CHAPTER XIX
A NEW HOLD
"What--what all am de mattah, Massa Matson?" asked the colored lad, hiseyes bulging, and showing so much white that the rest of his face seemeda shade or two darker. "What all am de mattah? Ain't yo'all put out'bout me takin' dish yeah tie? I didn't go fo' to steal it, suh! 'Deedan' I didn't. I were jest sort ob borrowin' it fo' to wear at a partyI'se gwine t' attend dis ebenin'."
"Put out about you!" laughed Joe. "Indeed I'm not. But don't say you'regoing to borrow that tie," and he pointed to the one the lad had triedunsuccessfully to conceal. It was of very gaudy hue--broad stripes andprominent dots. "Don't say you were going to borrow it."
"'Deed an' dat's all I were gwine t' do, Massa Matson. I didn't go fo't' take it fo' keeps. I was a gwine t' ask yo'all fo' de lend ob it, butI thought mebby yo'all wasn't comin' in time, so I jest made up mah mindt' 'propriate it on mah own lookout, an' I was fixin' t' put it back'fo' yo'all come in. I won't hurt it, 'deed an' I won't, an' I'll bringyo'all ice water any time yo'all wants it. I--I'd laik mighty much,Massa Matson, t' buy dish yeah tie offen yo'all."
"Buy it!" cried Joe, still laughing, though it was evident that thecolored lad could not understand why.
"Well, suh, that is, not exactly _buy_ it, 'case I ain't got no money,but yo'all needn't gib me no tips, suh, fo' a--fo' a long time, an' Icould buy it dat way. Yes, suh, you needn't gib me no tips fo' twoweeks. An' yo'all is so generous, Massa Matson, dat in two weeks' timeI'd hab dis tie paid fo'. It's a mighty pert tie, it suah am!"
He gazed admiringly at it.
"Take it, for the love of mush!" cried Joe. "I'm glad you have it!"
"Yo'all am glad, Massa Matson?" repeated the lad, as though he had notheard aright.
"Sure! That tie's been a nightmare to me ever since I bought it. I don'tknow what possessed me to buy a cross section of the rainbow in theshape of a scarf; but I did it in a moment of aberration, I reckon. Takeit away, Sam, and never let me see it again."
"Does yo'all really mean dat?"
"Certainly."
"Well, suh, I thanks yo'all fo' de compliment--I suah does. An' yo'allain't vexted wif me?"
"Not at all!"
"An'--an' yo'all won't stop giving me tips?"
"No, Sam."
"Golly! Dat's fine! I suah does thank you, mightily, suh! Won't all demodder coons open dere eyes when dey sees me sportin' dis yeah tie!Yum-yum! I gass so!" and Sam bounced out of the room before Joe mightpossibly change his mind. The colored lad nearly ran into Charlie Hall,who was coming to have his usual chat with Joe, and the shortstop,seeing the tie dangling from the bell boy's hand, guessed what hadhappened.
"Was he making free with your things, Joe?" asked Charlie, when Sam haddisappeared around a corner of the hall.
"Oh, I caught him taking my tie, that's all."
"Yes, I did the same thing to one of the boys on my floor the other day.I gave him a flea in his ear, too."
"And I gave Sam the tie," laughed Joe.
"You _gave_ it to him?"
"Yes, that thing has been haunting me. I never wore it but once and Igot disgusted with it." Joe failed to state that Mabel had showed adislike for the scarf, and that it was her implied opinion that hadturned him against it.
"You see," the young pitcher went on, "I didn't know just which of thefellows to give it to, and two or three times I've left it in my hotelroom when we traveled on. And every blamed time some chambermaidwould find it, give it to the clerk, and he'd forward it to me. Thatmonstrosity of a scarf has been following me all over the circuit.
"I was getting ready to heave it down some sewer hole, when I came in tofind Sam 'borrowing' it. I had to laugh, and I guess he thought I wascrazy. Anyhow he's got the tie, and I've gotten rid of it. So we're bothsatisfied."
"Well, that's a good way to look at it. How are things, anyhow?"
"They might, by a strain, be worse," answered Joe, a bit gloomily. Thegame that day had been a hard one, and Gregory had used a string ofthree pitchers, and had only been able to stop the winning streak ofBuffington. Joe had been taken out after twirling for a few innings.
