“He hasn’t it,” returned Wallace, emphatically. “His is a fairly swift arm throw with good curves and poor command. He’s used to playing, and probably knows a good deal about the game, without possessing any great intelligence. I should put him, at a guess, on the edge of the semi-professional class. He has reached his limit and is beyond instruction. Tompkins, on the other hand, is good, improvable material.”
“I guess Flanahan will do for us,” said Sands, with a smug smile of confidence.
“It seems to me that I’ve met him before,” mused Wallace, with his eyes fixed on Flanahan, who was still pitching; “but I can’t now recall where or under what circumstances. He certainly isn’t the kind of man I like to see on a school nine.”
“Oh, he’s all straight,” insisted Sands. “We often have old fellows here who are anxious for an education but have begun late.”
“I don’t doubt that,” replied Wallace, “but none the less, semi-professional ball players don’t belong on school teams.”
Perhaps it was this difference of opinion regarding Flanahan that made Sands so lukewarm in his praises of the coach. The boys generally spoke of him with veneration, but boy-like gave more attention to his appearance and his prowess than to his directions. No one profited more by these than the owner of the note-book, who learned to stand firmly and step out fearlessly; and as he really had a quick, accurate eye, he was soon hitting with the best. Sands was oblivious to all improvement, but the others noticed it, and Smith went so far as to warn him.
“You’re finding the ball right, Poole, but don’t get a swelled head over it. Outside, you may not be able to do a thing. There were Baker and Lydecker last year, who couldn’t hit a balloon in the cage, and yet used to swipe out two and three baggers ’most every game.”
Then Phil went home and consulted the note-book, rereading the quotation from Wallace which Dick had said was the best thing his room-mate had written down: “The good player,—and the rare player,—is the one who can analyze his own errors, and instead of giving up discouraged when he fails, can discover and remedy the fundamental fault.”
“I’m willing to be shown my faults,” said Phil to himself, earnestly; “and if I stick to it long enough and use my brains, I ought to get ahead.”
And Phil was right. Those who use brains do get ahead, in ball playing or anything else. But brains unfortunately cannot be furnished on demand, or ordered in advance, like a supply of coal for the winter.