THE THIRD STRING
When the school gathered again after the holidays, Poole called his
candidates for baseball together, and after a vehement harangue in
which he sought to impress upon each man the importance of doing his
utmost to develop a good nine, whether by making it himself or by
spurring on some better man to outdo him, arranged the periods and
combinations for winter practice. As the general routine, or as much of
it as concerns the fielding and batting, has been described in a former
book, the subject must be dismissed here with this passing mention. In
the work of the batteries we are more directly interested.
Carle and Borland were put at the head of the battery combinations,
apparently with as little hesitancy as if they had been veterans
carried over from a triumphant season. The first choice of hours was
theirs, their opinions were listened to with respect; their position
as fixtures seemed almost as well recognized as that of Poole himself.
In spite of all self-preparation, Rob was almost startled to find
what a gap existed between himself and his old battery mate; and as
he remembered how often in past games when bases were full and things
were going wrong with the pitching, he had guided the bewildered Carle
out of his difficulties, he could not help a feeling of pique, nor
avoid wondering whether Borland would succeed as well. After Carle,
O'Connell, one of the class pitchers of the year before, held the next
position of favor, and Poole quietly put down the combination, Owen and
O'Connell, for cage hours together. There were also Patterson, a new
man about whom nothing was known, and Peters, right fielder on the nine
the year before, who was learning to pitch. For these, also, practice
catchers were arranged.
From the outset, Owen found his practice with O'Connell unpleasant. It
could not have been from any prejudice against the pitcher, for Rob,
who was eager for any opportunity which seemed to offer him a "show,"
was at first greatly pleased at the prospect of being mated with the
man who, before the advent of Carle, had been regarded as the most
promising of the school pitchers. Whatever secret hopes he may have
cherished of building up a rival battery were in a fortnight wholly
dispelled. O'Connell couldn't pitch, and wouldn't learn. He couldn't
pitch because his whole idea seemed to be to throw a ball with as big
a curve as possible, without much care as to where it was going, or
how near the plate it was destined to come; the only ball which he
could surely put over was a straight waist ball which any child could
hit. He wouldn't learn, because he thought it a pitcher's business to
pitch, and a catcher's not to give instruction but to catch. To Rob's
suggestions that any kind of a waist-high ball was dangerous, that the
best pitcher he ever saw did not cover a width of more than three feet
in a whole game, keeping the ball constantly at the plate--O'Connell
paid not the slightest attention. He was quite unwilling to suppose
that a man who had enjoyed the privilege of Seaton coaching for a year
could learn anything from a country boy from western Pennsylvania.
The result was that Rob soon ceased to try to help the pitcher, and
contented himself with taking the balls within reach in silence and
letting the rest strike the net. The loungers about the cage could not
have been impressed with the skill of the catching.
One day toward the end of the discouraging fortnight, when Rob was
feeling particularly blue over the situation and wondering whether it
would not be better after all to let the catching go altogether and
take his chances on his hitting for a fielding position, he fell in
with Patterson on the way down street, and asked him casually how he
was getting on with pitching.
"Not very well," answered Patterson, ruefully. "I can't seem to learn
anything."
"Who catches you?" asked Rob.
"Foxcroft," replied Patterson, gloomily. "He's a good backstop, I
suppose, but he never tells me anything, and you can't learn by
yourself. Poole ought to fix it so that we can get some instruction, I
think."
Rob did not answer. He was marvelling at the contrariness of
circumstances. Here was O'Connell who might have instruction but
wouldn't take it, and Patterson who wanted it but couldn't get it!
"A man who ought to know told me once that I had the makings of
a pitcher in me,--the arm swing, snappy wrist, and all that, you
know,--but I've had mighty little chance for coaching and no such
experience as these fellows here get, so I don't know whether he was
fooling me or not. I don't seem to be getting ahead at all now."
"Oh, you mustn't be discouraged," said Rob, unfairly assuming in his
own discouragement the right to blame the other's faint-heartedness.
"It takes time to learn to pitch."
"It takes something more than time," Patterson declared with emphasis.
"A year of the kind of thing I'm getting won't be much better than a
month. You don't have to eat a bushel of apples to find out whether
they're rotten or not. One is enough."
Rob hesitated. An idea had suddenly occurred to him, an idea that
might be good. Why shouldn't he catch Patterson, and let O'Connell
take Foxcroft? He knew nothing of Patterson, it was true, but he did
know about O'Connell, and under the circumstances the unknown seemed
attractive.
"How would you like to take me for a change, and let O'Connell have
Foxcroft?"
Patterson's face spoke instantly a joyful acceptance of the proposal.
His words, which came later, evidently represented second thoughts.
"Wouldn't I! But O'Connell would kick, though. He isn't going to swap
you for Foxcroft."
