THE TRAMP AGAIN
Baseball again claimed the attention of Joe and his mates. They were
working hard, for the end of the season was in sight, and the pennant
ownership was not yet decided.
Clevefield was still at the top of the list, but Pittston was crowding
her hard, and was slowly creeping up. Sometimes this would be the result
of her players' own good work, and again it would be because some other
team had a streak of bad luck which automatically put Joe's team ahead.
The young pitcher was more like himself than at any time since he had
joined the club. He was really pitching "great" ball, and Gregory did
not hesitate to tell him so. And, more than this, Joe was doing some
good work with the bat. His average was slowly but steadily mounting.
Joe would never be a great performer in this line, and none realized it
better than himself. No clubs would be clamoring for his services as a
pinch hitter. On the other hand many a pitcher in the big leagues had
not Joe's batting average, though of course this might have been because
they were such phenomenal twirlers, and saved all their abilities for
the mound.
Also did Joe pay attention to the bases. He wished he was a south-paw,
at times, or a left-hand pitcher, for then he could more easily have
thrown to first. But it was too late to change now, and he made up his
mind to be content to work up his reputation with his good right arm.
But, even with that, he made some surprisingly good put-outs when
runners took chances and got too long a lead. So that throughout the
circuit the warning began to be whispered:
"Look out for Matson when you're on first!"
Joe realized that a good pitcher has not only to play the game from the
mound. He must field his position as well, and the failure of many an
otherwise good pitcher is due to the fact that they forget this.
Much of Joe's success, at this time, was due to the coaching and advice
he received from Pop Dutton. The veteran could instruct if he could not
pitch yet, and Joe profited by his experience.
No reference was made by Joe to the night Pop had gone to the lodging
house, nor did the old pitcher say anything to his young friend. In fact
he did not know Joe had had any hand in the matter. Pop Dutton went on
his reformed way. He played the game, when he got a chance, and was
increasingly good at it.
"Joe!" he cried one day, when he had played a full game, "we're getting
there! I hope I'll soon be pitching."
"So do I!" added Joe, earnestly. True, the game Pop had played at centre
for the full nine innings was with the near-tailenders of the Central
League, but it showed that the veteran had "come back" sufficiently to
last through the hard work.
"How is your arm?" asked Joe.
"Not good enough to use on the mound yet, I'm sorry to say," was Pop's
answer. "I guess I'll have to have that operation, after all. But I
don't see how I can manage it. I'm trying to pay back some of my old
debts----"
"Don't let that part worry you," spoke Joe, quickly. "If things turn out
right I may be able to help you."
"But you've done a lot already, Joe."
"I'll do more--if I can. Just wait until the close of the season, when
we have the pennant."
What Joe meant was that he would have the money for an operation on the
pitcher's arm if the cash was not needed to put Mr. Matson's eyes in
shape through the attention of a surgeon.
And this matter was still undecided, much to the worriment of Joe, his
mother and sister, to say nothing of his father. But it is necessary,
in such matters, to proceed slowly, and not to take any chances.
Joe felt the strain. His regular salary was much needed at home, and he
was saving all he could to provide for his father's possible operation.
That cost would not be light.
Then there was Pop Dutton to think of. Joe wanted very much to see the
old player fully on his feet again. He did not know what to do, though,
should all the money he might get from the pennant series be required
for Mr. Matson.
"Well, I'll do the best I can," thought Joe. "Maybe if Gregory and the
others see how well Pop is doing they'll take up a collection and pay
for the operation. It oughtn't to cost such an awful lot."
Joe shook his head in a puzzled way. Really it was a little too much for
him to carry on his young shoulders, but he had the fire of youth in his
veins, and youth will dare much--which is as it should be, perhaps.
Then, too, Joe had to be on edge all the time in order to pitch winning
ball. No pitcher is, or can be, at top notch all the while. He can
hardly serve in two big games in quick succession, and yet Joe did this
several times, making an enviable record for himself.
The rivalry between him and Collin grew, though Joe did nothing to
inflame the other's dislike. But Collin was very bitter, and Pop gave
Joe some warning hints.
"Oh, I don't believe he'd do anything under-handed," said Joe, not
taking it seriously.
"Well, be on the lookout," advised the veteran. "I don't like Collin,
and never did."
There came a series of rainy days, preventing the playing of games, and
everyone fretted. The players, even Joe, grew stale, though Gregory
tried to keep them in form by sending them off on little trips when the
grounds were too wet even for practise.
Then came fine bracing weather, and Pittston began to stride ahead
wonderfully. It was now only a question of whether Joe's team or
Clevefield would win pennant honors, and, in any event, there would have
to be several games played between the two nines to decide the matter.
This was due to the fact that the league schedule called for a certain
number of games to be played by each club with every other club, and a
number of rainy days, and inability to run off double headers, had
caused a congestion.
Pittston kept on playing in good form, and Joe was doing finely. So much
so that on one occasion when a big league scout was known to be in
attendance, Gregory said in a way that showed he meant it:
"Joe, they're going to draft you, sure."
The larger or major league clubs, those rated as AA, have, as is well
known, the right to select any player they choose from a minor league,
paying, of course a certain price. Thus the big leagues are controllers
in a way of the players themselves, for the latter cannot go to any club
they choose, whereas any big league club can pick whom it chooses from
the little or "bush" leagues. If two or more of the big clubs pick the
same player there is a drawing to decide who gets him.
"Well, I'm not worrying," returned Joe, with a smile.
After a most successful game, in Washburg, which team had been playing
good ball--the contest having been won by Pittston--Joe was walking
across the diamond with Pop Dutton, when the young pitcher saw
approaching them the same tramp with whom his protegé had entered the
lodging house that night.
"Hello, Pop!" greeted the shabby man. "I want t' see you." He leered
familiarly. Pop Dutton stopped and gazed with half-frightened eyes at
Joe.