Then they took to their heels, with the rascals after them. But the latter were no match for fleet base runners like the two Giant ball players. Reaching the corner, the two boys raced up the avenue a block or so, but the ruffians appeared to have given up the pursuit, and they slowed down to a walk.
They kept up a rapid pace, however, and did not feel secure until they were seated in a subway train and speeding uptown.
Both of them bore signs of the struggle they had been through, but they little minded this nor the curious stares of the other passengers. They were both safe, after having gone through adventures that might well have ended in tragedy for one or both.
Joe looked at his friend, and Jim looked at him. Then they both grinned.
“I don’t blame people for looking at us as though we were a couple of freaks,” said Joe. “If I look as bunged up as you do, Jim, I must be a terrible sight.”
“You are,” said Jim frankly. “I guess I am too, though. And make out my hands aren’t sore!” and he exhibited two blistered palms. “After that gang came swarming out of the house I slid down that rope so fast that it smoked.”
“You didn’t get down a minute too soon,” answered Joe. “But your hands look pretty bad. I’m afraid you won’t be able to pitch for a week, at the least.”
“Well, if I hadn’t slid down fast, I’d probably never have pitched again at any time,” said Jim. “A few blisters are a cheap price to pay to get away from that gang.”
“Don’t forget the rope that I contributed,” Joe reminded him. “Not to mention the baseball.”
“That was some rock,” said Jim. “When it landed in the room I thought it would go through the floor. I’ve got to hand it to you for thinking up that scheme, Joe. Likewise, that was a wonderful throw you made, up to the window. When I saw you winding up for it, I never thought you’d make it.”