After grounders came starting and sliding. At first he put them through a series of standing sprint starts, like the old-fashioned erect start for short races, with first steps short to develop immediate speed; then the double balancing start that the base-runner uses as he poises off first base ready to return instantly, or go down hard to second, as the need may be. In sliding he urged the slide head first as the college ideal, at the same time adding that professionals generally slide feet foremost for the sake of greater safety. “Good sliding is fearless sliding,” he said, “and the man who slides fearlessly is much less likely to be hurt than the coward.”
When they came to the batting practice, the first thing which the expert did was to moderate the speed of the pitcher, who was sending in hot balls to show his ability. “Only slow pitched balls in the cage,” was his warning; “the light is too poor for swift pitching. Moreover, in a confined place like this, a batsman is likely to become frightened at a swift ball as he wouldn’t be out-of-doors.”
Then he made the batters stand firmly, watch the ball closely, step straight out toward the pitcher, and strike quickly at what they were sure were good chances. “Don’t worry,” he kept saying. “Don’t watch the pitcher too much. The ball is the thing you are trying to hit. Don’t commit yourself too soon; wait till you know what is coming.”
Phil came up for his trial as nervous as a young boy can be under the eyes of an admired master whom he would give a month’s allowance to please. “Steady, my boy, steady,” said the kindly voice of the coach, who probably felt with Sands that he was wasting his time on an impossible candidate, but who, unlike Sands, was still generous and glad to help.—“Don’t be frightened. ‘Step straight, hit late, watch the ball and not the pitcher’ is the thumb rule for good batting.—Less body and more arms.”
Phil gathered himself together and cracked out a good wrist hit.
“That’s the way. I always like to see that!” exclaimed Wallace, approvingly. “The wrist hitters are the safest hitters.” With face aglow with satisfaction Phil stole back among the group of waiting players. “Step straight, hit late, and watch the ball,” he repeated to himself. “Why didn’t some one tell me that before? I’ve been going contrary to every part of that rule.”
It is to be feared that Phil’s lessons on those two days of Wallace’s stay were somewhat neglected. He certainly haunted the cage at all vacant hours when Wallace was engaged in instruction, and when the practice was over he ran back to his room and put down in a note-book snatches of baseball wisdom caught from the collegian’s lips. Many of the notes were doubtless futile, merely serving to give the boy the satisfaction of doing something to help himself on in his great ambition. Yet many were of great value, not only for immediate drill, but also for use later on in answering questions that unexpectedly arose, when the details of Wallace’s instruction were as thoroughly forgotten by the boys as the teachers’ comments on their first translations.
Wallace’s view of the pitchers mystified Phil a good deal. With Flanahan the coach made short work, giving him only a few words of general advice. Tompkins, on the other hand, absorbed much attention.
“That man has the making of a great pitcher in him,” the collegian remarked to Sands in Phil’s hearing. “A couple of years of good training would do wonders for him. He is cool, knows what he is doing, and has the full arm shoulder swing which not one amateur in twenty ever gets.”
“What about Flanahan?” asked Sands.