"Well, I'll give him a chance, providing he shows that he can keep straight. I don't believe he can, but, for your sake, I'm willing to make the experiment. I've done it before, and been taken in every time.
I'm sure this will only be another, but you might as well learn your lesson now as later."
"I don't believe I'll have much to learn," answered Joe with a smile. "I think Pop can come back."
"The players who can do that are as scarce as hens' teeth," was the rejoinder of the manager. "But I'll take this last chance. Of course he can't begin to play right off the bat. He's got to get in training. By the way, I suppose he has his release?" The manager looked questioningly at Joe.
"Oh, yes. He's free and clear to make any contract he likes. He told me that."
"I imagined so. No one wants him. I'm afraid I'm foolish for taking him on, but I'll do it to please you. I'll take his option, and pay him a small sum."
"Then I'll do the rest," returned Joe, eagerly. "I'm going to have his arm looked at, and then couldn't you get him a place where he could do out-door work--say help keep our grounds in shape?"
"Well, I'll think about it, Joe. But about yourself? Are you ready to sail in again?"
"I sure am. What are the prospects?"
"Well, they might be better. Collin isn't doing any too well. I'm thinking of buying another pitcher to use when there's not much at stake. Gus Harrison is laid up--sprained his knee a little making a mean slide. I've got to do some shifting, and I need every game I can get from now on. But I guess we'll come out somehow."
But the team did not come out "somehow." It came out "nohow," for it lost its first game with Delamont the next day, and this, coupled with the winning of a double-header by Clevefield, put that team in the lead and sent Pittston to second place.
Joe worked hard, so hard that he began to go to pieces in the seventh inning, and had to be replaced by Tooley, who came into the breach wonderfully well, and, while he did not save the day, he prevented a disgraceful beating. Joe was in the dumps after this despite the cheerful, optimistic attitude of the manager.
Joe's one consolation, though, was that Pop Dutton was in the way of being provided for. The old pitcher was holding himself rigidly in line, and taking care of himself. He had a talk with Gregory--a shame-faced sort of talk on Pop's part--and was promised a place at the Pittston ball park. It was agreed that he would go into training, and try to get back to his old form.
Gregory did not believe this could be done, but if a miracle should happen he realized that he would own a valuable player--one that would be an asset to his club.
And then something happened. How it came about no one could say for a certainty, but Joe went "stale."
He fell off woefully in his pitching, and the loss of several games was attributable directly to his "slump."
Joe could not account for it, nor could his friends; but the fact remained. Pittston dropped to third place, and the papers which gave much space to the doings of the Central League began to make sarcastic remarks.
On the diamond, too, Joe had to suffer the gibes of the crowd, which is always ready to laud a successful player, and only too ready, also, to laugh at one who has a temporary setback.
Joe was in despair, but in his letters home he kept cheerful. He did not want his folks to worry. Regularly he sent money to his mother, taking out of his salary check almost more than he could really afford. Also he felt the drain of looking after Pop, but now that the latter had regular work on the diamond, keeping it in order, the old pitcher was, in a measure, self-supporting.
Pop was rapidly becoming more like his former self, but it would take some time yet. He indulged in light practice, Joe often having him catch for him when no one else was available. As yet Pop attempted no pitching, the doctor to whom Joe took him warning him against it.
"There will have to be a slight operation on certain muscles," said the medical man, "but I prefer to wait a bit before doing it. You will be in better shape then."
"You're taking too much trouble about me, Joe," remarked the veteran player one day.
"Not a bit too much," responded Joe, heartily.
From Joe's father came slightly encouraging news. The need of an operation was not yet settled, and Mr. Matson's general health had improved.
"And we can bless baseball a lot!" wrote Mrs. Matson to her son. "I'm sorry I ever said anything against it, Joe. If it were not for the money you make at the game I don't know what we'd do now."
Joe was glad his mother saw matters in a different light, but he was also a little disturbed. His pitching was not what it should be, and he felt, if his form fell off much more, that he would not last long, even in a small league.
