THEORIES AND PLANS
"Going to get into the game to-day?" asked Wolcott Lindsay, on the
Saturday morning following the first outdoor practice, as he met Owen
coming out of the Pecks' room. "I understand they've got about twenty
men on the batting list."
Rob laughed constrainedly. "Yes, Sudbury and Tom Riley and I are all
going to play centre field."
"I thought you were down for second base."
Rob shook his head. "They tried me there yesterday, but I didn't make
good, so I've gone further out."
"Well, I hope you'll make good there. Durand says you're a slugger."
"I'm not!" answered Rob, sharply. He had his own opinions as to men
who are always trying for home runs. "I'm no great fielder either,"
he added more moderately, "as you'll see if you come up. Who are these
Seaton Clippers anyway?"
"Oh, just a team made up of townies. We always play the opening game
with the Clippers to try out the men."
They parted, Rob going into his room, where Simmons sat in the corner
of the window-seat, doubled up over a book.
"Poole's been here to see you," said Simmons, looking up. "He says the
Clippers have gone back on him--they couldn't get their pitcher--so
he's going to have a five-inning game between two nines. He wants you
and Patterson as battery for the second. Game starts at three. You're
to be up there as soon after two as possible for preliminary practice.
I told him I'd tell you."
Simmons recited his message as he would a well-studied theorem in
geometry, and, having recited it, buried himself again in his book. He
was a most accurate little person,--tiresomely accurate, Rob sometimes
thought. On this occasion, however, Rob's face lighted up at his
roommate's words; and though he opened his mouth to ask a question,
he closed it immediately with the question unasked. The message was
complete. It was also welcome; if he had planned an arrangement that
would give Pat the best chance to show his powers it couldn't have
been better. And now the opportunity had come unsought! If they did
well, the credit was wholly theirs; if they failed, no hopes would be
disappointed but their own.
"I'm going over to see Pat," he said, clapping on his hat again. There
were some uncertainties about signals which must be cleared up before
the afternoon. Then a new thought came to him, and he dropped into
a chair by his desk to jot down several memoranda on a blank sheet.
When he looked up, he found Simmons's eyes fixed upon him with the
discouraged expression which sometimes haunted them, particularly after
a visit home. Simmons was a most conscientious student, an excellent
scholar in languages, and personally quite unassuming and inoffensive.
But he was not strong physically, and in occasional times of weakness
or weariness was likely to dwell morbidly on the contrast between
his own situation and that of his more robust, lively, and popular
associates. Rob understood at a glance that this was one of Simmons's
homesick days, so he tucked his notes away in his pocket and turned to
his apathetic little chum.
"Going to the game?" he asked in a hearty tone.
"No," replied Simmons, dropping his eyes again to the page before him.
"I don't care anything about baseball."
"Why don't you go up the river, then? You ought to be outdoors
somewhere on a day like this."
"I'd rather stay here. Payner asked me to go up with him, but I don't
think I should enjoy his society."
"Payner!" exclaimed Owen, staring at his companion with an interest no
longer forced. Then he threw back his head and laughed aloud.
Simmons put down his book. "I don't see anything so funny in that. Why
shouldn't he invite me if he wants to?"
"He should, and if I were invited I'd go, if I had to cut ball practice
to do it."
Simmons looked his astonishment, but said nothing.
"You might find out where he gets the things that he bestows on the
Pecks," continued Owen.
"Have they had another?" cried Simmons, eagerly, jumping to his feet
and planting himself in front of Owen. "Tell me, have they had another?
What was it?"
Owen grinned and nodded. "Some queer little olive-green lizards, about
three inches long, with small red spots all over them. I didn't know
the things."
"How did it come? They've kept their door locked for a long time, and
they hardly dare open a window."
"In the laundry bag," chuckled Owen. "It was left outside their door,
and the lizards just went to sleep in it. There was the usual ticket
tied to one of their tails, 'The Fifth Plague.'"
"I don't think that's so awfully bad," said Simmons, after some
reflection. "A lizard wouldn't scare me much."
