"Name it," promptly said the man who seemed to be in charge of the company.
"Get me somewhere so I can send word to Philadelphia—to Manager Watson of the St. Louis Cardinals. I want to explain what happened, so he won't expect me in the game to-day."
"Are you a member of the St. Louis team?" asked one of the men, quickly.
"One of the pitchers—my name is Matson."
The two leading men of the company looked at each other in an odd manner.
"It couldn't have happened better; could it, Harry?" one asked.
Our hero was a trifle mystified until the man called Harry explained.
"You see, it's this way," he said. "My name is Harry Kirk, and this is James Morton," nodding toward the other man. "We manage a moving picture company, most of whom you now see," and he indicated those about him. "We have been doing a variety of stuff, and we want to get some baseball pictures. We've been trying to induce some of the big teams to play an exhibition game for us, but so far we haven't been successful. Now if you would use your influence with your manager, and he could induce some other team to play a short game, why we'd be ever so much obliged."
"Of course I'll do all I can!" cried Joe. "I can't thank you enough for your rescue of me, and the least I could do would be to help you out! I'm pretty sure I can induce Mr. Watson to let his team give an exhibition, anyhow."
"That's all we want—an opening wedge," said Mr. Kirk, "but we couldn't seem to get it. Our finding of you was providential."