Sure thing,” replied Doyle. “I’m with you.”
They half dragged, half carried, Fleming to the car, and Reggie put on speed. The lieutenant sat in front with him, and his uniform prevented any question on the part of the traffic policemen. Fleming, pale and apprehensive, was thrust into a corner of the tonneau, while Jim explained the situation to Joe, who was boiling with rage.
The headlong speed at which Reggie drove soon brought them to the vicinity of Inwood, and following the faltering directions of Fleming, they drew up before a little house that was a block away from any of its neighbors.
They tiptoed up the steps, Joe having his hand so tightly on Fleming’s collar that his knuckles ground into his neck.
“You know what you’ve got to do, Fleming,” he whispered. “If you don’t do it——”
His grip tightened and his fist clenched.
Trembling, Fleming opened the front door with his latchkey, and the party went softly through the hall. They stopped in front of a door from behind which a man was heard talking.
“I’m sorry to have to incommode you, Miss Varley,” he was saying in suave polished tones that the boys recognized at once as Braxton’s. “But unfortunately it is necessary to the success of my plans. You can’t complain that we haven’t treated you with perfect respect outside of the little violence we had to use to get you into the car.”
There was no reply, but the party could hear the sound of sobbing.
“Knock,” whispered Joe, emphasizing the command by a twist of Fleming’s collar.
Fleming knocked.
“Who’s there?” came from within.
“It’s Fleming,” was the weak answer. “Open up.”
The door opened and the party went in with a rush.
There was a cry of joy from Mabel and a startled exclamation from Braxton. He looked toward the door, but the burly policeman had closed it and stood with his back against it. The next instant Joe had smashed Braxton straight between the eyes and the rascal measured his length on the floor. An instant more, and Mabel was in Joe’s arms, sobbing her heart out against his breast.
For a few moments the reunited ones were dead to the world around them. When at last they had come to their senses, Joe, with a final caress, relinquished Mabel to Reggie’s care.
“You’d better go out to the car, dearest,” he said to her. “I’ll be with you soon. I’ve got a little business to attend to here.”
The brother and sister went out, and Joe turned to the rest of the party. Braxton had been yanked to his feet by Jim and jammed down hard into a chair, where he sat glowering with rage and fear. Doyle stood guard over Fleming, who presented a miserable picture of abjectness.
“Shall I take them in charge, Mr. Matson?” asked the police lieutenant. “You seem to have a clear case against them. They ought to get ten years at least.”
The fear in the rascals’ faces deepened.
“No,” answered Joe thoughtfully. “I don’t want any scandal and I don’t believe I’ll make a charge. At least, not yet. Jim, can you skirmish around and find pen and ink?”
In a minute or two Jim had found them.
“Now, you contemptible skunks,” began Joe, “listen to me. I’m going to get a written confession from you of this whole business. Put down, Jim, that matter of the anonymous letter. Don’t try to lie out of it, you scoundrel,” he said, as Braxton started to protest. “Put down, too, that hiring of the auto bandits to cripple me.” Here Braxton gave a violent start. “Put down that attempt to dope me in Chicago. That hits you on the raw, doesn’t it, Fleming?” he added, as the latter cringed still lower in his seat. “We’ll pass over the matter of hiring Bugs Hartley to do me up in St. Louis, for he may have done that on his own account. Now add this kidnaping incident and the record will be complete.”
Jim wrote rapidly and soon had the document ready.
“Now we’ll ask these gentlemen to sign,” said Joe, with exaggerated politeness.
“I won’t sign,” snarled Braxton, livid with rage.
“Oh, you won’t?” said Joe. “All right, Lieutenant——”
“I’ll sign,” said Braxton hastily.
Both he and Fleming signed, and Joe put the document carefully into his pocket.
“Now,” he said, “I have you rascals on the hip. Dare to make one other move against me as long as you live, and I’ll have you clapped into jail so quickly it will make your heads swim. I’ll put you where the dogs won’t bite you.”
Both Braxton and Fleming rose to their feet.
“Where are you going?” asked Joe, in apparent surprise.
“You’re through with us, aren’t you?” growled Braxton.
Joe laughed outright.
“Oh, dear no,” he said, as he rose to his feet. “There’s just one little thing to attend to yet. I’m going to thrash you within an inch of your life.”
Braxton made a dash for the door, but Joe caught him a clip on the jaw that sent him staggering back into a corner.
“Now Jim,” said Joe, “suppose you take that little rat out,” pointing to Fleming, “and drop him somewhere. He got his dose when the ball knocked him out in the bleachers, and that perhaps will be enough for him. Lieutenant,” he went on, turning to Doyle, “you’re a policeman, and might feel called on to stop any scene of violence. I feel it in my bones that there’s going to be a little violence here—just a little. Would you mind stepping outside and seeing whether the car is all right?”
“Sure,” replied Doyle, with a grin and a wink.
“Now, you cur,” said Joe, as he turned to Braxton, “take off your coat. It’s a long account I have to settle with you, and I’m going to give you the licking of your life.”
There was no way out, and Braxton took off his coat and closed in. He was a big man and fought with the desperation of a cornered rat. He got in one or two wild blows that did no damage. Joe smashed him right and left, knocked him down and lifted him to his feet to knock him down again, until Braxton, beaten to a finish, refused to get up, and lay in a heap in a corner, fairly sobbing with rage and pain and shame.
“Just one little bit of news, Braxton,” said Joe, as he turned to leave. “You’ve lost your bets. The Giants won!”
He ran lightly down the steps and jumped into the car, where Mabel snuggled up to him.
“What kept you so long, Joe?” she asked anxiously.
