After a most successful game, in Washburg, which team had been playing good ball—the contest having been won by Pittston—Joe was walking across the diamond with Pop Dutton, when the young pitcher saw approaching them the same tramp with whom his protegé had entered the lodging house that night.
“Hello, Pop!” greeted the shabby man. “I want t’ see you.” He leered familiarly. Pop Dutton stopped and gazed with half-frightened eyes at Joe.
[CHAPTER XXIV]
ON THE TRACK
“Well, are you comin’?” demanded the tramp, as Dutton did not answer. “I said I want to see you, an’ I’m dead broke! Took all I had t’ git a seat on th’ bleachers t’ see de bloomin’ game.”
“Well, you saw a good game—I’ll say that,” commented the old player, though his voice was a bit husky. He seemed to be laboring under some nervous strain.
“Huh! I didn’t come to see th’ game. I want t’ see you. Are you comin’?”
Pop did not answer at once. About him and Joe, who still stood at his side, surged the other players and a section of the crowd. Some of the members of the team looked curiously at Pop and the ragged individual who had accosted him. Collin, the pitcher, sneered openly, and laughed in Joe’s face.
“Who’s your swell friend?” he asked, nodding toward the tramp. Joe flushed, but did not answer.