REGGIE'S AUTO
Hardly understanding what was afoot, and not in the least appreciating
Joe's excitement, Pop Dutton followed the young pitcher across the
diamond.
"What are you going to do?" asked the old player, as he hurried on after
Joe.
"Get into my street togs the first thing. Then I'm going to try and find
that fellow--Hogan, did you say his name was?"
"One of 'em, yes. But what do you want of him?"
"I want him to tell when and where he took that stuff from the queer
valise. And I want to know if he has any of it left, by any chance,
though I don't suppose he has. And, in the third place, I want to make
him say that I didn't take the stuff."
Pop Dutton drew a long breath.
"You, Joe!" he exclaimed. "You accused?"
"Yes. It's a queer story. But I'm beginning to see the end of it now!
Come on!"
They hurried into the dressing rooms. Most of the other players had
gone, for Joe and Pop had been delayed out on the diamond talking to
Hogan. Charlie Hall was there, however, and he looked curiously at Joe.
"Anything the matter?" asked the young shortstop.
"Well, there may be--soon," answered his friend. "I'll see you later.
Tell Gregory that I may be going out of town for a while, but I'll sure
be back in time for to-morrow's game."
"All right," said Charlie, as he went in to take a shower bath.
"Now, Pop," spoke Joe, as he began dressing, "where can we find this
Hogan?"
"Oh, most likely he'll be down around Kelly's place," naming a sort of
lodging-house hang-out for tramps and men of that class.
"Then down there we'll go!" decided the young pitcher. "I'm going
to have an interview with Hogan. If I'd only known he was the one
responsible for the accusation against me I'd have held on to him while
he was talking to you. But I didn't realize it until afterward, and then
the officer had put him outside. He was lost in the crowd. But suppose
he isn't at Kelly's?"
"Oh, someone there can tell us where to find him. But it's a rough
place, Joe."
"I suppose so. You don't mind going there; do you?"
"Well, no, not exactly. True, a lot of the men I used to trail in with
may be there, but, no matter. They can't do any more than gibe me."
"We could take a detective along," suggested Joe.
"No, I think we can do better by ourselves. I don't mind. You see after
I--after I went down and out--I used to stop around at all the baseball
towns, and in that way I got to know most of these lodging-house places.
This one in Washburg is about as rough as any."
"How did you come to know Hogan?"
"Oh, I just met him on the road. He used to be a good railroad man, but
he went down, and now he's no good. He's a boastful sort, and that's how
he came to tell me about the valise. But I never thought you'd be mixed
up in it."
"Of course I can't be dead certain this is the same valise that was
robbed," said Joe; "but it's worth taking a chance on. I do hope we can
find him."
But they were doomed to disappointment. When they reached Kelly's
lodging-house Hogan had gone, and the best they could learn, in the
sullen replies given by the habitués, was that the former railroad man
had taken to the road again, and might be almost anywhere.
"Too bad!" exclaimed Pop sympathetically, as he and Joe came out.
"Yes, it is," assented the young pitcher, "for I did want Reggie Varley
to know who really robbed his valise." Perhaps Joe also wanted a certain
other person to know. But he did not mention this, so of course I cannot
be sure. "Better luck next time!" exclaimed the young pitcher as
cheerfully as he could.
They endeavored to trace whither Hogan had gone, but without success.
The best they could ascertain was that he had "hopped a freight," for
some point west.
Joe did not allow the disappointment to interfere with his baseball
work. In the following games with Washburg he fitted well into the tight
places, and succeeded, several times, when the score was close, in being
instrumental in pulling the Pittston team out a winner.
On one occasion the game had gone for nine innings without a run on
either side, and only scattered hits. Both pitchers--Joe for Pittston,
and young Carrolton Lloyd for Washburg--were striving hard for victory.
The game came to the ending of the ninth, with Washburg up. By fortunate
chance, and by an error on the part of Charlie Hall, the home team got
two men on bases, and only one out. Then their manager made a mistake.
