CHAPTER XXII
VICTORY
Joe hardly knew what to do. He realized that all his efforts towardgetting the old ball player back on the right road might go for naughtif Pop went off with these loose companions.
And yet would he relish being interfered with by the young pitcher? Popwas much older than Joe, but so far he had shown a strong liking for theyounger man, and had, half-humorously, done his bidding. Indeed Pop wasunder a deep debt not only of gratitude to Joe, but there had been afinancial one as well, though most of that was now paid.
"But I don't want to see him slip back," mused Joe, as he walked alongin the shadows, taking care to keep far enough back from the twain. ButPop never looked around. He seemed engrossed in his companion.
"What shall I do?" Joe asked himself.
He half hoped that some of the other members of the nine might comealong, and accost Pop, perhaps taking him off with them, as they haddone several times of late. For the old player was becoming more andmore liked--he was, in a way, coming into his own again, and he had afund of baseball stories to which the younger men never tired listening.
"If some of them would only come along!" whispered Joe, but none did.
He kept on following the two until he saw them go into one of the lessdisreputable lodging houses in a poor quarter of the city. It was a housewhere, though some respectable workingmen, temporarily embarrassed, madetheir homes for a time, there was more often a rowdy element, consistingof tramps, and, in some cases, criminals.
At election time it harbored "floaters" and "repeaters," and had beenthe scene of many a police raid.
"I wonder what he can want by going in there?" thought Joe. "It's a goodthing Gregory can't see him, or he'd sure say my experiment was afailure. It may be, after all; but I'm not going to give up yet. Now,shall I go in, and pretend I happened by casually, or shall I waitoutside?"
Joe debated the two propositions within himself. The first he soon gaveup. He was not in the habit of going into such places, and the presenceof a well-dressed youth, more or less known to the public as a memberof the Pittston nine, would excite comment, if nothing else. Besides, itmight arouse suspicion of one sort or another. Then, too, Pop mightguess why Joe had followed him, and resent it.
"I'll just have to wait outside," decided Joe, "and see what I can dowhen Pop comes out."
It was a dreary wait. From time to time Joe saw men slouch into theplace, and occasionally others shuffled out; but Pop did not come, nordid his ragged companion appear.
Joe was getting tired, when his attention was attracted to a detectivewhom he knew, sauntering rather aimlessly past on the opposite side ofthe street.
"Hello!" thought the young ball player, "I wonder what's up?" He eyedthe officer closely, and was surprised, a moment later, to see himjoined by a companion.
"Something sure is in the wind," decided Joe. "I'm going to find out."
He strolled across the highway and accosted the detective with whom hehad a slight acquaintance.
"Oh, it's Matson, the Pittston pitcher!" exclaimed the officer.
"What's up, Regan?" asked Joe.
"Oh, nothing much. Do you know Farley, my side partner? Farley, this isMatson--Baseball Joe, they call him. Some nifty little pitcher, too,let me tell you."
"Thanks," laughed Joe, as he shook hands with the other detective.
"Why, we're looking for a certain party," went on Regan. "I don't mindtelling you that. We'll probably pull that place soon," and he noddedtoward the lodging house. "Some of the regulars will be along in alittle while," he added.
"Pull," I may explain, is police language for "raid," or search acertain suspected place.
"Anything big?" asked Joe.
"Oh, nothing much. There's been some pocket-picking going on, and a fewrailroad jobs pulled off. A lot of baggage belonging to wealthy folkshas been rifled on different lines, all over the country, and we thinkwe're on the track of some of the gang. We're going to pull the placeand see how many fish we can get in the net."
Joe did not know what to do. If the place was to be raided soon it mightmean that his friend, the old pitcher, would be among those arrested.Joe was sure of his friend's innocence, but it would look bad for him,especially after the life he had led. It might also be discouraging toPop, and send him back to his old companions again.
"How long before you'll make the raid?" asked Joe.
"In about half an hour, I guess," replied Regan. "Why, are you going tostick around and see it?"
"I might. But there's a friend of mine in there," spoke Joe, "and Iwouldn't like him to get arrested."
"A friend of yours?" repeated Regan, wonderingly.
"Yes. Oh, he's not a hobo, though he once was, I'm afraid. But he'sreformed. Only to-night, however, he went out with one of his oldcompanions. I don't know what for. But I saw him go in there, and that'swhy I'm here. I'm waiting for him to come out."
