From the newspapers Joe learned that his team had taken three of the four contests in Newkirk, and might have had the fourth but for bad pitching on the part of Collin.
"Maybe he won't be so bitter against me now," thought Joe. "He isn't such a wonder himself."
Joe was glancing over the paper as the train sped on toward Delamont. He was looking over other baseball news, and at the scores of the big leagues.
"I wonder when I'll break into them?" mused Joe, as he glanced rather enviously at several large pictures of celebrated players in action.
"I'm going to do it as soon as I can."
Then the thought came to him of how hard it was for a young and promising player to get away from the club that controlled him.
"The only way would be to slump in form," said Joe to himself, "and then even if he did get his release no other team would want him. It's a queer game, and not altogether fair, but I suppose it has to be played that way. Well, no use worrying about the big leagues until I get a call from one. There'll be time enough then to wonder about my release."
As Joe was about to lay aside the paper he was aware of a controversy going on a few seats ahead of him. The conductor had stopped beside an elderly man and was saying:
"You'll have to get off, that's all there is to it. You deliberately rode past your station, and you're only trying to see how far you can go without being caught. You get off at the next station, or if you don't I'll stop the train when I get to you and put you off, even if it's in the middle of a trestle. You're trying to beat your way, and you know it! You had a ticket only to Clearville, and you didn't get off."
"Oh, can't you pass me on to Delamont?" pleaded the man. "I admit I was trying to beat you. But I've got to get to Delamont. I've the promise of work there, and God knows I need it. I'll pay the company back when I earn it."
"Huh!" sneered the conductor, "that's too thin. I've heard that yarn before. No, sir; you get off at the next station, or I'll have the brakeman run you off. Understand that! No more monkey business. Either you give me money or a ticket, or off you go."
"All right," was the short answer. "I reckon I'll have to do it."
The man turned and at the sight of his face Joe started.
"Pop Dutton!" exclaimed the young pitcher, hardly aware that he had spoken aloud.
"That's me," was the answer. "Oh--why--it's Joe!" he added, and his face lighted up. Then a look of despair came over it. Joe decided quickly.
No matter what Gregory and the others said he had determined to help this broken-down old ball player.
"What's the fare to Delamont?" Joe asked the conductor.
"One-fifty, from the last station."
"I'll pay it," went on Joe, handing over a bill. The ticket-puncher looked at him curiously, and then, without a word, made the change, and gave Joe the little excess slip which was good for ten cents, to be collected at any ticket office.
"Say, Joe Matson, that's mighty good of you!" exclaimed Old Pop Dutton, as Joe came to sit beside him. "Mighty good!"
"That's all right," spoke Joe easily. "What are you going to do in Delamont?"
"I've got a chance to be assistant ground-keeper at the ball park.
I--I'm trying to--trying to get back to a decent life, Joe, but--but it's hard work."
"Then I'm going to help you!" exclaimed the young pitcher, impulsively.
"I'm going to ask Gregory if he can't give you something to do. Do you think you could play ball again?"
"I don't know, Joe," was the doubtful answer. "They say when they get--get like me--that they can't come back. I couldn't pitch, that's sure. I've got something the matter with my arm. Doctor said a slight operation would cure me, and I might be better than ever, but I haven't any money for operations. But I could be a fair fielder, I think, and maybe I could fatten up my batting average."
"Would you like to try?" asked Joe.
"Would I?" The man's tone was answer enough.
"Then I'm going to get you the chance," declared Joe. "But you'll have to take care of yourself, and--get in better shape."
"I know it, Joe. I'm ashamed of myself--that's what I am. I've gone pretty far down, but I believe I can come back. I've quit drinking, and I've cut my old acquaintances."
Joe looked carefully at Pop Dutton. The marks of the life he had led of late were to be seen in his trembling hands, and in his blood-shot eyes.
But there was a fine frame and a good physique to build on. Joe had great hopes.
"You come on to Delamont with me," said the young pitcher, "and I'll look after you until you get straightened out. Then we'll see what the doctor says, and Gregory, too. I believe he'll give you the chance."
"Joe! I don't know how to thank you!" said the man earnestly. "If I can ever do something for you--but I don't believe I ever can."
Pop Dutton little realized how soon the time was to come when he could do Joe a great favor.
CHAPTER XVIII
IN DESPAIR
Joe and Pop Dutton arrived at the hotel in Delamont ahead of the team, which was on the way from Newkirk after losing the last game of the four. But at that Pittston was still in the lead, and now all energies would be bent on increasing the percentage so that even the loss of a game now and then would not pull the club from its place.
"Now look here, Joe," said Pop, when he and Joe had eaten, "this may be all right for me, but it isn't going to do you any good."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean consorting with me in this way. I can't stay at this hotel with you, the other players would guy you too much."
"I don't care about that."
"Well, but I do. Now, look here. I appreciate a whole lot what you're doing for me, but it would be better if I could go to some other hotel.
Then, if you can, you get Gregory to give me a chance. I'll work at anything--assistant trainer, or anything--to get in shape again. But it would be better for me not to stay here where the team puts up.
"If things go right, and I can go back to Pittston with the boys, I'll go to some quiet boarding house. Being at a hotel isn't any too good for me. It brings back old times."
Joe saw the logic of Pop's talk, and consented. He gave the broken-down player enough money to enable him to live quietly for several days. When the team came Joe determined to put the question to the manager.
As Joe had registered he looked over the book to see if he knew any of the guests at the hotel. Though he did not admit so to himself he had half a forlorn hope that he might find the name of Mabel and her brother there. He even looked sharply at the various pieces of luggage as they were carried in by the bell boys, but he did not see the curious valise that had played such an unpleasant part in his life.
Joe was feeling very "fit." The little rest, even though it was broken by anxiety concerning his father, had done him good, and the arm that had been strained in the game that meant so much to Pittston was in fine shape again. Joe felt able to pitch his very best.
"And I guess we'll have to do our prettiest if we want to keep at the top of the heap," he reasoned.
Then the team arrived, and noisily and enthusiastically welcomed Joe to their midst again.
Seeking the first opportunity, Joe had a talk with the manager concerning Pop Dutton. At first Gregory would not listen, and tried to dissuade Joe from having anything to do with the old player. But the young pitcher had determined to go on with his rescue work, and pleaded with such good effect that finally the manager said: