“Oh, I guess that will be safe enough. I’ll notify some garage man to come and get it,” was the reply.
“Then get into my car,” urged the gentleman. “I’ve got plenty of room—only my two daughters with me. They’ll be glad to meet a player—they’re crazy about baseball—we’re going to the game, in fact. Get in!”
Escorted by the man who had so kindly come to their assistance, Joe and Reggie got into the big touring car.
The other autoists who had stopped went on, one offering to notify a certain garage to come and get Reggie’s car. Then the young pitcher was again speeded on his way.
The big car was driven at almost reckless speed, and when Joe reached the ball park, and fairly sprang in through the gate, he was an hour late—the game was about half over.
Without looking at Gregory and the other players who were on the bench, Joe gave a quick glance at the score board. It told the story in mute figures.
| 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 | |
|---|---|
| PITTSTON | 0 0 0 0 |
| CLEVEFIELD | 1 0 2 3 |
It was the start of the fifth inning, and Pittston was at bat. Unless she had made some runs so far the tally was six to nothing in favor of Clevefield. Joe groaned in spirit.
“Any runs?” gasped Joe, as he veered over to the bench where his mates sat. He was short of breath, for he had fairly leaped across the field.