PITCHER POLLOCK
[Illustration: Down came Bert’s arm and it was all over]
PITCHER POLLOCK
BY
CHRISTY MATHEWSON
AUTHOR OF
FIRST BASE FAULKNER,
CATCHER CRAIG, Etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY
CHARLES M. RELYEA
[Illustration]
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
Made in the United States of America
Copyright, 1914, by
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I TOM HUNTS A JOB 3
II AND FINDS IT 14
III UNCLE ISRAEL SAYS “NO” 27
IV AT CUMMINGS AND WRIGHT’S 35
V TOM LOOKS AT HIS HAIR 48
VI TWO PAIRS OF SKATES 64
VII TOM GAINS PROMOTION 82
VIII AN OUT-CURVE 100
IX TOM WANTS TO KNOW 114
X TOM PLAYS IN A REAL GAME 124
XI THE BLUES VISIT LYNTON 138
XII “BATTER’S OUT” 151
XIII TOM TWIRLS TO VICTORY 164
XIV COACH TALBOT MAKES A CALL 180
XV THE PUMP CHANGES HANDS 197
XVI THE DETECTIVE DONS A MASK 214
XVII AFTERNOON PRACTICE 224
XVIII TOM TWIRLS FOR THE SCRUBS 237
XIX WITH THE TEAM 249
XX AMESVILLE LOSES THE GAME 264
XXI KNOCKED OUT OF THE BOX 283
XXII UNCLE ISRAEL SITS UP 293
XXIII “PLAY BALL!” 304
XXIV PITCHER POLLOCK 313
XXV THREE OUT 325
ILLUSTRATIONS
Down came Bert’s arm and it was all over _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
“I was wondering sir,” said Tom, “if after
I’ve paid that bill I couldn’t have the
pump” 46
“‘Grasp the ball firmly,’” recited Sidney,
“‘between the thumb and the first two
fingers’” 120
“Now you watch, son. Better get behind me
so’s you can see” 210
PITCHER POLLOCK
CHAPTER I
TOM HUNTS A JOB
“Want to hire a boy?”
Mr. Cummings looked around and across the showcase at the youth who
stood there.
“Want to what?” he asked.
“Hire a boy. I’m looking for a job.”
“Oh.” Mr. Cummings turned back to his task of rearranging a number of
carpenter’s squares in a green box and made no other reply for a moment.
The boy waited silently, watching interestedly. Finally, fixing the
cover on the box and laying it on a shelf, “Ever worked in a hardware
shop?” he asked.
“No, sir.”
“I didn’t suppose you had. What use would you be to me then, eh?” Mr.
Cummings peered sharply at him.
“I could sweep and run errands and--and wash windows and the like of
that,” replied the applicant imperturbably. “I’ll tell you how it is,
sir. I live out to Derry, and----”
“What’s your name?”
“Tom Pollock, sir.”
“I didn’t know there were any Pollocks in Derry.”
“There ain’t, sir, except me. I live with my uncle, Mr. Bowles.”
“Israel Bowles?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hm. So you’re Israel’s nephew, eh? Didn’t know he had any kin. Well,
all right. Then what?”
“I’m going to high school next week,” went on the boy. He spoke slowly,
choosing his words carefully and sometimes correcting himself as he
talked. “I got to live in town because, you see, I couldn’t get back
and forth every day.”
“Aren’t the trains running out to Derry any more?”
“Yes, sir, but--but it would cost too much, you see. So I thought maybe
if I could get some work here in Amesville----”
“How in tarnation do you expect to work and go to school too?”
“I don’t have to go to school until half-past eight and I’d be all
through by three, and I thought if I could find some work to do in the
morning before school and then in the afternoon----”
“I see. Well, I guess you wouldn’t be worth much money to anyone,
working that way, son.”
“No, sir, that’s what I thought. I wasn’t expecting to get much,
either.”
“Weren’t, eh? How much?”
