“What lad?” quickly demanded Mr. Holdney. “Oh, the one who sent us out this rig. I wonder——”
“Did you want to see any one around the works?” interrupted Mr. Benjamin. “I don’t want to seem impolite, after the service you rendered, but we don’t allow loiterers here.”
A number of thoughts passed rapidly through Joe’s mind. He realized that his father might come out at any moment and be seen by the manager carrying off the valuable patterns. Mr. Matson ought to be warned, for Joe realized that if they were to frustrate the conspiracy it would be best that the men did not know that they were on the verge of discovery.
“I want to take a message to Mr. Matson,” said Joe boldly, for this was the truth. He had quickly formed a plan in his mind, and he hoped that it would not be discovered that he was Mr. Matson’s son. It was this very trick of quick thinking that afterward became of so much service to Joe in his notable career on the diamond.
“Oh, then it’s all right,” said Mr. Benjamin. “You may go in. You’ll find Mr. Matson in his office, I dare say.” He smiled at Joe in what he doubtless meant to be a friendly fashion, but the young baseball player could not help but see the hypocrisy in it.
Not pausing to exchange any other talk, Joe slipped in through the big iron gate and made his way to his father’s office. He had been there before.
Just as he reached it the heavy whistle blew, announcing closing time, and hundreds of hands began pouring from the various machine and casting shops.
“Hello, Joe!” called Seth Potter, who played left field for the Silver Stars. “What you doing here, looking for a job?” Seth was employed in one of the offices, and was considered a valuable young man.
“Yes, I want to learn how to make a machine so I don’t miss any flies that come my way,” laughed Joe.