“Oh, a Yale man!” her eyes were beginning to sparkle now.
“But I gave it up to enter professional baseball,” the young pitcher went on. “It’s my first attempt. If you do not feel able to get into the carriage—provided it’s in running shape—perhaps I could take you to some house near here and send word to your folks,” he suggested.
“Oh, I think I can ride—provided, as you say, the carriage is in shape to use,” she answered, quickly. “I am Miss Varley. It’s awfully good of you to take so much trouble.”
“Not at all,” protested Joe. He noticed a shadow of pain pass over her face, and she clasped her sprained wrist in her left hand.
“That must hurt a lot, Miss Varley,” spoke Joe with warm sympathy. “I know what a sprain is. I’ve had many a one. Let me wrap a cold, wet rag around it. That will do until you can get to a doctor and have him reduce it.”
Not waiting for permission Joe hurried back to the brook, and dipped his handkerchief in the cold water. This he bound tightly around the already swelling wrist, tying it skillfully, for he knew something about first aid work—one needed to when one played ball for a living.
“That’s better,” she said, with a sigh of relief. “It’s ever so much better. Oh, I don’t know what would have happened if you had not been here!”
“Probably someone else would have done as well,” laughed Joe. “Now about that carriage.”
Prince looked up as the youth approached, and Joe saw a big bruise on the animal’s head.
“Too bad, old fellow, that I had to do that,” spoke Joe, for he loved animals. “No other way, though. I had to stop you.”