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Baseball Joe in the Central League

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<h2>CHAPTER XXV REGGIE’S AUTO</h2> 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[199] 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?” [200] “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. [201] “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,[202] 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[203] 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,[204] 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[205] 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. <hr class="chap" /> [206] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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