Baseball Joe In The Central League Part 33

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, 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 s.h.i.+ft 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 hoa.r.s.ely whispered something to the old pitcher.

"He says Hogan and a gang of tramps are in a sort of camp in s.h.i.+ller'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 s.h.i.+ller'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.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE TRAMP RENDEZVOUS

"Come on!" cried Joe to Reggie Varley, not giving that astonished young man a chance to greet him. "Come on! Got plenty of gas?"

"Gas? Yes, of course. But where? What is it? Are they after you?"

"Not at all. We're after _them_!" laughed Joe. He could afford to laugh now, for he felt that he was about to be vindicated.

"But I--er--I don't understand," spoke Reggie, slowly. "Where is it you want to go?"

"After the tramp who rifled the valise you suspected me of opening in that way-station some time ago," answered Joe quickly. "We're after him to prove I didn't do it!"

"Oh, but my dear Matson--really now, I don't believe you took it. Sis went for me red-hot, you know, after you told her. She called me all kinds of a brute for even mentioning it to you, and really----"

He paused rather helplessly, while Joe, taking the situation into his own hands, climbed up beside Reggie, who was alone in his big car. The young pitcher motioned for Pop to get into the tonneau, and the veteran did so, still wondering what was going to happen.

"It's all right," laughed Joe, more light-hearted than he had been in many months. "If you'll take us to s.h.i.+ller's Woods you may see something that will surprise you."

"But still I don't understand."

Joe explained briefly how Hogan, the railroad tramp, had boasted of robbing a valise corresponding to Reggie's. Hogan was now within five miles of Pittston, hiding in a tramps' camp, and if he was arrested, or caught, he might be made to tell the truth of the robbery, clear Joe, and possibly inform Reggie where the watch and jewelry had been disposed of.

"I don't suppose he has any of it left," said Reggie, simply. "There was one bracelet belonging to sis that I'd like awfully much to get back."

"Well, we can try," answered Joe, hopefully.

"Sometimes," broke in Pop, "those fellows can't dispose of the stuff they take, and then they hide it. Maybe we can get it back."

"Let's hope so," went on Reggie. "And now, where do you want to go? I'll take you anywhere you say, and I've got plenty of gas."

"s.h.i.+ller's Woods," returned Joe. "Do you know where it is, Pop?"

"Yes. I've been there--once or twice."

"And now," went on Joe, as he settled back in the seat, still in his baseball uniform, as was Pop Dutton, "how did you happen to be here?"

and he looked at Reggie.

"Why, I had to come up in this section on business for dad, and sis insisted that I bring her along. So we motored up, and here we are. Sis is at the Continental."

"Our hotel!" gasped Joe. "I didn't see her!" His heart was beating wildly.

"No, I just left her there," returned Reggie. "She is wild to see these final games----"

"I hope she sees us win," murmured Joe.

"But about this chase," went on Reggie. "If we're going up against a lot of tramps perhaps we'd better have a police officer with us."

"It wouldn't be a bad idea," agreed Pop. "We can stop and pick up a railroad detective I know. They'll be glad of the chance to raid the tramps, for they don't want them hanging around."

"Good idea," announced Joe, who was still puzzling over the manner in which things fitted together, and wondering at the absurdly simple way in which Reggie had appeared on the scene.

The car sped away from the ball field, purring on its silent, powerful way. Pop Dutton gave directions as to the best roads to follow, and a little distance out of Pittston he called a halt, in order that a railroad detective might be summoned.

They found one at a small branch freight station, and this man called a companion, so there were five who proceeded to the rendezvous of the tramps in s.h.i.+ller's Woods.

It is not a difficult matter to raid the abiding place of the men, unfortunates if you will, who are known as "hoboes," and tramps. They are not criminals in the usual sense of the term, though they will descend to petty thievery. Usually they are "pan-handlers," beggars and such; though occasionally a "yegg-man," or safe-blower, will throw in his lot with them.

But for the most part the men are low characters, living as best they can, cooking meager meals over a camp fire, perhaps raiding hen-roosts or corn fields, and moving from place to place.