The leader seemed undetermined, but finally decided against this.
“A night in this place will fix him, all right,” he said. “If it don’t, there are lots of other ways to make him act nice. When my bunch wants a man to do something, he does it, or he’s mighty sorry, that’s all.”
With this the fellow turned, followed by the two with him. For an instant Joe had a mad impulse to attack the trio, but he was weaponless, and he told himself that better opportunities of escape were sure to offer. The door creaked on its rusty hinges, a lock snapped, and he was left alone with his thoughts.
Needless to say, these were not of the pleasantest description. What was it that the fellow wanted of him? Whatever it was, Joe felt sure that it would be something with which he could not honorably comply, and he was ready to face any hardship before doing a dishonorable thing.
That night stood out in his memory ever after like some horrible nightmare. He was badly bruised from the effects of his fall and the struggle that followed, and besides was cold and hungry. He craved sleep, but sleep in that rat-ridden den was impossible. He could hear the rats scurrying about in the darkness, and more than once he felt the nip of small but sharp teeth as he flung some rodent away from him. As the night wore on the rats became bolder in their attacks, and it was all Joe could do to ward them off. Every hour seemed like an eternity, and it was with boundless relief that he at last heard the key turn in the lock.
This time there were three different men from those he had seen the night before, but he recognized two of them as having been among his assailants the previous day. The third man he had never seen before.
“The boss wants to see you upstairs,” said this individual. “He sent us to take you up.”
“Lead the way,” said Joe. “Any place is better than this filthy den.”
The man eyed him curiously.
“Say, you’re Matson, the pitcher of the Giants, ain’t you?” he asked, with a note of surprise in his voice.