Baseball Joe in the Central League; or Making Good as a Professional Pitcher Read online

  CHAPTER III

  AN ACCUSATION

  "Whew!" exclaimed Joe, as he sank into a car seat and placed his valisebeside him. "Some doings--those!"

  Several passengers looked at him, smiling and appreciative. They hadseen and heard the parting ovation tendered to our hero, and theyunderstood what it meant.

  Joe waved his hand out of the window as the train sped on, and thensettled back to collect his thoughts which, truth to tell, were runningriot.

  Pulling from his pocket some books on baseball, one of which containedstatistics regarding the Central League, Joe began poring over them. Hewanted to learn all he could about the organization with which he hadcast his fortunes.

  And a few words of explanation concerning the Central League may not beunappreciated by my readers.

  In the first place let me be perfectly frank, and state that the CentralLeague was not one of the big ones. I have not masqueraded a majorleague under that title. Some day I hope to tell you some storiesconcerning one of the larger leagues, but not in this volume.

  And in the second place Joe realized that he was not going to astonishthe world by his performances in this small league. He knew it was but a"bush league," in a sense, yet he had read enough of it to know that itwas composed of clean-cut clubs and players, and that it bore a goodreputation. Many a major league player had graduated from this sameCentral, and Joe--well, to put it modestly--had great hopes.

  The Central League was of the Middle West. It played its eight clubsover a circuit composed of eight well-known cities, which for thepurposes of this story I have seen fit to designate as follows:Clevefield, Pittston (to which club Joe had been signed), Delamont,Washburg, Buffington, Loston, Manhattan and Newkirk. Perhaps, as thestory progresses, you may recognize, more or less successfully, certainplayers and certain localities. With that I have nothing to do.

  The train sped on, stopping at various stations, but Joe took littleinterest in the passing scenery, or in what took place in his coach.He was busy over his baseball "dope," by which I mean the statisticsregarding players, their averages, and so forth.

  "And my name will soon be among 'em!" exulted Joe.

  As the train was pulling out of a small station, Joe looked out of thewindow, and, to his surprise, saw, sitting on a baggage truck, the sametramp he had saved from the freight train some days before.

  "Hum!" mused Joe. "If he's beating his way on the railroad he hasn'tgotten very far," for this was not many miles from Riverside. "I guesshe's a sure-enough hobo, all right. Too bad!"

  Others beside Joe seemed to have noticed the tramp, who, however, hadnot looked at our hero. One of two men in the seat back of Joe spoke,and said:

  "I say, Reynolds, see that tramp sitting there?"

  "You mean the one on the truck?"

  "Yes. Do you recognize him?"

  "Recognize him? I should say not. I'm not in the habit of----"

  "Easy, old man. Would you be surprised if I told you that many timesyou've taken your hat off to that same tramp, and cheered him until youwere hoarse?"

  "Get out!"

  "It's a fact."

  "Who is he?"

  "I don't know who he is now--not much, to judge by his looks; but that'sold Pop Dutton, who, in his day, was one of the best pitchers Bostonever owned. He was a wonder!"

  "Is that Pop Dutton?"

  "That's the wreck of him!"

  "How have the mighty fallen," was the whispered comment. "Poor old Pop!Indeed, many a time I have taken my hat off to him! He sure was awonder. What caused his downfall?"

  "Bad companions--that and--drink."

  "Too bad!"

  Joe felt an irresistible impulse to turn around and speak to the twomen. But he refrained, perhaps wisely.

  "And to think that I saved his life!" mused Joe. "No wonder he talked ashe did. Pop Dutton! Why, I've often read of him. He pitched many ano-hit no-run game. And now look at him!"

  As the train pulled out Joe saw the wreck of what had once been a fineman stagger across the platform. A railroad man had driven him from thetruck. Joe's heart was sore.

  He realized that in baseball there were many temptations, and he knewthat many a fine young fellow had succumbed to them. But he felt himselfstrong enough to resist.

  If Joe expected to make the trip South with speed and comfort he wassoon to realize that it was not to be. Late that afternoon the traincame to an unexpected stop, and on the passengers inquiring what wasthe trouble, the conductor informed them that, because of a wreck ahead,they would be delayed at a little country station for several hours.

  There were expostulations, sharp remarks and various sorts of suggestionsoffered by the passengers, all of whom seemed to be in a hurry. Joe,himself, regretted the delay, but he did not see how it could be avoided.

  "The company ought to be sued!" declared a young man whose rather "loud"clothes proclaimed him for an up-to-date follower of "fashion." He hadwith him a valise of peculiar make--rather conspicuous--and it looked tobe of foreign manufacture. In fact, everything about him was ratherstriking.

  "I ought to be in New York now," this young chap went on, as thougheveryone in the train was interested in his fortunes and misfortunes."This delay is uncalled for! I shall start suit against this railroad.It's always having wrecks. Can't we go on, my good man?" he asked theconductor, sharply.

  "Not unless you go on ahead and shove the wreck out of the way," was thesharp answer.

  "I shall report you!" said the youth, loftily.

  "Do! It won't be the first time I've been reported--my good fellow!"

  The youth flushed and, taking his valise, left the car to enter thesmall railway station. Several other passengers, including Joe, did thesame, for the car was hot and stuffy.

  Joe took a seat near one where the modish young man set down his queervalise. Some of the other passengers, after leaving their baggageinside, went out on the platform to stroll about. Joe noted that theyoung man had gone to the telegraph office to send a message.

  Our hero having nothing else to do, proceeded to look over more of hisbaseball information. He was deep in a study of batting averages when hewas aware that someone stood in front of him.

  It was the young man, who had his valise open, and on his face was apuzzled expression, mingled with one of anger.

  "I say now! I say!" exclaimed the young chap. "This won't do! It won'tdo at all, you know!" and he looked sharply at Joe.

  "Are you speaking to me?" asked the young pitcher. "If you are I don'tknow what it is that won't do--and I don't care."

  "It won't do at all, you know!" went on the young man, speaking withwhat he probably intended to be an English accent. "It won't do!"

  "What won't?" asked Joe sharply.

  "Why, taking things out of my valise, you know. There's a gold watchand some jewelry missing--my sister's jewelry. It won't do!"

  "Do you mean to say that I had anything to do with taking jewelry out ofyour valise?" asked Joe hotly.

  "Why--er--you were sitting next to it. I went to send a wire--when Icome back my stuff is missing, and----"

  "Look here!" cried the young pitcher in anger. "Do you mean to accuseme?" and he jumped to his feet and faced the young man. "Do you?"

  "Why--er--yes, I think I do," was the answer. "You were next my bag, youknow, and--well, my stuff is gone. It won't do. It won't do at all, youknow!"