"Then the sooner he does the better," observed Farley, grimly. "It's abad place."
"Look here," said Joe, eagerly, "could you do me a favor, Mr. Regan?"
"Anything in reason, Joe."
"Could you go in there and warn my friend to get out. I could easilydescribe him to you. In fact, I guess you must know him--Pop Dutton."
"Is Old Pop in there?" demanded the officer, in surprise.
"Yes," responded Joe, "but I'm sure he's all right. I don't believe youwant him."
"No, he's not on our list," agreed Regan. "Well, say, I guess I could dothat for you, Joe. Only one thing, though. If Farley or I happen inthere there may be a scare, and the birds we want will get away."
"How can we do it, then?" asked Joe.
A figure came shuffling up the dark street, and, at the sight of the twodetectives and the young pitcher, hesitated near a gas lamp.
"Hello! There's Bulldog!" exclaimed Regan, but in a low voice. "He'lldo. We'll send him in and have him tip Pop off to come out. Bulldog ison our staff," he added. "He tips us off to certain things. Here,Bulldog!" he called, and a short, squat man shuffled up. His face had acanine expression, which, Joe surmised, had gained him his name.
"Slip into Genty's place, Bulldog," said Regan in a low voice, "and tella certain party to get out before the bulls come. Do you know PopDutton?"
"Sure. He and I----"
"Never mind about that part of it," interrupted the detective. "Just doas I tell you, and do it quietly. You can stay in. You might pick upsomething that would help us."
"What, me stay in there when the place is going to be pulled, and getpinched? Not on your life!" and the man turned away.
"Hold on!" cried Regan. "We'll get you out all right, same as we alwaysdo. You're too valuable to us to go to jail for long."
Then, as Bulldog started for the dark entrance to the lodging house, Joerealized that he had seen what is called a "stool-pigeon," a characterhated by all criminals, and not very much respected by the police whomthey serve. A "stool-pigeon" consorts with criminals, that he mayoverhear their plans, and betray them to the police. Often he is himselfa petty criminal. In a sense he does a duty to the public, making itmore easy for the authorities to arrest wrong-doers--but no one loves a"stool-pigeon." They are the decoy ducks of the criminal world.
I am making this explanation, and portraying this scene in Joe Matson'scareer, not because it is pleasant to write about, for it is not. Iwould much rather take you out on the clean diamond, where you couldhear the "swat" of the ball. But as Joe's efforts to make a new man ofthe old pitcher took him into this place I can do no less than chroniclethe events as they happened. And a little knowledge of the sadder,darker and unhappy side of life may be of value to boys, in deterringthem from getting into a position where it would appeal to them--appealwrongly, it is true, but none the less strongly.
The Bulldog had not been in the building more than a minute before thedoor opened again, and Pop Dutton, alone, and looking hastily around,came out. Joe got in a shadow where he could not be seen. He didnot want h
is friend humiliated, now that he had seen him come outvictorious.
For the young pitcher could see that Pop was the same straight and soberself he had been since getting back on the right road. His associationwith his former companions had evidently not tempted him.
"Oh, I'm glad!" exulted Joe.
Pop Dutton looked curiously at the two detectives.
"Thanks," he said briefly, as he passed them, and they knew that heunderstood. Not for a long time afterward did the former pitcher knowthat to Joe he owed so much. For, though his intention in going to therendezvous of the unfortunates of the under-world was good, still itmight have been misconstrued. Now there was no danger.
Afterward Joe learned that Pop had been urged by the man he met on thestreet to take part in a robbery. The old pitcher refused, but his falsecompanion tried to lure him back to his old life, on the plea that onlyfrom his own lips would his associates believe that Pop had reformed.And Pop made them plainly understand that he had.
Pop Dutton passed on down the street, and, waiting a little while, Joefollowed. He did not care to see the raid. The young pitcher soonreached his hotel, and he felt that Pop was safe in his own boardinghouse.
The next morning Joe read of the wholesale arrests in the lodging house,though it was said that the quarry the detectives most hoped to getescaped in the confusion.
"Baggage robbers, eh?" mused Joe. "I wonder if they were the ones whowent through Reggie Varley's valise? If they could be caught it wouldclear me nicely, providing I could prove it was they."