"I don't believe he'd mind," returned Owen, with a smile of amusement
tinged with sadness. "He can't learn anything from me, so Foxcroft
would do just as well. I'd like to catch some one I could work with,
and feel an interest in and try to push along. A net would be about as
good for O'Connell as I am; all the advantage I have over the net is
that I throw the balls back."
"Let's change, then," said Patterson, eagerly. "If O'Connell doesn't
want your help, I do. You'll find me ready to learn all right. You see
Poole,--no, I'll see him and tell him we'd like to bunk in together. I
don't believe it'll make any difference to him."
Poole was seen, and gave his consent without suggesting any obstacle
except a possible difficulty in arranging new hours. O'Connell growled
a little, not at losing Owen, whom he considered too officious, but at
the notion that he should be given a third-string catcher instead of a
second. But the change was made, and the new pair settled quietly down
into obscurity, an obscurity which was the deeper in contrast with the
glare of publicity in which the first battery displayed itself.
Carle and Borland were the unquestioned athletic heroes of that winter
term. Borland showed himself an excellent backstop. His manner was that
of one whom no ball thrown by human arm could disconcert. He could
take in-curves with his mitt unsupported, tip them jauntily into his
right hand, and toss them back with the best air of a professional
in a great city team showing his tricks to a big audience before a
game. The lads who in a perennial group peered admiring through the
netting would nudge each other and exclaim and wonder; the knowing ones
would talk with wise patronage; the ignorant ask foolish questions
in awe-struck tones. Then the company would exchange places with a
similar squad at the pitcher's end, and, big-eyed with amazement, watch
the unintelligible signals, and try to detect the jump or the break,
the out or the in, the lift or the drop, which the conductor of the
party assured them was to be seen. Those were great days for battery
one at Seaton school. No disillusionizing games to shatter the sweet
ideal with brutal facts, no heartbreaking succession of base hits, no
feverish gift of bases on balls, no missed pop fouls, no overthrown
bases, but just fancy pitching, with opportunity for flourishes
unlimited, and spectators unanimous in admiration. Poole himself, with
all his steady-mindedness and fear of fostering vain hopes, yielded to
the general exultation and looked forward with full complacency to the
contest of batteries in the spring.
Meantime the humble third string was pursuing its unnoticed way. To
his surprise, Owen found Patterson possessed of a very good mastery of
one or two curves, and pitching with apparent ease and considerable
speed. He was very eager to learn, and so modest as to be entirely
distrustful of himself. This fault of timidity Rob sought to overcome
by encouragement and by plain lessons from the successes of pitchers
whom he had known. When once Patterson understood that by good pitching
was meant, not "doing things" with a ball, but merely success in
fooling batsmen; and that to accomplish this object, control and speed
and cleverness in alternating balls, rather than ability to juggle
curves, were of prime importance, the pupil took courage and began to
learn.
It was now that Rob regretted that he had not paid more attention
to McLennan's words of counsel to Carle when the latter had had his
lessons. Much that the professional had said he recalled under the
stimulus of the need. Some things about which he felt uncertain he
found out from Carle, who, as a rule, however, remembered less of the
technical teaching than Owen. But in the main it was the fundamental
principles which Patterson needed, and as to these his catcher was well
informed. They were left much to themselves. The general public had no
interest in the third battery. Poole occasionally looked in on them for
a few minutes, but on these occasions Rob, with a perversity perhaps
excusable, deliberately kept his charge from showing his best work.
With O'Connell and Carle, and others who might be expected to look with
critical eyes, he followed the same course, as if he courted obscurity.
The result was that the two worked on alone during the long winter
practice unmolested by critics, and free from distracting suggestions
of would-be helpers.
With Patterson, Rob soon felt himself on terms of hearty intimacy,
though at times their relation suggested that of patron and client. So
frankly modest was the pitcher, so naturally distrustful of himself and
ready to follow another's lead, that outside the cage he fell naturally
into the position of follower. He studied with Owen, skated with him,
loafed in his room, sided with him in the discussions, profitable and
unprofitable, to which boys' conversation usually runs, and confided to
him the facts as to his home life which one usually reserves for his
most intimate companion. Yet with all his friendliness and willingness
to follow the steps of another better fitted to lead, Patterson was by
no means weak. There was a substantial basis of character and principle
underlying his naturally trustful disposition. He followed only a
presumably wiser guide; he yielded only up to a certain point and in
certain directions. While possessing the unusual faculty of recognizing
his faults before his virtues, when once assured of his power he would
push on undaunted by obstacles. It was this peculiar combination
of traits that so endeared him as a friend and rendered him so apt
as a pupil. Most young athletes need the experience of the contest
to dissipate their conceit, and open the way for development. With
Patterson experience was necessary before a reasonable self-confidence
was possible.