WITH THE TEAM
It wasn’t necessary, however, for the detective to put any dents in
Mr. Wright, for the next morning Mr. Cummings informed Tom that it was
all arranged. “It wasn’t so easy to bring him around, Tom, but he came
after awhile. I told him, among other things, that it would be good
business. Said we sold a lot of things to the high school boys and that
if you played ball with them and won games for them it would make us
more popular than ever and we’d get more trade.” Mr. Cummings paused to
chuckle reminiscently. “I sort of think that’s what did the business,
son. After that he listened real patiently and finally gave in. So
you’re to have three afternoons off every week this month and two next.
You’d better see Mr. Talbot yourself and see what days he wants you.
I guess Monday had better be one of them, for that’s usually rather a
dull day with us. Then Wednesday and Saturday might do for the others.”
Tom thanked Mr. Cummings gratefully.
“Seems to me, though, it would be fairer if you were to take something
off my wages until the baseball season’s over,” he urged. “I--I’d feel
better about it.”
“Well, I suggested that to Horace, but he turned on me and nearly bit
my head off. Said, so long as we didn’t have to get anyone in to take
your place while you were out, he guessed we needn’t be so tarnation
mean as all that! I guess we won’t quarrel about a dollar or so, Tom.
After all, there is something in what I told Horace about getting more
trade by letting you play with the team, and I guess we don’t stand to
lose anything.”
Mr. Talbot suggested Thursdays instead of Wednesdays as one of the
days, since the midweek games were played on Wednesdays and he believed
Tom could learn more on a practice afternoon. So it was finally
arranged that Tom was to report for practice on Monday and Thursday
afternoons and for play on Saturdays until June. After that Thursdays
and Saturdays were to suffice. Meanwhile Mr. George had talked with the
coach and had agreed to go out to the field twice a week, and oftener
if he could, and take the pitchers in hand. Tom couldn’t determine
which seemed the most pleased, Mr. Talbot or Mr. George!
Tom’s first practice with the team took place the next Monday. He
had supplied himself with a uniform and felt both proud and a trifle
self-conscious as he walked onto the field in company with Sidney and
Tommy Hughes. Nothing very exciting fell to his lot that day. For a
half-hour he pitched to the batsmen in front of the net, and later sat
on the bench and watched Pete Farrar and Toby Williams work in the box.
Mr. Talbot instructed him to observe the fielding methods and watch
particularly the conduct of the pitchers with men on bases. Tom soon
saw that a pitcher had more to do than pitch. He had to handle balls in
his own territory, cover first base on many occasions, and run up to
the plate whenever a ball went past the catcher. He also learned things
about holding the runners on bases, envying the dexterity with which
Pete Farrar, who, like Tom, was a right-handed pitcher, whirled about
to step from the box and peg the ball to first or second. Tom did not
get into the practice game at all that afternoon, Mr. Talbot probably
thinking that it would do him more good to look on from the bench.
Captain Warner was friendly in a rather chilly way, but Pete Farrar
quite evidently regarded him as an unwelcome interloper. The rest of
the fellows, though, showed him that he was more than welcome. His
advent had caused a sensation and practice was attended by nearly the
entire school. Had they but known it, Cummings and Wright had already
received a good many dollars’ worth of gratuitous advertisement!
On Thursday practice was harder and more prolonged than on any day thus
far, perhaps owing to the fact that on the preceding day the team,
with Pete Farrar pitching four disastrous innings and Toby Williams
finishing the game, had gone down in overwhelming defeat before a
nine composed of high school graduates led by Walter White. There was
nearly an hour of batting practice, a good thirty minutes of fielding
work, with Manager Arbuckle knocking fungoes to the outfield and Coach
Talbot hitting balls to the basemen. Tom had his first practice in
base-running that afternoon and discovered that he had a lot to learn.
The first time he attempted a slide he landed a yard short of second
and was easily out. Later the two teams played four innings, and Tom
pitched again for the scrubs. Whether his previous exertions were
responsible for his poor showing, I can’t say. But he got a severe
drubbing that afternoon and went home surprised and discouraged.
“What could you expect?” asked Mr. George. “You were tired. Seems to me
funny that Bat would let you pitch after having you run bases. Maybe,
though, he meant to show you something you didn’t know, Tom.” Tom
looked a question, and Mr. George added: “That you can’t do good work
in the box if you’re not fresh and fit.”
Mr. George himself took hold of his part of the coaching the following
afternoon. As it was a Friday, Tom was not on hand, but Mr. George told
him about it when they met before dinner.
“A nice lot of fellows,” he said. “I had a real good time out there.
That kid Williams is going to make a pitcher some day if he sticks at
it. He’s a smooth little article, Tom. Of course he’s young yet, but
he shows a lot of promise. The older fellow, Farrar, will never do
anything. He’s got started all wrong and he won’t let anyone tell him
anything. He hasn’t any head, either. He will be some better when I get
through with him, I guess, but he won’t ever amount to much.”
