“No, indeed!” exclaimed the young pitcher. “I would do as much for anyone, and I hope he’d do the same for me.”
“That’s a nice way of looking at it. But are you sure you won’t let me make you——” The man again held out some bills, but the look on Joe’s face must have told him he was getting on dangerous ground, for he suddenly withdrew them and said:
“Well, I can’t thank you enough. Some day—is that the train?” he cried, as a puffing was heard. “I mustn’t miss it now.”
“Here we are!” cried Joe, swinging around a corner. Down a short street was the depot, and as they came in sight of it the train pulled in.
“I—er—I wish—I must run for it!” exclaimed the man.
“Wait. I’ll drive you right up!” called Joe. “I’ll take your valise. You get right out and run. Have you a ticket?”
“Yes. This is exceedingly good of you. I——”
But he did not finish. Joe drove the horse up to the platform edge as the train came to a stop with a grinding of the brake shoes. The man leaped out almost before the horse had ceased running, and Joe was not a second behind him with the valise.
“Go on!” exclaimed the youth, as the man hesitated. He fairly flung himself up the car steps, and the train began to move, for Preston was little more than a flag station for the New York express.