CHAPTER XXII
A DELAYED PITCHER
The motorman was grinding away at the brakes but the heavy car continued to slide on, for the hill was steep. The horse lay quiet now, for a man had managed to get to him and sit on his head, so the animal could not kick and thresh about with the consequent danger of getting his legs under the trolley. The car would pass the horse and the wagon by a good margin, but the boy, leaning far over, was sure to be hit unless Joe saved him, and no one in the street seemed to think of the boy’s danger. He said later that he did not realize it himself.
The lad was struggling to free himself but could not, and he did not seem to be able to raise himself to an upright position on the seat, in which case he would have been safe.
“Steady now!” called Joe, and he braced himself for the shock he knew would come.
The next instant, as the car kept on, Joe found himself opposite the lad and reaching forward his right hand he grasped him by the collar, shoving him away so the car would not strike him. Then, holding on in grim despair Joe pulled the youth toward him, aided by the momentum of the vehicle. His idea was to get him aboard the car to prevent his being struck by it, and in this he succeeded.
There was a ripping sound, for some part of the lad’s clothing was caught on the seat and tore loose. A shower of boxes and baskets followed the body as it slid forward, and a moment later Joe had the lad on the foot board beside him, safe and sound, but very much astonished by his sudden descent from the wagon seat.
Joe felt an excruciating pain shoot through his arm—his pitching arm. It was numb from the shock but even yet he did not dare let go, for the lad was on uncertain footing. The pain increased. It was like being kicked by the back-fire of an auto or motor boat. For a moment there was a dull sensation and then the outraged nerves and muscles seemed to cry out in agony.