Not pausing to exchange any other talk, Joe slipped in through the big iron gate and made his way to his father's office. He had been there before.

Just as he reached it the heavy whistle blew, announcing closing time, and hundreds of hands began pouring from the various machine and casting shops.

"h.e.l.lo, Joe!" called Seth Potter, who played left field for the Silver Stars. "What you doing here, looking for a job?" Seth was employed in one of the offices, and was considered a valuable young man.

"Yes, I want to learn how to make a machine so I don't miss any flies that come my way," laughed Joe.

"That's right! Going to play with us Sat.u.r.day?"

"I hope so," and then, with a few other pleasant words, Seth hurried on, and Joe sought his father. He found Mr. Matson wrapping up some models.

"Quick dad!" he exclaimed. "Mr. Benjamin and Mr. Holdney are out at the gate. They just drove up. I slipped in to warn you!"

"Good, Joe! I'm glad you did. I wouldn't want them to see me taking these things away, for it would tell them that their game was discovered, and I want to find out more of what their plans are before they are aware of it."

"But how you going to get out?" asked his son. "They're there yet," he added, for he could look from a window and see the carriage still at the gate.

"Oh, you and I can slip out the back way. It's lucky you told me. There, I'm ready," and having locked his desk, Mr. Matson took his package and with Joe went out of a rear exit, going home by a roundabout way so that the conspirators did not see them.

"My! I wish this thing hadn't happened, or that it was postponed for a while," said Mr. Matson thoughtfully as he walked along.

"Why, is it likely to be serious, dad?"

"I'm afraid so. You see I have a peculiar arrangement with the harvester concern in regard to things that I might invent. It is too complicated to go into all the details, but I have to trust to their honor to give me my rights in certain matters. If they wanted to they could deprive me of the benefits of my patents and the law could not help me. So I have to be very careful. Up to now I have trusted Mr. Benjamin implicitly, but now--now I will be on my guard. It is a lucky thing you overheard that talk."

There was an earnest consultation between Mr. and Mrs. Matson that night, to which Joe and his sister were not admitted, for it was business they would not have understood. But at the close they were told to say nothing of what had happened that day.

"I will keep right on at the harvester works as if nothing had occurred," said Mr. Matson, "and then they will not get suspicious. But I will do the most important and secret work on my invention here at home."

"Now that it is all settled," said Clara, "I'm going to say 'apple sauce' to you, Joe. What does it mean?"

"Oh, yes," and the young baseball player laughed. "Well I guess you've got to join the Dorcas and Sewing societies, mother, to keep me out of a sc.r.a.pe," and with many funny touches Joe told about his wild throw that day, making an amusing story of it.

"Oh, I would have given anything if some of the girls and I could have been there when you and Tom were blacking the stove!" exclaimed Clara with a laugh.

"I'm glad you weren't," declared Joe, "though it's lucky we didn't have to mop up the floor. After this I'm going to go a mile away from her house when I want to practice throwing."

"I should think you would," agreed Mr. Matson.

"But you'll join those societies; won't you mother?" asked Joe.

"Oh, I suppose I'll have to, in order to keep you out of prison," she agreed with a laugh. "But please don't make any more engagements for me, as my time is pretty well occupied."

It was two days after this when Tom Davis, coming out of school, caught up with Joe who was a little in advance of him.

"Got anything special to do?" asked the subst.i.tute first baseman.

"No, why?"

"I thought maybe you'd like to go out in the lot again, and have some more practice."

"Back of Mrs. Peterkin's house?" asked Joe with a smile.

"I should say not! But I've got a new scheme. I read about it in that baseball book. We'll have a contest for long distance throwing and accuracy."

"How do you mean?"

"Why you and I'll go down in the same lots but we'll throw in the other direction. Then we can't hit anything. We'll see who can throw the farthest. You'll need to practice that if you are to play centre field."

"What's the other contest?"

"For straight aim. I'll get an old basket, and we'll see who can land the most b.a.l.l.s in it. Want to try?"

"Sure. Anything to improve myself," said Joe earnestly.

A little later he and his chum were on their way to the vacant lots. As they walked along they met several other lads, some of whom played on the regular team, a few from the High School nine, and some from the Silver Star scrub.

"What's doing?" demanded Rodney Burke.

"We're going to see who is the best thrower," answered Tom.

"Give us a show at it?" requested Ford Wilson.

"Sure," a.s.sented Joe. "The more, the merrier."

Soon a jolly crowd of youngsters were taking turns at the long distance throwing. After several tries the record lay between Joe and Rodney Burke, and they played off a tie, Joe winning by about seven feet.

"That's a good throw all right," complimented the loser.

"A fellow who's playing centre field needs to have a pretty good heave,"

said Joe. "Especially if he's up against a heavy-hitting team."

"And that's been our luck for some time past," spoke Tom. "Well, now for the basket test."

This was more difficult than straight throwing for distance and several of the lads dropped out, being disqualified by failures. But Tom, Joe and Rodney remained in, and for a time it was pretty even between them.

Finally it narrowed down to Tom and Joe, and they were just ready to throw the deciding round when a new voice called out:

"Any objections to me joining?"

Joe and the others turned, to see the half-mocking face of Sam Morton.

CHAPTER XVIII

ANOTHER DEFEAT