"You must let me know--let Reggie know," she went on. "We shall be here for some days yet."
Joe promised to write, and then hurried off to catch his train. It was a long ride to Riverside, and to Joe, who was all impatience to be there, the train seemed to be the very slowest kind of a freight, though it really was an express.
But all things must have an end, and that torturing journey did. Joe arrived in his home town late one afternoon, and took a carriage to the house. He saw Clara at the window, and could see that she had been crying. She slipped to the door quickly, and held up a warning finger.
"What--what's the matter?" asked Joe in a hoarse whisper. "Is--is he worse?"
"No, he's a little better, if anything. But he has just fallen asleep, and so has mother. She is quite worn out. Come in and I'll tell you about it. Oh, Joe! I'm so glad you're home!"
Clara related briefly the particulars of the accident, and then the doctor came in. By this time Mrs. Matson had awakened and welcomed her son.
"What chance is there, Doctor," asked the young pitcher; "what chance to save his eyesight?"
"Well, there's a chance; but, I'm sorry to say, it is only a slim one,"
was the answer. "It's too soon to say with certainty, however. Another day will have to pass. I hope all will be well, but now all I can say is that there is a chance."
Joe felt his heart beating hard, and then, bracing himself to meet the emergency if it should come, he put his arm around his weeping mother, and said, as cheerfully as he could:
"Well, I believe chance is going to be on our side. I'm going to use a bit of baseball slang, and say I have a 'hunch' that we'll win out!"
"That's the way to talk!" cried Dr. Birch, heartily.
CHAPTER XVII
OLD POP AGAIN
Dr. Birch remained for some little time at the Matson home, going over in detail with Joe just what the nature of his father's injuries were.
In brief, while experimenting on a certain new method of chilling steel, for use in a corn sheller, Mr. Matson mixed some acids together.
Unknown to him a workman had, accidentally, substituted one very strong acid for a weak one. When the mixture was put into an iron pot there was an explosion. Some of the acid, and splinters of iron, flew up into the face of the inventor.
"And until I can tell whether the acid, or a piece of steel, injured his eyes, Joe, I can't say for sure what we shall have to do," concluded the doctor.
"You mean about an operation?"
"Yes. If we have to perform one it will be a very delicate one, and it will cost a lot of money; there are only a few men in this country capable of doing it, and their fees, naturally, are high. But we won't think of that now. I think I will go in and see how he is. If he is well enough I want you to see him. It will do him good."
"And me, too," added Joe, who was under a great strain, though he did not show it.
Mr. Matson was feeling better after his rest, and Joe was allowed to come into the darkened room. He braced himself for the ordeal.
"How are you, Son," said the inventor weakly.
"Fine, Dad. But I'm sorry to see you laid up this way."
"Well, Joe, it couldn't be helped. I should have been more careful. But I guess I'll pull through. How is baseball?"
"Couldn't be better, Dad! We're at the top of the heap! I just helped to win the deciding game before I came on."
"Yes, I heard your mother talking about the telephone message. I'm glad you didn't come away without playing. Have you the pennant yet?"
"Oh, no. That won't be decided for a couple of months. But we're going to win it!"
"That's what I like to hear!"
Dr. Birch did not permit his patient to talk long, and soon Joe had to leave the room. The physician said later that he thought there was a slight improvement in Mr. Matson's condition, though of course the matter of saving his eyesight could not yet be decided.
"But if we do have to have an operation," said Mrs. Matson. "I don't see where the money is coming from. Your father's investments are turning out so badly----"
"Don't worry about that, Mother," broke in Joe.
"But I have to, Joe. If an operation is needed we'll have to get the money. And from where is more than I know," she added, hopelessly.
"I'll get the money!" exclaimed the young pitcher in energetic tones.
"How?" asked his mother. "I'm sure you can't make enough at ball playing."
"No, perhaps not at ordinary ball playing, Mother, but at the end of the season, when the deciding games for the pennant are played off, they always draw big crowds, and the players on the winning team come in for a good share of the receipts. I'll use mine for the operation."
"But your team may not win the pennant, Joe," said Clara.
"We're going to win!" cried the young pitcher. "I feel it in my bones!
Don't worry, Mother."
But, naturally, Mrs. Matson could not help it, in spite of Joe's brave words. Clara, though, was cheered up.
"There's more to baseball than I thought," she said.
"There's more in it than I'll ever learn," admitted Joe, frankly. "Of course our pennant-deciding games aren't like the world series, but I understand they bring in a lot of money."
Mr. Matson was quite improved the next day, but Dr. Birch, and another physician, who was called in consultation, could not settle the matter about the eyes.
"It will be fully a month before we can decide about the operation,"
said the expert. "In the meanwhile he is in no danger, and the delay will give him a chance to get back his strength. We shall have to wait."
As nothing could be gained by Joe's staying home, and as his baseball money was very much needed at this trying time, it was decided that he had better rejoin his team.
He bade his parents and sister good-bye, and arranged to have word sent to him every day as to his father's condition.
"And don't you worry about that money, Mother," he said as he kissed her. "I'll be here with it when it's needed."
"Oh, Joe!" was all she said, but she looked happier.
Joe went back to join the team at Delamont, where they were scheduled to play four games, and then they would return to their home town of Pittston.