“He may be a fairly good fielder, and his batting average may beat mine,” said Tooley, “but he’ll never be the ‘iron man’ he once was.” And nearly all agreed with him.
Joe was faithful to his protegé. Often the two would saunter out to some quiet place and there pitch and catch for each other. And Joe’s trained eye told him that the other’s hand had lost little of its former cunning.
Meanwhile the fortunes of Pittston did not improve much. Sometimes they would struggle to second place, only to slip back again, while victorious Clevefield held her place at the top.
There was only one consolation—Pittston did not drop out of the first division. She never got lower than fourth.
Joe was being used less and less on the pitching mound, and his heart was sore. He knew he could make good if only something would happen to give him back his nerve, or a certain something he lacked. But he could not understand what.
Properly enough it was Pop Dutton who put him on the right track. The two were pitching and catching one day, when Joe delivered what he had always called a “fade-away” ball, made famous by Mathewson, of the New York 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: