There was a cry of horror from the crowd. To be hurled to the tracks from that height meant instant death for the little one.
Several of the men had started to climb the lumber pile, but when they heard the madman’s threat they stopped instantly. The man above saw that his words had taken effect and he laughed shrilly. But he still held the baby high in the air.
For a moment there was a hush of fear and indecision. Then Joe took command of the situation. His baseball experience had taught him to think quickly and act instantly.
“That’s all right,” he sang out to the crazy man. “You can keep the baby if you want to. We just want to have a quiet little talk with you.”
The madman hesitated, looked about a little uncertainly, then slowly lowered the infant and held it cradled in his arms.
“That’s right,” approved Joe heartily. “You and I are the only sensible people here. These lunatics down here were making such a noise that I couldn’t make you hear me. Now we can talk.”
“Ha, ha!” cried the lunatic, delighted at the compliment. “You hit it right that time. The whole world is mad except for you and me. And I’m not so sure of you, either,” he modified, with a gravity that would have been comical under any other circumstances.
While he was speaking, Joe was giving quick directions in a low voice to the men nearest him.
“Get the fellows to spread out on all sides of the lumber pile,” he said to Ed Wilson. “You, Tom,” he went on to Tom Davis, “go quietly out on the tracks. Then if he does throw the baby down, we’ll at least have a chance to catch it or break its fall.”
The others slipped away like shadows and Joe once more sought to engross the madman’s attention.