“Yes, ma’am,” answered the centre fielder, and then he paused on the threshold of the kitchen.
“Have you forgotten something?” asked Mrs. Peterkin, who was preparing to give the place a thorough scrubbing.
“We—er—that is——” stammered Joe.
“It’s their baseball, I guess,” put in Mr. Peterkin. “It is in the kettle of apple sass, Alvirah.”
“Oh, yes; so it is,” she agreed, and this time she really laughed. “Well, you may have it,” she added. “I don’t want it.” With a dipper she fished it up from the bottom of the kettle, put it under the water faucet to clean it, and held it out to Joe.
“Thanks,” he said as he took it and hurried off with Tom, before anything more could be said.
“Whew!” exclaimed Tom, when they were out in the lots again. “That was a hot time while it lasted. And we got out of it mighty lucky, thanks to your mother. Mrs. Peterkin is great on the society business, and I guess she thought if she gave it to us too hot your mother wouldn’t call on her. Yes, we were lucky all right. Want to practice some more?”
“Not to-day,” replied Joe with a smile. “I’ve had enough. Besides, this ball is all wet and slippery. Anyhow there’s lots more time, and I guess the next day we do it we’ll go down to the fairgrounds.”
“Yes, there’s more room there, and no kettles of apple sauce,” agreed Tom, with a laugh.
As Tom had an errand to do down town for his father he did not accompany Joe back to their respective homes.