"That's what Don said," replied Rob, smiling as he recalled the scene.
"He thought it showed Payner was about at the end of his resources.
But Duncan said the season was just opening, and half the plagues were
yet to come, always supposing that Payner would be content with the
biblical number. When I left them they were still arguing--well, I've
got to get over to see Patterson."
Owen took up his hat again. Simmons was standing by the window. The boy
turned around as Owen approached the door, and said apologetically: "I
think I'll go in and tell Payner I've changed my mind. I may as well go
with him after all."
"That's right!" called Owen, from the door. "And be sure you tell me
all about it."
And he ran downstairs with a light heart, eager to see Patterson and
plan the signal service for the afternoon.
Half an hour afterward he was still sitting at one side of Patterson's
table, with the pitcher on the other and the notes between them. The
conversation, however, was no longer concerned with signals.
"I tell you it's so," Owen was declaring. "One of the first two balls
pitched has got to be put over. If not, you're in a hole."
"I don't see that," said Patterson.
"Well, I can prove it to you," said Owen, confidently. "Look here, now.
When you start in with a batter, the chances are four to three in favor
of the pitcher, aren't they? He has four balls to give away, and the
batter has three chances to strike. Really the odds in favor of the
pitcher are much greater, because even if you give the batter a ball
that he can hit, there are eight men lying in wait for it, and one of
'em is likely to get it."
Patterson nodded.
"Now, as long as you can keep the batter uncertain whether the ball
that's coming is good or bad, you have him at a disadvantage, haven't
you? But when you're so fixed that you must put 'em over, he's got you
at a disadvantage."
"I can see that," said Patterson.
"Well, if you give two balls right off, you've changed the chances
from four to three in your favor, to three to two in his; and he feels
pretty certain that the next one will be over, because you've got to
begin to get strikes. After that, if you get a single ball, you must
put every one over, and the batter knows it. So to get two balls at the
start is to put yourself in a hole."
"Then the first ball to pitch to a man is either one that he'll strike
at, thinking it's a good one, or a really good one that he can't hit,
or doesn't think of offering at."
"That's the theory," said Owen. "As a matter of fact, most of these
fellows couldn't hit a straight ball more than half the time, if you
told them where it was coming. McLennan says you can fool most amateurs
with speed alone. He's coached college teams and ought to know."
"And if you can get two strikes on him early, you have him worrying,"
mused Patterson.
"Yes, but it won't do to let 'em think that's your only method. The
idea is, never get into a position where you've _got_ to give a strike.
Always keep them guessing."
Rob batted to the infield of the Second nine before the game, and
came to the conclusion that Patterson would receive little help from
the men behind him. At second base was a short, round, red-headed lad
rejoicing in the name of McGuffy, who fumbled every other grounder,
as if alternation were a rule of the game. At short played another
fatty, most inaptly named Smart, who always threw either over the
first baseman's head or at one side of his feet, and seemed quite
ignorant of the very elementary rule that shortstop covers second on
hits to the pitcher's left. Peacock at third combined the faults of
his two neighbors. The one redeeming feature in the near landscape was
Ames, the tall, raw-boned, awkward junior who crouched on his long
legs like a grasshopper at first base, and flung out his big hands
to incredible distances for the poor throws served up to him by the
trio of incompetents around the diamond. Rob grinned with amusement
as he watched the fellow gathering in the balls, hopelessly clumsy
and inelegant from finger ends to tips of toes. The spectators on the
benches laughed and jeered, until Poole shut them up by a peremptory
message. Long Ames paid no attention to them; he was too busy scooping
Peacock's short bounds out of the dust, and pulling down high sailers
that Smart had started on their way to the bleachers.
Allis at left field was made captain of the Second. It was he who
arranged the batting order, at the head of which Owen was placed,
evidently on account of his success at the net during the two days of
outdoor practice. Allis himself came next, then Rorbach, then Reddy
McGuffy and his antipode Ames. Poole took his team into the field,
and Rob faced O'Connell for the first test of strength. Were he and
Patterson to prove in a class with McGuffy and Peacock? A few innings
would show.