Jim Phillips, already assured, by his remarkable pitching, of the captaincy of the next year’s nine, although he would then be only a junior, although few Yale captains are chosen from any but the senior class, had qualities of leadership that made his fitness for that important position very marked.
To induce men like Maxwell and Brady, his intimate friends and classmates, to go out on such a day, when the very air invited them to loaf and rejoice in the lassitude of the weather, was no small feat. It was his magnetism and his persuasiveness that accomplished it; and such qualities do much for a man who must lead other men. In college sports, particularly, a captain should be a leader rather than a driver, inducing men to do what he wants in a tactful way, so that they will be willing and eager, instead of feeling that they are being forced to do their work because of the authority vested in the captain.
Taylor, the senior catcher, once an enemy of Jim Phillips, but now his devoted friend, although Bill Brady had displaced him as the regular varsity catcher, as Jim Phillips had displaced Taylor’s roommate and closest friend, Bob Gray, as the first-string pitcher, proved very willing to go out to the field with them and catch for Jim while the other two practiced with their bats in the effort to become familiar with the curves most likely to be employed by the formidable Harvard pitcher.
At the field they found the diamond already well occupied with freshmen, who, while they awaited the arrival of their coach, were enjoying themselves in a scratch game. The upper classmen immediately impressed half a dozen of the youngsters as fielders, and stationing them in position, began their extra practice.
Dick Merriwell, the universal coach, arrived before they had been long at work, and, soon guessing what they were doing, stood apart and watched them.
“Good work!” he said finally, walking over to them. “Putting in a little practice for the benefit of Mr. Briggs?”
Brady explained what they were doing.
“I’m getting on to the way to slam that high ball out,” he said. “I’ve always stepped back from it before. I got hit on the head by one of those balls when I was a youngster, and I’ve been gun-shy ever since. But Jim’s got the right idea. He marked out a place for me to stand, and he’s been pitching so close to my head that, if I had a beard, he would have rubbed my whiskers off. I see now what my trouble was. I’d always draw away, and by the time I tried to hit the ball, I’d be off my balance, and couldn’t knock it out of the infield.”
Jim sent a high ball whizzing in just after that. Brady shortened his bat and drove the ball on a terrific line right over the third baseman’s head. In a game, such a drive would have been good for two bases at least, possibly three.
“You fellows stole a march on me here,” said Merriwell, with a smile. “That’s the sort of spirit that wins baseball games, too. Be ready, no matter how much trouble it is. It isn’t on the field that baseball championships are won. It’s in the heads of the winners—it’s the men who think about the game and know just what they’re going to do when the emergency comes along.”