CHAPTER XXVIII
THE FIGHT
There was a moment of silence following Joe’s remark about being made regular pitcher. Then Clara laughed and it was almost a laugh of relief, for she had been under quite a strain since she came in and heard the bad news.
“Oh, you silly boy!” cried Clara. “Just as if your being made pitcher was going to help. I suppose you’ll turn all your salary in to help out now; won’t you?” but there was no sting intended in her words and, fearing there might have been just the touch of it, she crossed the room and tried to slip her arm up around Joe’s neck.
“No, you don’t!” he cried as gaily as possible under the circumstances, “fen on kissing. But say, dad, is it as bad as all that? Have Benjamin and his crowd beaten you?”
“I’m afraid so, son. At least they’ve won the first skirmish in the battle. Now it’s up to the courts, and it may take a year or more to settle the question of whether or not I have any rights in the inventions I originated. But don’t let that worry you,” he went on more cheerfully. “We’ll make out somehow. I’m glad you got the place you wanted. How was the game?”
“Pretty good. It was so tight we had to play ten innings. But can’t I do something to help you, dad?”
“We can’t do anything right away,” rejoined Mr. Matson. “We can only wait. I shall have to see a lawyer, and have him look after my interests. I never thought that Mr. Benjamin and Mr. Holdney would treat me this way.
“But don’t worry. Perhaps we shall come out all right, and in the end this may be a good thing. It will teach me a lesson never again to trust any one where patents are concerned. I should have had a written contract and not taken their mere word that they would treat me right.”