But it was baffling, and Joe turned quickly. He started as he saw standing behind him, attired rather more neatly than when last he had confronted our hero--the tramp whom he had saved from the freight train.
On his part the other looked sharply at Joe for a moment. Over his face passed shadows of memory, and then the light came. He recognized Joe, and with a note of gladness in his husky voice--husky from much shouting on the ball field, and from a reckless life--he exclaimed:
"Why it's the boy! It's the boy who pulled me off the track! It's the boy!"
"Of course!" exclaimed Joe. Impulsively he held out his hand.
A shout arose as one of the Pittston players brought in the winning run, but Joe paid no heed. He was staring at old Pop Dutton.
The other player--the "has-been"--looked at Joe's extended hand a moment as if in doubt. Then he glanced over the field, and listened to the glad cries. He seemed to straighten up, and his nostrils widened as he sniffed in the odors of the crushed green grass. It was as though a broken-down horse had heard from afar the battle-riot in which he never again would take part.
Back came the blood-shot eyes to Joe's still extended hand.
"Do you--do you mean it?" faltered the old ball player.
"Mean it? Mean what?" asked Joe, in surprise.
"Are you going to shake hands with me--with a----"
The other did not need to answer, for at that moment Gregory came up. He started at the sight of Dutton, and said sharply:
"How did you get in here? What are you doing here. Didn't I tell you to keep away?"
"I paid my way in--_Mister_ Gregory!" was the sarcastic answer. "I still have the price."
"Well, we don't care for your money. What are you doing here? The bleachers for yours!"
"He came--I think he came to see me," spoke Joe, softly, and he reached for the other's reluctant hand. "I have met him before."
"Oh," said Gregory, and there was a queer note in his voice. "I guess we've all met him before, and none of us are the better for it. You probably don't know him as well as the rest of us, Joe."
"He--he saved my life," faltered the unfortunate old ball player.
"In a way that was a pity," returned Gregory, coolly--cuttingly, Joe thought, "for you're no good to yourself, Dutton, nor to anyone else, as near as I can make out. I told you I didn't want you hanging around my grounds, and I don't. Now be off! If I find you here again I'll hand you over to the police!"