“Just settling an account, honey,” he replied, as he drew her closer. “It was a long one and took some time.”
“An account? What do you mean?” the girl asked, and then added suddenly: “Oh, Joe, you are all—all mussed up!”
“Am I, dear? Well, if I am you ought to see the other fellow, that’s all.”
“It was a—a fight?” she faltered.
“Hardly that, Mabel. Braxton had it coming to him—and I gave it to him with interest. But let us forget it. It’s over now, and all I want to think about is—you!” And he held her closer than ever.
A few weeks later the wedding march was played in Mabel’s home, and she and Joe joined hands for life. Clara was bridesmaid and Jim was best man. Mr. and Mrs. Matson, the latter greatly improved in health, were present. It was a glorious occasion, and all of them, the bride and groom especially, were happy beyond words.
“I’m quite a royal personage,” said Mabel, as the happy pair, amid a shower of rice, started off on their honeymoon. “To think of poor little me marrying the king of pitchers and king of batters.”
“As Reggie would say, you’re ‘spoofing’ me,” he laughed. “At any rate, I’m luckier than most kings. I’ve picked a perfect queen.” And Baseball Joe smiled broadly.
And he had a right to smile, don’t you think so?
THE END
THE BASEBALL JOE SERIES
12mo. Illustrated. Price per volume, $1.00, postpaid
Joe is an everyday country boy who loves to play baseball and particularly to pitch.
Joe’s great ambition was to go to boarding school and play on the school team.
Joe goes to Yale University. In his second year he becomes a varsity pitcher and pitches in several big games.
From Yale college to a baseball league of our Central States.
From the Central League Joe goes to the St. Louis Nationals.
Joe was traded to the Giants and became their mainstay.
What Joe did to win the series will thrill the most jaded reader.
The Giants and the All-Americans tour the world.
Joe becomes the greatest batter in the game.
Throwing the game meant a fortune but also dishonor and it was a great honor to defeat it.
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Stories of adventures in strange places, with peculiar people and queer animals.
The tale of a trip to the frozen North with a degree of reality that is most convincing.
A marvelous trip from Maine to the South Pole, telling of adventures with the sea-monsters and savages.
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This book tells how the journey was made in a strange craft and what happened on Mars.
Strange adventures on the planet which is found to be a land of desolation and silence.
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Lively stories of outdoor sports and adventure every boy will want to read.
You will love Jack Ranger—you simply can’t help it. He is bright and cheery, and earnest in all he does.
This volume takes the hero to the great West. Jack is anxious to clear up the mystery surrounding his father’s disappearance.
Jack gets back to Washington Hall and goes in for all sorts of school games. There are numerous contests on the athletic field.
How Jack was carried off to sea against his will makes a “yarn” no boy will want to miss.
Jack organizes a gun club and with his chums goes in quest of big game. They have many adventures in the mountains.
Jack receives a box from his father and it is stolen. How he regains it makes an absorbing tale.
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Mr. Chadwick has played on the diamond and on the gridiron himself.
Tom Parsons, a “hayseed,” makes good on the scrub team of Randall College.
A football story, told in Mr. Chadwick’s best style, that is bound to grip the reader from the start.
Tom Parsons and his friends Phil and Sid are the leading players on Randall College team. There is a great game.
After having to reorganize their team at the last moment, Randall makes a touchdown that won a big game.
The winning of the hurdle race and long-distance run is extremely exciting.
Tom, Phil and Sid prove as good at aquatic sports as they are on track, gridiron and diamond.
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The Webster Series
Mr. Webster’s style is very much like that of the boys’ favorite author, the late lamented Horatio Alger, Jr., but his tales are thoroughly up-to-date.
Cloth. 12mo. Over 200 pages each. Illustrated. Stamped in various colors.
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Author of the “Fred Fenton Athletic Series,” “The Boys of Pluck Series,” and “The Darewell Chums Series.”
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Tom Fairfield is a typical American lad, full of life and energy, a boy who believes in doing things. To know Tom is to love him.
Tells of how Tom started for school, of the mystery surrounding one of the Hall seniors, and of how the hero went to the rescue. The first book in a line that is bound to become decidedly popular.
Tom’s parents had gone to Australia and then been cast away somewhere in the Pacific. Tom set out to find them and was himself cast away. A thrilling picture of the perils of the deep.
The boys decided to go camping, and located near an old mill. A wild man resided there and he made it decidedly lively for Tom and his chums. The secret of the old mill adds to the interest of the volume.
While Tom was back at school some of his enemies tried to get him into trouble. Something unusual occurred and Tom was suspected of a crime. How he set to work to clear his name is told in a manner to interest all young readers.
Tom was only a schoolboy, but he loved to use a shotgun or a rifle. In this volume we meet him on a hunting trip full of outdoor life and good times around the camp-fire.
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Author of “The Dave Dashaway Series,” “Great Marvel Series,” etc.
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All boys who love to be on the go will welcome the Speedwell boys. They are clean cut and loyal lads.
The lads were poor, but they did a rich man a great service and he presented them with their motor cycles. What a great fire led to is exceedingly well told.
A tale of automobiling and of intense rivalry on the road. There was an endurance run and the boys entered the contest. On the run they rounded up some men who were wanted by the law.
Here is an unusual story. There was a wreck, and the lads, in their power launch, set out to the rescue. A vivid picture of a great storm adds to the interest of the tale.
An old sailor knows of a treasure lost under water because of a cliff falling into the sea. The boys get a chance to go out in a submarine and they make a hunt for the treasure.
The boys had an idea for a new sort of iceboat, to be run by combined wind and motor power. How they built the craft, and what fine times they had on board of it, is well related.
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