“I took a short cut across lots to get home,” she answered, “and I didn’t notice the bull until he was close to me. Then I—I couldn’t seem to run, until this boy got in front of me.”
“Yes, it was a brave thing to do,” said the man, as he looked at Tommy. “How did you think to throw that rail between his legs and trip him up?” he asked.
“I didn’t think,” replied Tommy. “It just—just happened!”
“And it’s a good thing it did,” went on the man. He looked toward the bull, who was pawing up the dirt, stamping his feet and shaking his big head with the ugly-looking horns on, while, from time to time, he gave forth a low bellow. “I’ll send a couple of hired men and have him chained up in the stable. I can’t allow him in the fields any more,” he added.
“Oh, is he your bull?” asked Tommy in surprise.
“Yes,” answered the man.
“Then you must be Mr. Bashford,” spoke the boy. “Is this your lot? I’m glad I didn’t hurt the bull.”
“It would not do him any harm to be hurt some,” declared the man. “He’s too ugly. I guess I’ll sell him. Yes, I’m Mr. Bashford.”
“Then you’re just the man I want to see!” exclaimed Tommy. “We boys would like to have this lot for a ball field. Would you let us take it—or—or—hire it to us?” he added, though he did not know where the money was to come from to pay for it.
“Have my lot for a ball field!” exclaimed Mr. Bashford, thoughtfully. “Why, we’ve got one ball team in town now. Is this a new one?”