Instead of sending in a pinch hitter--for a hit was all that was needed
to score the winning run, the manager let the regular batting order be
followed, which brought up the Washburg pitcher. Lloyd was tired out,
and, naturally, was not at his best. He popped up a little fly, which
Joe caught, and then sending the ball home quickly our hero caught
the man coming in from third, making a double play, three out and
necessitating the scoring of another zero in the ninth frame for
Washburg.
Then came the tenth inning. Perhaps it was his weariness or the memory
of how he had had his chance and lost it that made Lloyd nervous.
Certainly he went to pieces, and giving one man his base on balls,
allowed Joe to make a hit. Then came a terrific spell of batting and
when it was over Pittston had four runs.
It was then Joe's turn to hold the home team hitless, so that they might
not score, and he did, to the great delight of the crowd.
This one feat brought more fame to Joe than he imagined. He did not
think so much of it himself, which is often the case with things that we
do. But, in a way, it was the indirect cause of his being drafted to a
big league, later on.
The season was now drawing to a close. The race for the pennant was
strictly between Pittston and Clevefield, with the chances slightly in
favor of the latter. This was due to the fact that there were more
veteran players in her ranks, and she had a better string of pitchers.
A week or so more would tell the tale. Pittston and Clevefield would
play off the final games, the best three out of four, two in one town
and two in the other.
Interest in the coming contests was fast accumulating and there was
every prospect of generous receipts.
The winners of the pennant would come in for a large share of the gate
receipts, and all of the players in the two leading teams were counting
much on the money they would receive.
Joe, as you may well guess, planned to use his in two ways. The major
part would go toward defraying the expenses of his father's operation.
It had not yet been definitely settled that one would be performed, but
the chances were that one would have to be undertaken. Then, too, Joe
wanted to finance the cost of getting Dutton's arm into shape. A
well-known surgeon had been consulted, and had said that a slight
operation on one of the ligaments would work wonders. It would be rather
costly, however.
"Joe, I'm not going to let you do it," said Pop, when this was spoken
of.
"You can't help yourself," declared Joe. "I saved your life--at least
I'm not modest when it comes to that, you see--and so I have, in a way,
the right to say what I shall do to you. Besides, if we win the pennant
it will be due, as much as anything, to the instruction you gave me. Now
will you be good!"
"I guess I'll have to," agreed Pop, laughingly.
Pittston closed all her games with the other teams, excepting only
Clevefield. The pennant race was between these two clubs. Arrangements
had been made so that the opening game would be played on the Pittston
grounds. Then the battle-scene would shift to Clevefield, to come back
to Pittston, and bring the final--should the fourth game be needed, to
Clevefield.
"If we could only win three straight it would be fine," said Joe.
"It's too much to hope," returned Pop.
It was the day before the first of the pennant games. The Pittstons had
gone out for light practice on their home grounds, which had been
"groomed" for the occasion. As far as could be told Pittston looked to
be a winner, but there is nothing more uncertain than baseball.
As Joe and his mates came off the field after practice there shuffled up
to the veteran player a trampish-looking man. At first Joe thought this
might be Hogan again, but a second look convinced him otherwise. The man
hoarsely whispered something to the old pitcher.
"He says Hogan and a gang of tramps are in a sort of camp in Shiller's
Woods," said Pop, naming a place that was frequently the abiding place
of "gentlemen of the road."
"He is?" cried Joe. "Then let's make a beeline for there. I've just got
to get this thing settled! Are you with me, Pop?"
"I sure am. But how are we going to get out there? It's outside the city
limits, no car line goes there, and trains don't stop."
"Then we've got to have an auto," decided Joe. "I'll see if we can hire
one."
He was on his way to the dressing rooms, when, happening to glance
through the big open gate of the ball ground he saw a sight that caused
him to exclaim:
"The very thing! It couldn't be better. I can kill two birds with one
stone. There's our auto, and the man in it is the very one I want to
convince of my innocence! That's Reggie Varley. I'll make him take us to
Shiller's Woods! We'll catch Hogan there. Come on!"
Never stopping to think of the peculiar coincidence that had brought
Reggie on the scene just when he was most needed, Joe sprinted for the
panting auto, Pop following wonderingly.