Joe’s one consolation, though, was that Pop Dutton was in the way of being provided for. The old pitcher was holding himself rigidly in line, and taking care of himself. He had a talk with Gregory—a shame-faced sort of talk on Pop’s part—and was promised a place at the Pittston ball park. It was agreed that he would go into training, and try to get back to his old form.
Gregory did not believe this could be done, but if a miracle should happen he realized that he would own a valuable player—one that would be an asset to his club.
And then something happened. How it came about no one could say for a certainty, but Joe went “stale.”
He fell off woefully in his pitching, and the loss of several games was attributable directly to his “slump.”
Joe could not account for it, nor could his friends; but the fact remained. Pittston dropped to third place, and the papers which gave much space to the doings of the Central League began to make sarcastic remarks.
On the diamond, too, Joe had to suffer the gibes of the crowd, which is always ready to laud a successful player, and only too ready, also, to laugh at one who has a temporary setback.
Joe was in despair, but in his letters home he kept cheerful. He did not want his folks to worry. Regularly he sent money to his mother, taking out of his salary check almost more than he could really afford. Also he felt the drain of looking after Pop, but now that the latter had regular work on the diamond, keeping it in order, the old pitcher was, in a measure, self-supporting.
Pop was rapidly becoming more like his former self, but it would take some time yet. He indulged in light practice, Joe often having him catch for him when no one else was available. As yet Pop attempted no pitching, the doctor to whom Joe took him warning him against it.
“There will have to be a slight operation on certain muscles,” said the medical man, “but I prefer to wait a bit before doing it. You will be in better shape then.”