“Well, about----” He hesitated, viewing the merchant anxiously. “Of
course I don’t know much about what folks pay, but Uncle Israel
said----”
“Hold on a bit,” interrupted Mr. Cummings suspiciously. “Did that
old--did Israel Bowles tell you to come to me?”
“No, sir. I just started up at the other end of town and worked along.
I’ve been at it most all morning.”
“Hm. Didn’t find anything, eh?”
“Not yet,” answered Tom cheerfully. “I got--I’ve got the other side
of the street yet, though. An’--and I ain’t--haven’t been on the side
streets at all. I guess I’ll find something.”
“Hope you do,” said the merchant. “But I guess you wouldn’t be much
use to me. How much did you say you wanted?”
“Two--two and a half a week,” said the boy. He gulped as he said it and
looked questioningly at the merchant. “I thought,” he continued as Mr.
Cummings’s countenance told him nothing, “that if I could get enough to
pay my lodging I’d make out, sir.”
“Got to eat, though, haven’t you?”
“I--I got a little saved up, sir. I worked for a man over to--over in
Fairfield most of the summer.”
“What for? Isn’t your uncle hiring help any more? Hasn’t given up
farming, has he?”
“No, sir, but--well, I made more working for Mr. Billings.”
“I’ll bet you did!” Mr. Cummings chuckled. “I know that uncle of
yours, son, from A to Izzard, and there isn’t a meaner old skinflint
in Muskingum County! He owes me nearly sixty-five dollars, and he’s
been owing it for nearly six years, and I guess he’ll keep on owing
it unless I sue him for it. Bought a pump of me and then claimed it
didn’t work right and wouldn’t ever send it back or pay for it, the old
rascal! Yes, I guess sure enough you did better working somewheres
else, son!”
Tom had nothing to say to this. Perhaps, as a dutiful nephew, he
should have stood up for Uncle Israel, but the hardware dealer’s
estimate of Mr. Bowles was a very general one and Tom had long since
become accustomed to hearing just such remarks passed. Finally, as the
merchant seemed to have finished talking, Tom said:
“I’m sorry. Well, I guess I’ll be going on. Unless--unless you think
maybe----”
“Wait a minute.” Mr. Cummings had opened the slide at the back of
the showcase and was absent-mindedly rearranging some boxes of
pocket-knives and scissors. At last, shutting the slide again briskly:
“Look here, son, maybe you and I can make a dicker yet. Two and a half
isn’t a whole lot of money, even if times are pretty bad. I might give
you that much and not go broke, eh? How long do you suppose you could
work here at the store ordinarily?”
“Why, I could be around by half-past six, I think, sir, and work until
about eight-twenty-five. The school ain’t--isn’t far. Then after
school I’d stay around as long as you wanted me. I--I’d like mighty
well to work for you, sir.”
“Hm. Well, you look pretty strong and healthy. There’d be a lot of
heavy work to do. Hardware’s hefty stuff to handle, son.” Tom nodded,
undismayed. “I wasn’t exactly thinking of hiring anyone yet awhile.
Usually along about November we have an extra helper, but fall is a
dull time, mostly. What about Saturdays? Don’t have to go to school
then, do you?”
“No, sir, I could be here all day Saturday. I forgot to tell you that.
I’d like, though, to get the seven-forty-six train Saturday nights. I’m
aiming to get home over Sundays. Of course, if there was a lot to do,
I’d be perfectly willing to stay and help, sir.”
“We-ell----” Mr. Cummings frowned thoughtfully at a lurid powder
advertisement that hung nearby. “Tell you what you do, son. Had your
dinner yet?”
“No, sir.”
“You go and have your dinner and then come back. My partner will be
in at one and I’ll see what he says. Then, if he don’t want you, you
haven’t wasted any time and you can try somewhere else.”
“Thank you. What time’ll I come back?”
“Say half-past one. That will give you most an hour for dinner. Guess
if you’ve been walking around town all forenoon you’ll want most an
hour, eh?” And Mr. Cummings smiled in a friendly, almost jovial way.