"Yes, we didn't do ourselves very proud," agreed Charlie. "And to-morrowwe're likely to be dumped. Our record won't stand much of that sort ofthing."
"Indeed it won't. Charlie, I've got to do something!" burst out Joe.
"What is it? I can't see but what you're doing your best."
"My hardest, maybe, but not my best. You see this league pitching isdifferent from a college game. I didn't stop to figure out that I'd haveto pitch a deal oftener than when I was at Yale. This is business--theother was fun."
"You're tired, I guess."
"That's it--I'm played out."
"Why don't you take a vacation; or ask Gregory not to work you so often?"
"Can't take any time off, Charlie. I need the money. As for playing thebaby-act--I couldn't do that, either."
"No, I reckon not. But what are you going to do?"
"Hanged if I know. But I've got to do something to get back into form.We're going down."
"I know it. Has Gregory said anything?"
"No, he's been awfully decent about it, but I know he must think a lot.Yes, something's got to be done."
Joe was rather gloomy, nor was Charlie in any too good spirits. In factthe whole team was in the "dumps," and when they lost the next game theywere deeper in than ever.
Some of the papers began running headlines "Pittston Loses Again!" Itwas galling.
Jimmie Mack worked hard--so did Gregory--and he, and Trainer McGuire,devised all sorts of plans to get the team back in form again. Butnothing seemed to answer. The Pittstons dropped to the rear of the firstdivision, and only clung there by desperate work, and by poor playingon the part of other teams.
In all those bitter, dreary days there were some bright spots for Joe,and he treasured them greatly. One was that his father was no worse,though the matter of the operation was not definitely settled. Anotherwas that he heard occasionally from Mabel--her letters were a source ofjoy to him.
Thirdly, Old Pop Dutton seemed to be "making good." He kept steadily atwork, and had begun to do some real baseball practice. Joe wrote to him,and his letters were answered promptly. Even cynical Gregory admittedthat perhaps, after all, the former star pitcher might come into his ownagain.
"When will you give him a trial?" asked Joe, eagerly.
"Oh, some day. I'll put him in the field when we're sure of an easygame."
The time came when the tail-enders of the league arrived for a series ofcontests with Pittston, and Pop Dutton, to his delight, was allowed toplay. There was nothing remarkable about it, but he made no errors, andonce, taking a rather desperate chance on a long fly, he beat it out andretired the batter.
He was roundly applauded for this, and it must have warmed his heart tofeel that once more he was on the road he had left so long before. Butcoming back was not easy work. Joe realized this, and he knew the oldpitcher must have had a hard struggle to keep on the narrow path he hadmarked out for himself. But Joe's influence was a great help--Duttonsaid so often. The other players, now that they found their former matewas not bothering them, begging money, or asking for loans, took morekindly to him. But few believed he could "come back," in the fullmeaning of the words.
"He may be a fairly good fielder, and his batting average may beatmine," said Tooley, "but he'll never be the 'iron man' he once was." Andnearly all agreed with him.
Joe was faithful to his protege. Often the two would saunter out tosome quiet place and there pitch and catch for each other. And Joe'strained eye told him that the other's hand had lost little of its formercunning.
Meanwhile the fortunes of Pittston did not improve much. Sometimes theywould struggle to second place, only to slip back again, while victoriousClevefield held her place at the top.
There was only one consolation--Pittston did not drop out of the firstdivision. She never got lower than fourth.
Joe was being use
d less and less on the pitching mound, and his heartwas sore. He knew he could make good if only something would happen togive him back his nerve, or a certain something he lacked. But he couldnot understand what.
Properly enough it was Pop Dutton who put him on the right track. Thetwo were pitching and catching one day, when Joe delivered what he hadalways called a "fade-away" ball, made famous by Mathewson, of the NewYork Giants. As it sailed into Pop's big mitt the veteran called:
"What was that, Joe?"
"Fade-away, of course."
"Show me how you hold the ball when you throw it."
Joe did so. The old pitcher studied a moment, and then said:
"Joe, you've got it wrong. Have you been pitching that way all thewhile?"
"Always."
"No wonder they have been hitting you. Let me show you something. Standbehind me."
The old pitcher threw at the fence. Joe was amazed at the way the ballbehaved. It would have puzzled the best of batters.
"How did you do it?" asked Joe, wonderingly.
"By using a different control, and holding the ball differently. I'llshow you. You need a new hold."