“He’s so much better than any of these pitchers we’ve been running up against that we’ll be lucky to get a hit off him. He can’t pitch more’n two of the games, though. That’s one good thing. They’ll use him at Cambridge in the first game, and shoot Wooley in for the second game here. And, if the series is even, they’ll have Briggs come back at us in New York. They’re willing to drop one game. I’ve told Mr. Merriwell all I know about Briggs, and he’s inclined to think we’re in for the toughest series yet.”
Baseball proved more attractive to Jim Phillips than the higher mathematics. He turned around to Bill Brady.
“What’s this chap got that makes you think so much of him, Bill?” he asked.
“Control,” said Brady. “He hasn’t got your curves—or, if he has, he didn’t show them. But he’s got control, and he can put that ball exactly where Bowen calls for it ten times out of ten. And Bowen knows just where it ought to go, too.”
“H’m-m,” said Jim soberly. “We’re not what you’d call prize hitters this year, Bill. Harry Maxwell here makes a long hit once in a while, and so can Sherman and Jackson. But you’re the only clean slugger on the team. How about it? Can you hit him?”
“Not unless he wants me to,” said Bill cheerfully. “He can keep that ball right under my chin if he wants to. He didn’t show a drop on that ball the other day, but if he’s got one he can fan me about four times. If he can’t, I’ll get a base on balls a couple of times. That’s about the limit of my speed against him. I can’t hit a high ball, and Bowen knows it, too.”
“It might be a good idea for you to learn, then,” said Jim pleasantly. He looked at his watch. “Come along! It’s half past one now. We’ll cut that lecture on political science—we’ve got three cuts left in that—pick up Sam Taylor, and go out to the field. Then I’ll show you a few things about high-ball pitching.”
Brady groaned in mock dismay at the prospect of some extra practice.
“Gee!” he said. “You’re a worse slave driver than Dick Merriwell himself. How about Harry here? He hasn’t learned to hit a fast shoot yet—and he always swipes at them. Doesn’t he need to practice, too?”
“He sure does,” said Jim Phillips. “Come on, Harry. You’re elected, too. We’ve got to try to have a warm reception ready for Mr. Briggs if he’s so especially keen about making trouble for us. Good thing you picked up one of his tricks, Bill. It may mean the difference between winning and losing if we can pick up a run right at the start, before he and Bowen get on to the fact that we’ve corrected some of the weaknesses he’s been counting on.”