The baseball squad took to the big, quiet-mannered, good-hearted
detective at once; Tom saw that the next day. Mr. George even
threatened to rival Coach Talbot in the affections of the boys.
The team journeyed to Minturn on Saturday, and Tom went along. The
game with the Minturn team was a loosely played contest, which the
Brown-and-Blue won by the one-sided score of 14 to 3. Tom pitched three
innings, relieving Pete Farrar in the seventh. He wasn’t forced to
extend himself any to dispose of the Minturn hitters that faced him. He
struck out five, made one put-out, and assisted twice. At bat, which he
reached but once, he managed to make a rather scratchy hit and got as
far as second when Buster slashed a hard one down the left alley. Then
he performed a “bone-head” play that ended his chances of scoring and
put the side out. Bert Meyers popped a high infield fly and Tom started
for third before the frenzied cries of the coaches could stop him. By
the time he was racing back to his base the Minturn first baseman had
caught the fly and pegged the ball across to shortstop and Tom made
the third out. He felt very much ashamed of himself and rather expected
censure from Coach Talbot. But all the latter said as Tom went over to
the bench was, “Infield flies are bad things to run on, Pollock.”
Captain Warner, however, was not so lenient, and regarded Tom with a
scowl as he passed him on his way to second. “You want to keep your
wits about you, Pollock,” he said severely, “when you play this game.
Don’t you know enough to hold your base on an infield fly, when there’s
only one out?”
“I’m sorry,” he said contritely. Warner grunted.
To atone for his mistake, Tom set to work and ended the contest then
and there, disposing of the next three batsmen with exactly thirteen
pitched balls. The victory, however, was not one to be very proud of,
for the error column of Manager Arbuckle’s score-sheet showed seven
little black dots.
It was the Monday morning following the Minturn game that Tom stopped
for a minute to watch the work on the new office building. The
concrete foundation piers were in place and big steel girders were
being lifted about by towering cranes like so many jack-straws. While
he watched at the edge of the throng, the contractor to whom Mr.
Cummings had sold the pump passed and chanced to catch sight of him.
“Hello!” he said, turning back with a smile, “aren’t you the boy who
told me about that pump that Cummings sold me?”
“Yes, sir. Was it all right?”
“Yes, it saved us a lot of money, I guess. Are you still with Cummings?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ask him if he wants to buy it back, then. I’m through with it. Any
fair offer takes it.”
The contractor nodded and hurried on, and Tom took up his journey
again. He didn’t go far, though. Presently he was back at the corner,
where a minute’s search discovered the contractor.
“Mr. Cummings will give five dollars for that pump, sir,” he announced.
“Five dollars!” The contractor stared and then laughed. “Well, he
isn’t risking his money to-day, is he? You tell Cummings----” Then he
paused. “Will he take it away to-day at that price?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. Tell him to come and get it.”
At the store Tom sought Mr. Cummings. “Will you loan me five dollars,
please, sir, until I can get it from the bank?” he asked.
“I guess we can accommodate you, Mr. Pollock,” responded the senior
partner with a smile. “Miss Miller, give Tom five dollars and put it on
memorandum, please. He wants to return it to-day. What are you doing,
Tom? Buying stocks this morning?”
“Pumps,” laughed Tom. “I’m going to take back that pump we sold. Could
I store it in the cellar again?”
“What! Don’t tell me that white elephant is coming back!” exclaimed Mr.
Cummings in mock dismay.
“Yes, sir, he offered to sell it and I said you’d give him five dollars
for it and take it away to-day. Don’t you think it’s worth five
dollars?”
“Of course it is! Hang it, Tom, if you had a dozen pumps, I’ll bet
you’d be a millionaire by the end of the year! I don’t see, though, why
he’d want to sell it for five dollars. It would be worth that much for
old iron.”
“I guess he bought another one, sir. Anyway, he said he was through
with it. He seemed to think five dollars wasn’t very much for it.”
“I should say it wasn’t!”
“But he took it,” added Tom. “So I’m going to bring it over here and
put it in the basement again, if you don’t mind. Maybe I’ll be able to
sell it again some day.”
“Sell it again! Why, Tom, I expect you’ll get rich on that old pump!”
“I’ll be about eighteen dollars behind to-night, sir.”
“What? Didn’t I hand you over a sixty-dollar check only a couple of
weeks ago?”
“Yes, sir,” Tom laughed, “but you must remember that I’d already paid
sixty dollars for it.”
“That’s so,” acknowledged Mr. Cummings. “Well, send it along, Tom, and
I’ll look after it when it comes. And I’ll see if I can’t find a buyer
for you.”
