There was no organized cheering when the teams appeared for practice, as at the college games, nor did the teams observe all the usual formalities. Most of the players on both sides were old friends, who remembered other contests when they had been in college, and a good many since those happy days.
The two teams practiced together, sharing the diamond, and laughing at the misplays that each side made frequently, as a number of the men had had little chance, owing to their business duties, to do any practicing.
Brady smiled as he waited to warm up with Phillips; for, on the other side, serving as catcher for the famous Hobson, was Bowen, the Harvard captain.
“He didn’t need to come down here at all,” said Bill to Jim, “but he wants a chance to see you in action. We’ll make him work pretty hard to get any valuable information, though. There’s more ways of killing a dog than hanging him, they say, and I guess we can show him that there are several ways of pitching, too. For instance, the sort of balls you’ll pitch to-day and the sort you’ll pitch on Saturday in the same circumstances. I’m glad we’re here, Jim. I think we’ll have some fun before this game is over.”
It was a true prophecy. There was no fault to be found with the work of either battery. Both pitchers were at their best, but they could hardly be expected to strike out every man who faced them, and the fielding of both the amateur nines was wretched. Hobson and Jim, both inclined to be disgusted at first as they saw easy taps rolling between the legs of the fielders, and allowing the batters to turn sure outs into safe hits, soon saw the humor of it, and laughed as heartily as any one. The Bostonians, depending upon the skill of Hobson, had brought down a weak fielding team, and, while the New Haven team was at full strength, it was no better than its Boston rival, even so. In the sixth inning, the score was tied, each team having made six runs, and of these only one run on either side had been earned.
Rather than allow Bowen to see what Jim could do in a real pinch, Brady had called for a straight ball when Bowen was at the bat with a man on third, and the Harvard captain had promptly slammed out a three-bagger, while Bill himself had selected one of Hobson’s choicest curves and unmercifully hammered it to the furthest boundaries of the field for a clean home run.
Then both pitchers put on their mettle by the miserable playing of the teams behind them, had settled down, and the ninth inning came, with New Haven batting last, without another run for either side. Jim, smiling lightly, had decided to cut loose for the first time in the game, and he had struck out the three Bostonians who had faced him in the ninth on nine pitched balls. Bowen, watching his every move, whistled softly as the feat was accomplished.
“By George!” he said to Hobson, “that fellow Phillips has been under wraps. I wondered what old Brady was about—but I guess Bill has learned a thing or two since I knew him at Andover. He’s been keeping this fellow Phillips on a lead all through the game so we wouldn’t find out anything about him.”
“Did you only just find that out?” asked Hobson, with a laugh. “I knew he was a good pitcher as soon as he pitched his first ball. He’s got the style. He’s got control, too. Unless I’m mightily mistaken, he’s been pitching in a freak style all through the game just to keep you guessing. It takes a pretty good pitcher to do that.”
“Well, you’re just as good as he is,” said Bowen. “Finish them off now, and we’ll try to win in the tenth.”