"Take it, for the love of mush!" cried Joe. "I'm glad you have it!"
"Yo'all am glad, Massa Matson?" repeated the lad, as though he had not heard aright.
"Sure! That tie's been a nightmare to me ever since I bought it. I don't know what possessed me to buy a cross section of the rainbow in the shape of a scarf; but I did it in a moment of aberration, I reckon. Take it away, Sam, and never let me see it again."
"Does yo'all really mean dat?"
"Certainly."
"Well, suh, I thanks yo'all fo' de compliment--I suah does. An' yo'all ain't vexted wif me?"
"Not at all!"
"An'--an' yo'all won't stop giving me tips?"
"No, Sam."
"Golly! Dat's fine! I suah does thank you, mightily, suh! Won't all dem odder coons open dere eyes when dey sees me sportin' dis yeah tie!
Yum-yum! I gass so!" and Sam bounced out of the room before Joe might possibly change his mind. The colored lad nearly ran into Charlie Hall, who was coming to have his usual chat with Joe, and the shortstop, seeing the tie dangling from the bell boy's hand, guessed what had happened.
"Was he making free with your things, Joe?" asked Charlie, when Sam had disappeared around a corner of the hall.
"Oh, I caught him taking my tie, that's all."
"Yes, I did the same thing to one of the boys on my floor the other day.
I gave him a flea in his ear, too."
"And I gave Sam the tie," laughed Joe.
"You _gave_ it to him?"
"Yes, that thing has been haunting me. I never wore it but once and I got disgusted with it." Joe failed to state that Mabel had showed a dislike for the scarf, and that it was her implied opinion that had turned him against it.
"You see," the young pitcher went on, "I didn't know just which of the fellows to give it to, and two or three times I've left it in my hotel room when we traveled on. And every blamed time some chambermaid would find it, give it to the clerk, and he'd forward it to me. That monstrosity of a scarf has been following me all over the circuit.
"I was getting ready to heave it down some sewer hole, when I came in to find Sam 'borrowing' it. I had to laugh, and I guess he thought I was crazy. Anyhow he's got the tie, and I've gotten rid of it. So we're both satisfied."
"Well, that's a good way to look at it. How are things, anyhow?"
"They might, by a strain, be worse," answered Joe, a bit gloomily. The game that day had been a hard one, and Gregory had used a string of three pitchers, and had only been able to stop the winning streak of Buffington. Joe had been taken out after twirling for a few innings.
"Yes, we didn't do ourselves very proud," agreed Charlie. "And to-morrow we're likely to be dumped. Our record won't stand much of that sort of thing."
"Indeed it won't. Charlie, I've got to do something!" burst out Joe.
"What is it? I can't see but what you're doing your best."
"My hardest, maybe, but not my best. You see this league pitching is different from a college game. I didn't stop to figure out that I'd have to pitch a deal oftener than when I was at Yale. This is business--the other was fun."
"You're tired, I guess."
"That's it--I'm played out."
"Why don't you take a vacation; or ask Gregory not to work you so often?"
"Can't take any time off, Charlie. I need the money. As for playing the baby-act--I couldn't do that, either."
"No, I reckon not. But what are you going to do?"
"Hanged if I know. But I've got to do something to get back into form.
We're going down."
"I know it. Has Gregory said anything?"
"No, he's been awfully decent about it, but I know he must think a lot.
Yes, something's got to be done."
Joe was rather gloomy, nor was Charlie in any too good spirits. In fact the whole team was in the "dumps," and when they lost the next game they were deeper in than ever.
Some of the papers began running headlines "Pittston Loses Again!" It was galling.
Jimmie Mack worked hard--so did Gregory--and he, and Trainer McGuire, devised all sorts of plans to get the team back in form again. But nothing seemed to answer. The Pittstons dropped to the rear of the first division, and only clung there by desperate work, and by poor playing on the part of other teams.
In all those bitter, dreary days there were some bright spots for Joe, and he treasured them greatly. One was that his father was no worse, though the matter of the operation was not definitely settled. Another was that he heard occasionally from Mabel--her letters were a source of joy to him.
Thirdly, Old Pop Dutton seemed to be "making good." He kept steadily at work, and had begun to do some real baseball practice. Joe wrote to him, and his letters were answered promptly. Even cynical Gregory admitted that perhaps, after all, the former star pitcher might come into his own again.
"When will you give him a trial?" asked Joe, eagerly.
"Oh, some day. I'll put him in the field when we're sure of an easy game."
The time came when the tail-enders of the league arrived for a series of contests with Pittston, and Pop Dutton, to his delight, was allowed to play. There was nothing remarkable about it, but he made no errors, and once, taking a rather desperate chance on a long fly, he beat it out and retired the batter.
He was roundly applauded for this, and it must have warmed his heart to feel that once more he was on the road he had left so long before. But coming back was not easy work. Joe realized this, and he knew the old pitcher must have had a hard struggle to keep on the narrow path he had marked out for himself. But Joe's influence was a great help--Dutton said so often. The other players, now that they found their former mate was not bothering them, begging money, or asking for loans, took more kindly to him. But few believed he could "come back," in the full meaning of the words.
"He may be a fairly good fielder, and his batting average may beat mine," said Tooley, "but he'll never be the 'iron man' he once was." And nearly all agreed with him.
Joe was faithful to his protege. Often the two would saunter out to some quiet place and there pitch and catch for each other. And Joe's trained eye told him that the other's hand had lost little of its former cunning.
Meanwhile the fortunes of Pittston did not improve much. Sometimes they would struggle to second place, only to slip back again, while victorious Clevefield held her place at the top.
There was only one consolation--Pittston did not drop out of the first division. She never got lower than fourth.
Joe was being used less and less on the pitching mound, and his heart was sore. He knew he could make good if only something would happen to give him back his nerve, or a certain something he lacked. But he could not understand what.
Properly enough it was Pop Dutton who put him on the right track. The two were pitching and catching one day, when Joe delivered what he had always called a "fade-away" ball, made famous by Mathewson, of the New York Giants. As it sailed into Pop's big mitt the veteran called:
"What was that, Joe?"