“Yes, sir,” returned Tom. His own smile was fainter. “I’ll be back
then. Much obliged. An’--and I hope the other--I hope your partner will
let me come.”
“We’ll see.” Mr. Cummings waved his hand. “I’ll let you know when you
come back.” He watched the boy speculatively as the latter strode
unhurriedly down the aisle and out of the door. Then, “Miss Miller,” he
called, “look up Israel Bowles’s account and give me the figures.”
At the back of the store, behind the window of the cashier’s
partitioned-in desk, a face came momentarily into sight and a brown
head nodded.
Out on the sidewalk Tom Pollock paused and thrust his hands into his
pockets. It was the noon hour and Main Street was quite a busy scene.
Almost directly across the wide thoroughfare the white enamelled signs
of a lunch room gleamed appealingly. Tom looked speculatively at the
next store on his route, which was a tiny shoe shop with one diminutive
window filled with cheap footwear. It didn’t promise much, he thought.
Then a hand went into a pocket and he pulled out a crumpled dollar
bill and some silver. He frowned as he hastily calculated the sum of
it, selected two ten-cent pieces, and returned the rest to the pocket.
With the two coins in the palm of his hand he crossed the street to
the lunch room and found a seat. The back of the room held counters
with stools in front of them that folded out of the way when not in
use, but near the entrance two lines of chairs stood against the walls.
The right arm of each chair was widened into a sort of shelf large
enough to hold a plate and a cup and saucer. Above the rows of chairs
the neat white walls were inscribed with lists of viands and their
prices. Tom sank into his chair with a sigh, stretched out his tired
feet, and studied the menu across the room. There was no hurry, for
he had three-quarters of an hour before he would return to Cummings
and Wright’s to learn the verdict. The chair Tom had taken had been
the only empty one at the moment, for the lunch room was popular and
well patronised and the time was the busiest period of the day. At his
right a rather small, neatly dressed gentleman with black whiskers
and a nervous manner was simultaneously draining the last drop in his
milk glass and glancing at a gold watch which he had pulled from his
pocket in a fidgety way. Tom had decided to have a plate of beef stew,
price ten cents, a piece of apple pie, price five cents, and a glass of
milk, price the same, when the nervous gentleman arose hurriedly and in
passing tripped against one of Tom’s extended feet.
“Excuse me,” said Tom. The man gave him an irritated glance, muttered
something ungracious, and made for the door. Tom’s gaze turned idly
toward the chair beside him which the man had just vacated and fell
on a small leather coin-purse. Evidently the gentleman had failed to
return it to his trousers pocket or it had fallen out afterward. Tom
seized it and jumped up. Fortunately he found when he reached the door
that the loser, in spite of his apparent hurry, had paused on the curb.
Tom touched him on the arm.
“I guess this is yours, ain’t it?” he asked. “It was in your chair.”
“Eh? Yes, of course it is. Must have dropped out of my pocket.” He
seemed quite put out about it and scowled at the purse before he put
it away. “Most annoying.” He shot a fleeting glance at the boy. “Much
obliged to you; very kind.” Then he plunged off the sidewalk, dodged a
dray, and narrowly escaped the fender of a trolley car. Tom smiled as
he returned to the lunch room.
“Bet you,” he reflected, “he’s one of the sort that’s always in a hurry
and never gets anywhere!”
His absence, as short as it had been, had lost him his seat, and he was
obliged to penetrate to the rear of the room and perch himself on a
stool in front of one of the long counters. There, however, he feasted
royally on beef stew, bread and butter, pie and milk, and managed to
consume a full half-hour doing it. To be sure, he was still hungry when
he had finished the last crumb, for he had had nothing since breakfast
at seven o’clock and it was now well after one, and he had been on the
go all the morning. But he felt a heap better and a lot more hopeful,
and as he left the lunch room he was ready to believe his search for
employment ended, that Mr. Cummings’s reply would be favourable. A
contented stomach is a great incentive to cheerful thoughts.