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Baseball Joe in the Central League

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<h2>CHAPTER XXVII THE SLOW WATCH</h2> “Well, what do you want?” growled Hogan, for he seemed to feel that attention was centered on him. “Nothing much—no more than usual, that is,” said one of the detectives, to whom the story of the looted valise had been told. “Where did you put the stuff you got from this gentleman’s bag some time last Spring?” was the sharp question. “Whose bag?” Hogan wanted to know, with a frown. “Mine!” exclaimed Reggie. “That is, if you’re the man. It was a yellow bag, with lions’ heads on the clasps and it contained a Swiss watch, with a gold face; some jewelry, including a bracelet of red stones was also taken.” Hogan started as this catalog was gone over. “Now look here!” broke in the officer. “These gentlemen are willing to make some concessions to you.” “Yes?” spoke Hogan, non-committally. He seemed easier now. [213] “Yes. If you’ll own up, and give back what you’ve got left we’ll call it off, providing you get out of the State and keep out.” “An’ s’posin’ I don’t?” he asked, defiantly. “Then it’s the jug for yours. You’re the one we want. The rest of you can go—and keep away, too,” added the detective, significantly. The tramps slunk off, glad enough to escape. Only Hogan remained. “Well,” he said, but now his nerve was gone. He looked surlily at Pop, and wet his lips nervously. “Go on,” urged the officer. “I guess I did get a few things from his bag—leastwise it was a satchel like the one he tells about,” confessed Hogan. “Then that clears me!” cried Joe, joyfully. Reggie Varley held out his hand to the young pitcher. “It was silly of me ever to have suspected you,” he said, contritely. “Will you forgive me?” “Of course!” Joe would have forgiven Reggie almost anything. “Where’s the stuff now?” asked the chief detective, sharply. Hogan laughed. “Where do you s’pose?” he asked. “Think I can afford to carry Swiss watches with gold faces, or ladies’ bracelets? I look like it; don’t I?” [214] Truly he did not, being most disreputable in appearance. “Did you pawn it?” asked the other officer. “Yes, and precious little I got out of it. You can have the tickets if you like. I’ll never redeem ’em,” and he tossed a bunch of pawn tickets over to Reggie, who caught them wonderingly. “Are—er—are these stubs for the things?” he asked. “How can I get them back?” “By paying whatever the pawnbrokers advanced on the goods,” answered Pop Dutton, who looked quickly over the tickets. He knew most of the places where the goods had been disposed of. “I’ll be glad to do that,” went on the young man. “I’m much obliged to you, my good fellow.” Hogan laughed again. “You’re a sport!” he complimented. “Is that all you want of me?” The detectives consulted together a moment. Then one of them asked Joe and his two friends: “What do you say? There isn’t much to be gained by arresting him. You’ve got about all you can out of him. I suppose you might as well let him go.” “I’m willing,” spoke Joe. “All I wanted was to have my name cleared, and that’s been done.” “I don’t care to have him prosecuted,” spoke Reggie. “It might bring my sister into unpleasant prominence, as most of the things were hers.” [215] “I say, my good fellow,” he went on—he would persist in being what he thought was English, “does the ticket for that bracelet happen to be among these you’ve given me.” “No, here’s the thing itself—catch!” exclaimed Hogan, and he threw something to Joe, who caught it. It proved to be a quaint wrist-ornament. The young pitcher slipped it into his pocket. “It’ll have to be disinfected before she can wear it,” he said in a low voice to Reggie. “I’ll give it to her, after I soak it in formaldehyde.” Reggie nodded—and smiled. Perhaps he understood more than Joe thought he did. “Is that all you want of me?” asked Hogan, looking uneasily about. “I guess so,” answered one of the officers. “But how did you come to get at the valise?” “Oh, it was easy. I spotted it in the depot and when that chap wasn’t looking,”—he nodded at Reggie—“I just opened it, took out what I wanted, and slipped out of the station before anyone saw me. You’d never have gotten me, either, if I hadn’t been a dub and told him,” and he scowled at Pop Dutton. “Well, I’m glad, for my own sake, that you did tell,” spoke Joe. “Now you’d better clear out,” warned