One afternoon Mr. George announced that he had conquered the science
of pitching the “knuckle-ball” and set about teaching it to Tom. It
wasn’t easy, for Tom’s hand was rather small and his fingers short. In
the end, though, he learned to pitch the deceptive ball fairly well,
although it never became a favourite offering with him. It did serve
him well, however, on many occasions, for the “knuckle-ball,” when
properly delivered, is particularly deceptive. Twice a week the high
school team met an opponent and marked up a victory or defeat. The team
was showing progress each week, but was playing erratically. Several
times contests that should have resulted in easy wins for Amesville
became victories for their opponents, while, to balance things up,
more than once a game that was conceded to the enemy at the start was
turned into a triumph for the Brown-and-Blue. Mr. George worked wonders
with the battery candidates, for he didn’t confine himself altogether
to the pitchers. Sam Craig learned many a trick from the new coach.
Pete Farrar showed improvement over his early-season form, while
Toby Williams was fast developing into a brilliant pitcher. Only his
youthfulness kept Williams back. He hadn’t the strength to pitch nine
hard innings and he was never allowed to attempt that feat. But as
a relief pitcher he was a big success. The first of June Mr. George,
unfortunately for the pitching staff, had to go away and was gone for
nearly a fortnight. Tom missed him a good deal, for, although he went
into the yard by himself before dinner and practised his curves and
breaks, and quite often found someone to don the catcher’s mitt and
stand in front of him, it was not like having the detective there to
advise and instruct.
Tom’s two afternoons of practice had greatly improved his playing.
As a batsman he would doubtless never perform in the three-hundred
class, but he was fully as good with the stick as two or three other
players who had won places on the team. He soon learned how to field
his position and became so adept at throwing to bases that runners no
longer took daring leads when he was on the mound. He and Buster, who
played first, got so that they worked together like machinery and many
an unfortunate runner was caught off just when things looked their
brightest.
When June came Tom’s two afternoons of practice became one, but by that
time one was sufficient to keep him in condition, since he always had
a half-hour workout every day before dinner. Mr. Cummings followed the
fortunes of the high school team, and of Tom especially, with great
interest. Once or twice a week, usually when there was a game to be
played, he would go out to the field and take his place on the players’
bench, evidently under the impression that Mr. Talbot’s original
invitation held good for the season. No one, however, ever disputed his
right to the privilege and the players seemed to like to have him there.
Sometimes in the evenings Sidney and Tom and one or two of the
neighbourhood youths would appear in the vacant lot near Sidney’s home
and play ball, but as a general thing Tom and Sidney had had about
enough of baseball by dinner time and their evenings were more likely
to be spent in less strenuous ways. The Saturday games didn’t interfere
with Tom’s trips to Derry and he always spent Sundays at the farm. He
had told Uncle Israel about disposing of the pump, and Uncle Israel had
merely commented to the effect that all the fools weren’t dead yet! But
he had, Tom thought, seemed a bit pleased, nevertheless. When, later,
Tom informed him smilingly that he had bought the pump back again,
Uncle Israel stared and grunted.
“Seems like you were well enough rid of it before,” he said dryly. “I
suppose you expect to find another idiot, eh?”
“Well, I hope to find someone who wants a good pump and is willing to
pay half of what it’s worth. Besides, if I can’t sell it, I guess it
will always be worth five or six dollars as junk.”
“Maybe, maybe,” replied Uncle Israel with a wave of his big hand.
“Anyway, it’s your affair.”
On the first Saturday in June, Amesville was to play its first of three
contests with Petersburg High School. Petersburg High was Amesville’s
principal rival in all sports and the success of the baseball season
was judged by the outcome of the Petersburg series. Naturally Tom
expected to go into the box for the high school that afternoon and was
much surprised when, after he and Pete Farrar and Toby Williams had
warmed up, Coach Talbot announced that Farrar was to begin the game.
Sidney, who was seated beside Tom on the bench, grumbled.
“That’s a silly way to do,” he said. “Pete’ll put us in a hole and
then you’ll have to go and pull the game out of the fire. I don’t see
why he doesn’t let you start it.”
“He wanted to,” said Tommy Hughes, at Sidney’s elbow, speaking in low
tones, “but Frank threw a fit about it. Bat knuckled right under to
him. I thought he had more backbone.”
To tell the truth, Tommy had looked for a quarrel between coach and
captain and was not a little disappointed! Sidney took up the cudgels
for Mr. Talbot.
“Bat knows what he’s doing,” he said stoutly. “Don’t you worry, Tommy.
I dare say he just wants to show Frank that Pete isn’t any good against
a hard-hitting bunch like Petersburg.”
“I like that!” exclaimed Tommy aggrievedly. “Why, you were just
criticising Bat yourself!”
“Not at all,” returned Sidney loftily. “I only said----”
But what he said didn’t appear, for just then the home team was called
on to take the field.