“Here,” went on the old pitcher to his former companion of the highway, and he passed him a bill. “It’s all I can spare or I’d give you more.”
Hogan was greatly surprised. He stared at the money half comprehendingly.
“You—do you mean it?” he stammered.
“Certainly,” answered Pop.
“Well, I—er—I—I’m sorry!” burst out the tramp, and, making a quick grab for the bill, he turned aside and was soon lost to sight amid the trees.
“Hum! That’s a queer go!” commented one of the officers.
“I guess he’s got some feeling, after all,” said Joe, softly.
They had accomplished what they set out to do—proved the innocence of the young pitcher. And they had done more, for they were in the way of recovering most of the stolen stuff. Joe anticipated much pleasure in restoring to Mabel her odd bracelet.
They motored back to the city from the rendezvous of the tramps, talking over the strange occurrence. But they took none of the members of the ball team into their confidence—Joe and Pop. They thought the fewer who knew of it the better.
“And now if I was sure dad would be all right, and Pop’s arm would get into pitching shape again, I wouldn’t ask for anything more,” said Joe to Reggie that night, when he called on the youth and his sister.