Occasionally he did well--even brilliantly, and the team had hopes. Then would come a "slump," and they would lose a much-needed game that would have lifted them well toward front place.
Joe's despair grew, and he wondered what he could do to get back to his good form. Clevefield, the ancient rivals of Pittston, were now firmly entrenched in first place, and there remained only about a quarter of the league season yet to play.
"We've got to hustle if we want that pennant!" said Gregory, and his tone was not encouraging. Joe thought of what he had promised about having the money for his father's operation, and wondered whether he could do as he said.
But I must not give the impression that all was unhappiness and gloom in the Pittston team. True, the members felt badly about losing, but their nerve did not desert them, and they even joked grimly when the play went against them.
Then came a little diversion. They played a contest against a well-known amateur nine for charity, and the game was made the occasion for considerable jollity.
Gregory sent in most of his second string players against the amateurs, but kept Joe as a twirler, for he wanted him to see what he could do against some fairly good hitters.
And, to Joe's delight, he seemed more like his old self. He had better control of the ball, his curves "broke" well and he was a source of dismay to the strong amateurs. Of course Pittston, even with her substitutes in the game, fairly walked away from the others, the right-handed batters occasionally doing left stick-work, on purpose to strike out.
But the little change seemed to do them all good, and when the next regular contest came off Pittston won handily, Joe almost equalling his best record.
It was at a hotel in Buffington, whither they had gone to play a series of games with that team, that, one afternoon, as Joe entered his room, after the game, he surprised a colored bell boy hurriedly leaving it.
"Did you want me?" asked the young pitcher.
"No, sah, boss! 'Deed an' I didn't want yo'all," stammered the dusky youth.
"Then what were you doing in my room?" asked Joe, suspiciously.
"I--I were jest seein', boss, if yo'all had plenty ob ice water. Dat's whut I was doin', boss! 'Deed I was."
Joe noticed that the boy backed out of the room, and held one hand behind him. With a quick motion the young pitcher whirled the intruder about and disclosed the fact that the colored lad had taken one of Joe's neckties. But, no sooner had our hero caught sight of it than he burst into a peal of laughter which seemed to startle the boy more than a storm of accusation.
CHAPTER XIX
A NEW HOLD
"What--what all am de mattah, Massa Matson?" asked the colored lad, his eyes bulging, and showing so much white that the rest of his face seemed a shade or two darker. "What all am de mattah? Ain't yo'all put out 'bout me takin' dish yeah tie? I didn't go fo' to steal it, suh! 'Deed an' I didn't. I were jest sort ob borrowin' it fo' to wear at a party I'se gwine t' attend dis ebenin'."
"Put out about you!" laughed Joe. "Indeed I'm not. But don't say you're going to borrow that tie," and he pointed to the one the lad had tried unsuccessfully to conceal. It was of very gaudy hue--broad stripes and prominent dots. "Don't say you were going to borrow it."
"'Deed an' dat's all I were gwine t' do, Massa Matson. I didn't go fo'
t' take it fo' keeps. I was a gwine t' ask yo'all fo' de lend ob it, but I thought mebby yo'all wasn't comin' in time, so I jest made up mah mind t' 'propriate it on mah own lookout, an' I was fixin' t' put it back 'fo' yo'all come in. I won't hurt it, 'deed an' I won't, an' I'll bring yo'all ice water any time yo'all wants it. I--I'd laik mighty much, Massa Matson, t' buy dish yeah tie offen yo'all."
"Buy it!" cried Joe, still laughing, though it was evident that the colored lad could not understand why.
"Well, suh, that is, not exactly _buy_ it, 'case I ain't got no money, but yo'all needn't gib me no tips, suh, fo' a--fo' a long time, an' I could buy it dat way. Yes, suh, you needn't gib me no tips fo' two weeks. An' yo'all is so generous, Massa Matson, dat in two weeks' time I'd hab dis tie paid fo'. It's a mighty pert tie, it suah am!"
He gazed admiringly at it.