“Oh, nothing much. Just from pitching. I expect.”
“Pitching!” The man straightened up as though a lash had struck him. “Pitching, did you say? In—er—in what league?”
“Not in any league yet, though I’ve signed with the Central.”
“The Central? Huh! A bush league.”
“I left the Yale ’varsity to go with them,” said Joe, a little nettled at the tone of the man whose life he had just saved.
“Oh—you pitched for Yale?” There was more deference shown now.
“Yes, and we beat Princeton.”
“You did? An’ you pitched? Say, young feller, put her there! Put her—there!” The man held out an unsteady hand, which Joe, more to quiet him than for any other reason, clasped firmly.
“An’ you beat Princeton! Good for you! Put her there! I—er—I read about that. I can read—I got a good education. But I—er—Oh, I’m a fool, that’s what I am. A fool! An’ to think that I once—Oh, what’s the use—what’s the use?”