SCIENTIFIC PRACTICE
There was a period of silence following Sam's offer of his resignation,
and no one seemed to know just what to say. Several of the lads glanced
at Joe, as if expecting him to say something in his own defense. In fact
the young centre fielder was about to speak but he did not get the
chance, for Sam exclaimed again:
"Well, do you want my resignation, Darrell?"
"You know I don't!" declared the manager.
"Then things have got to be changed!"
"Look here!" burst out Darrell. "I've stood about all I'm going to from
you, Sam Morton. There has got to be a change in this team."
"That's just what I'm giving you a chance to make," the pitcher fairly
sneered. "You can fill my place any time you like."
"But I'm not going to," and though Darrell spoke pleasantly there was a
sternness in his words. "Fellows, it's like this," he went on. "The
Silver Stars are a good team and you know it. So does every one in this
town, but the last two games we've played in hard luck, and----"
"Do you mean to say it was my pitching?" demanded Sam.
"No more than it was the way we all played. As I said, we've got to take
a brace. I don't know what's gotten into you, Sam, to say you'll resign
if Joe Matson plays. What have you against him?"
"Well, I hate to see a newcomer made so much of. Here we fellows have
worked hard all season, and----"
"And you're going to work hard the _rest_ of the season!" exclaimed
Darrell. "Let me tell you that! I'm not going to hear any more talk of
resignations, and this bickering has got to stop. Otherwise we'll be the
laughing stock of the county. You all played pretty well to-day, but you
all need to do better."
"All but Matson; I suppose he's the star," sneered Sam.
"Look here," burst out Joe, unable to stand the taunts of the pitcher
any longer, "if you think----"
"Now, go easy," advised Darrell with a smile. "I'm giving this little
lecture. I give Matson due credit for one of the three runs we got," he
went on, "but that's not saying that he didn't make errors. We all did.
"Oh, fellows!" he pleaded and they could see that he was very much in
earnest, "let's get together and wallop every nine we play against from
now on! Take a brace. Forget all this feeling and get together. Matson
and Morton, I want you to shake hands, will you?"
"I'm willing," assented Joe eagerly, advancing toward Sam.
The latter hesitated a moment and then, feeling the eyes of all in the
dressing room on him, he mumbled:
"Well, as long as you don't think he's the star of the Stars, I'll
shake. Maybe I was a bit hasty," he went on, and this was a great deal
for Sam Morton to admit. He and Joe shook hands, though it cannot be
said that there was any warmth on the part of the pitcher. Still it was
better than open enmity, though Joe wondered if Sam would be really
friendly.
"That's better," commented the manager with something like a sigh of
relief.
"And don't let this go any further," suggested the captain. "We don't
want it known that there came near being a break in the Stars. Now get
together, fellows. Show up at practice strong next time, and we'll win
our next game!"
"That's the way to talk!" cried Tom Davis, and the crisis was
passed--for a time.
And, to the delight of Joe, he found that he had made many new friends,
chiefly because of his sensational run. The members of the team, of
course, crowded around him congratulating him, and asking him how he did
it. But, in addition, there now flocked into the dressing room a crowd
of lads who had witnessed the game. Some of them were high school pupils
who knew Joe, at least by sight, but they now came up and spoke to him.
Other town lads did the same thing.
"Gee! It's great to be popular!" exclaimed Tom, with a mock sigh. "Why
wasn't I born a home-run hitter instead of good looking, I wonder?"
"Get out!" laughed Joe. "Don't make me get a swelled head."
"No danger, I guess," retorted Tom.
Darrell and the captain strolled up to Joe, who had finished dressing.
"Well, that's over, for a while," said Darrell in a low voice, evidently
referring to the unpleasant little incident. "I want to ask you to do
some practicing, Matson. You need to try throwing a bit, for it's a long
heave in from centre field and, to be frank, you aren't any too good at
it."
"I'll practice every day," exclaimed our hero eagerly.
"And I'll coach him," added Tom.
"Get out, you lobster, you need coaching yourself," said the captain
with a laugh. "You'll get rusty if Darrell doesn't get off first and
give you a chance."
"I'll do it more often now," said the manager. "I want to be more on the
coaching line. Two wallops in two weeks is more than the Stars can
stand."
"Who do we play next week?" asked Tom.
"The Denville Whizzers, but I don't imagine we'll have much trouble with
them," said the manager. "However, it won't do to take any chances.
Practice hard, fellows," and with that he left the dressing room.
Sam Morton had gone out some time before and Joe and Tom soon followed.
As they strolled down the street toward their homes Tom said:
"Say Joe, I was in earnest in saying I'd coach you. I believe you do
need practice in throwing, and if you haven't given up the idea of
pitching some day----"
"I'll never give up the idea until I'm knocked out of the box," declared
Joe.
"Good! Then I'll help coach you. I was going to say it wasn't much fun
practicing alone, and as a matter of fact it doesn't do much good."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I've been reading up about baseball lately. I got a book on
pitching, and----"
"Say, will you lend it to me?" asked Joe eagerly. "Or tell me where I
can buy one?"
"Sure I will. I was going to say that it has articles in it by star
professional pitchers and a lot of them agree that it isn't much use
just to go out and throw a ball at a spot on the backstop or the fence."
"What's the best way then?" asked Joe, who had supposed from his limited
knowledge that to practice at hitting a certain spot with the ball was
about the best he could do.
"Why, they say the best is to get something like a home plate--a flat
stone say--and pitch over it with some one to catch for you."
"I suppose that would be a good way," began Joe doubtfully, "but who's
going to catch for me?"
"I am!" exclaimed Tom quickly. "I said just now that I'd coach you. I'll
do more than that, I'll catch for you. And the book I spoke of has other
tricks of practice, so a fellow can get good control of a ball. That's
the thing pitchers need it says--control. Say, we'll have some fun, you
and I, down in a vacant lot practicing. When can you come?"
"How about Monday afternoon?"
"Suits me first rate."
"All right, we'll make it then, and we'll get in some scientific
practice for you. Maybe after all, you'll pitch in Sam's place before
the season is over."
"I wouldn't want to do it, if it's going to make a row in the team."
"Oh, don't let that worry you. Lots of the fellows don't like Sam any
too well. They'd as soon have some one else in the box if he could
deliver the goods. Well, so long; see you Monday, if not before."
"I guess I'm glad dad moved to Riverside after all," mused Joe as he
walked toward home. "I was afraid I wouldn't like it at first, but now
I'm on the team it's all right. I hope dad doesn't have any business
troubles though. I wonder what is wrong for I'm sure something is. I
hope it doesn't prevent me from going to boarding school next year," and
with this reflection Joe went in the house.