They all laughed and Joe confessed. They plied him with all sorts of questions and though he sought to minimize what he had done, they succeeded in getting a very fair idea of the almost tragic scene that had been enacted.
“You’re awfully stingy with your information,” said Clara, tossing her head. “Half a dozen of the neighbors have been in and told us all about what your high mightiness did. To hear them talk, I’ve got a brother with the brain of a Socrates and the arm of a Hercules. I’ll almost be afraid to speak to you after this without knocking my head against the floor first.”
“Oh, cut it out, Sis,” laughed Joe, a little sheepishly. “You’re making an awful lot out of a very little. I just had the luck to be Johnny-on-the-spot, and I knew how to throw a snowball so that it would do the most good.”
“It was a splendid bit of work, Joe,” said Mr. Matson quietly, and Joe felt his heart warm; for praise from this grave, thoughtful father of his was very dear to him.
“I hope the man wasn’t very badly hurt,” said Mrs. Matson, her feeling of pity for the “under dog” asserting itself, now that her maternal pride had been satisfied.
“I don’t think he is,” remarked Joe. “Doctor Allison examined him and said that there were no bones broken. He’ll come around all right, although his head is liable to ache for some time.”
“Does anybody know who he is?” inquired Mr. Matson.
“He seems to be a stranger in town,” answered Joe. “I heard some one say that he had been staying at the Park Hotel. I never saw him in my life before.”
“What on earth did he want to take the Bilkins baby for?” asked Clara. “Did he have any grudge against the Bilkinses?”