But the unexpected happens in baseball as often as in football, and it did in this case.
Pittston thus had two out of the four games, and the even break had increased her percentage to a pleasing point. If they could have taken the fourth they would have fine hopes of the pennant, but it was not to be. An even break, though there was a close finish in the last game, was the best they could get.
However, this was better than for some time, and Gregory and his associates were well pleased.
Then came a series of games in the different league cities, and matters were practically unchanged. In turn Buffington, Loston and Manhattan were visited, the Pittston nine doing well, but nothing remarkable.
Joe seemed firmly established in the place he most desired, and his fine delivery was increasing in effectiveness each day. His fade-away remained a puzzle to many, though some fathomed it and profited thereby.
But Joe did not use it too often.
The secret of good pitching lies in the "cross-fire," and in varying the delivery. No pitcher can continue to send in the same kind of balls in regular order to each batter. He must study his man and use his brains.
Joe knew this. He also knew that he was not alone a pitcher, but a ball player, and that he must attend to his portion of the diamond. Too many twirlers forget this, and Joe frequently got in on sensational plays that earned him almost as much applause as his box-work did.
Joe was always glad to get back to Pittston to play games. He was beginning to feel that it was a sort of "home town," though he had few friends there. He made many acquaintances and he was beginning to build up a reputation for himself. He was frequently applauded when he came out to play, and this means much to a baseball man.
Then, too, Joe was always interested in Pop Dutton. He was so anxious that the former fine pitcher should have his chance to "come back."
Often when scouts from bigger leagues than the Central stopped off to more or less secretly watch the Pittstons play, Joe would have a talk with them. Sometimes he spoke of Pop, but the scouts did not seem interested. They pretended that they had no special object in view, or, if they did, they hinted that it was some other player than Dutton.
To whisper a secret I might say that it was Joe himself who was under observation on many of these occasions, for his fame was spreading. But he was a modest youth.
Joe was not inquisitive, but he learned, in a casual way, that Pop Dutton was seemingly on the right road to success and prosperity. It was somewhat of a shock to the young pitcher, then, one evening, as he was strolling down town in Pittston, to see his protege in company with a shabbily dressed man.
"I hope he hasn't taken to going with those tramps again," mused Joe.
"That would be too bad."
Resolving to make sure of his suspicions, and, if necessary, hold out a helping hand, the young pitcher quickened his pace until he was close behind the twain.
He could not help but hear part of the conversation.
"Oh, come on!" he caught, coming from Dutton's companion. "What's the harm?"
"No, I'll not. You don't know how hard it is to refuse, but I--I can't--really I can't."
"You mean you won't?"
"Put it that way if you like."
"Well, then, I do like, an' I don't like it! I'll say that much. I don't like it. You're throwin' me down, an' you're throwin' the rest of us down. I don't like it for a cent!"
"I can't help that," replied Dutton, doggedly.
"Well, maybe _we_ can help it, then. You're leaving us in the lurch just when we need you most. Come on, now, be a sport, Pop!"
"No, I've been too much of a sport in the past--that's the trouble."
"So you won't join us?"
"No."
"Will you come out and tell the boys so? They maybe won't believe me."
"Oh, well, I can't see any harm in that."
"Come on, then, they'll be glad to see you again."
Joe wondered what was afoot. It was as though he saw a danger signal ahead of Pop Dutton.
CHAPTER XXII
VICTORY
Joe hardly knew what to do. He realized that all his efforts toward getting the old ball player back on the right road might go for naught if Pop went off with these loose companions.
And yet would he relish being interfered with by the young pitcher? Pop was much older than Joe, but so far he had shown a strong liking for the younger man, and had, half-humorously, done his bidding. Indeed Pop was under a deep debt not only of gratitude to Joe, but there had been a financial one as well, though most of that was now paid.
"But I don't want to see him slip back," mused Joe, as he walked along in the shadows, taking care to keep far enough back from the twain. But Pop never looked around. He seemed engrossed in his companion.
"What shall I do?" Joe asked himself.
He half hoped that some of the other members of the nine might come along, and accost Pop, perhaps taking him off with them, as they had done several times of late. For the old player was becoming more and more liked--he was, in a way, coming into his own again, and he had a fund of baseball stories to which the younger men never tired listening.
"If some of them would only come along!" whispered Joe, but none did.
He kept on following the two until he saw them go into one of the less disreputable lodging houses in a poor quarter of the city. It was a house where, though some respectable workingmen, temporarily embarrassed, made their homes for a time, there was more often a rowdy element, consisting of tramps, and, in some cases, criminals.
At election time it harbored "floaters" and "repeaters," and had been the scene of many a police raid.
"I wonder what he can want by going in there?" thought Joe. "It's a good thing Gregory can't see him, or he'd sure say my experiment was a failure. It may be, after all; but I'm not going to give up yet. Now, shall I go in, and pretend I happened by casually, or shall I wait outside?"
Joe debated the two propositions within himself. The first he soon gave up. He was not in the habit of going into such places, and the presence of a well-dressed youth, more or less known to the public as a member of the Pittston nine, would excite comment, if nothing else. Besides, it might arouse suspicion of one sort or another. Then, too, Pop might guess why Joe had followed him, and resent it.
"I'll just have to wait outside," decided Joe, "and see what I can do when Pop comes out."
It was a dreary wait. From time to time Joe saw men slouch into the place, and occasionally others shuffled out; but Pop did not come, nor did his ragged companion appear.
Joe was getting tired, when his attention was attracted to a detective whom he knew, sauntering rather aimlessly past on the opposite side of the street.
"Hello!" thought the young ball player, "I wonder what's up?" He eyed the officer closely, and was surprised, a moment later, to see him joined by a companion.
"Something sure is in the wind," decided Joe. "I'm going to find out."
He strolled across the highway and accosted the detective with whom he had a slight acquaintance.