the officer, “and don’t let us find you near the railroad[216] tracks again, or it will be the jug for yours. Vamoose!” “Wait a minute,” said Pop Dutton, softly. “Have you any money, Hogan?” “Money! No, how should I get money? I couldn’t pawn that bracelet, or I’d have some though. They all said it wasn’t worth anything.” “My sister values it as a keepsake,” explained Reggie to Joe in a low voice. “She’ll be awfully glad to get it back.” “Here,” went on the old pitcher to his former companion of the highway, and he passed him a bill. “It’s all I can spare or I’d give you more.” Hogan was greatly surprised. He stared at the money half comprehendingly. “You—do you mean it?” he stammered. “Certainly,” answered Pop. “Well, I—er—I—I’m sorry!” burst out the tramp, and, making a quick grab for the bill, he turned aside and was soon lost to sight amid the trees. “Hum! That’s a queer go!” commented one of the officers. “I guess he’s got some feeling, after all,” said Joe, softly. They had accomplished what they set out to do—proved the innocence of the young pitcher. And they had done more, for they were in the way of recovering most of the stolen stuff. Joe anticipated[217] much pleasure in restoring to Mabel her odd bracelet. They motored back to the city from the rendezvous of the tramps, talking over the strange occurrence. But they took none of the members of the ball team into their confidence—Joe and Pop. They thought the fewer who knew of it the better. “And now if I was sure dad would be all right, and Pop’s arm would get into pitching shape again, I wouldn’t ask for anything more,” said Joe to Reggie that night, when he called on the youth and his sister. “Don’t you want to win the pennant?” asked Mabel, softly. She had thanked Joe—and her brother—with blushing cheeks for the return of her keepsake bracelet. But her blushes were not for her brother. “The pennant! Of course!” cried Joe. “I almost forgot about that! And we’re going to win it!” “I’m going to see every game, too!” exclaimed Mabel, with brilliant cheeks and eyes. The first pennant game with Clevefield was a hard-fought one. Collin took the mound in the opening of the battle, and for a time all went well. He made some mistakes, and the heavy batters on the other side began “finding” him. But he was well supported by the fielders and basemen, and[218] three innings ran along with the visitors securing nothing but zero tallies. Then came a break. A swift ball glanced off Collin’s glove, and Charlie Hall, the shortstop, after a magnificent jump, by which he secured the horsehide, made a wild throw to first. Then began a slump, and Collin had his share in it. Joe was called on, but too late to be of any real service, though he stopped the rout. Score: Pittston three, Clevefield nine. “We’ve got to take three straight, or make a tie so as to get another game—making five instead of four,” said Gregory, gloomily that evening. The next contest would take place in Clevefield and the teams made a night journey there. Reggie and his sister went on by auto early the next day, arriving in time to visit Joe before practice was called. “Joe, you’re nervous!” exclaimed Reggie, when he met the young pitcher, just before lunch. “You ought to come out in the country for a little run. I’ll take you in my car. It will do you good.” “Yes, do come,” urged Mabel. “All right,” agreed Joe. “But I’ll have to be back soon. No telling which one of us Gregory will call on to pitch.” “Oh, I’ll get you back in time,” promised Reggie. [219] So Joe, with the permission of Gregory, who warned him not to be late, started off for an auto ride. They went for some distance into the beautiful country and Joe was beginning to feel in fit condition to pitch a great game. As they passed through one small town, Joe looked at the clock in a jeweler’s window. Then he glanced at his watch. “I say!” he cried in dismay. “Either my watch is slow, or that clock is fast. Why, I haven’t time enough to get back to play! What time have you, Reggie?” “My watch has stopped. But we can ask the jeweler if his time is right.” It was, as Joe learned to his dismay. They had been going by his watch, and now it developed that it was nearly an hour slow! “Jove! If I should be late!” cried the young pitcher in a panic of apprehension. <hr class="chap" /> [220] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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