This was the simplest form of practise, but it was good work to start with, and soon the men were hard at it, although they could not do as well as they might had they been in regular uniforms.
“Don’t be afraid of getting the crease out of your trousers, Rattles, old man,” called Ready. “Tailors are hard-working and industrious people, and they must have business. Besides, we’ve got to hump ourselves if we shave any frozen liquid in that little game with the redoubtable Reds. Yea, verily!”
They went into it in earnest, although it quickly became apparent that practise was sadly needed. Frank gave them all kinds of balls to handle, hot grounders, skippers, slow bunts, high flies, little pops, and liners.
“Ready!” he called, and out to Jack he drove a slasher along the third-base line, making the fielder by that bag jump and stretch for it.
Jack cuffed it with one hand, stopped it, fumbled it, got it up, and lined it across to first. But the throw was bad.
“That stop was all right,” said Frank, “and you would have had time to get the man after your fumble if you’d made a good throw. Lots of games are lost by bad infield throwing. Try it again.”
By that time the ball had been thrown in to him, and he again sent it skimming the ground toward third.
Ready set his teeth, got squarely in front of it by a hard dive, stopped it, but did not pick it up cleanly, fumbled a little, and then made a beautiful line throw across to first.
With one foot on the bag, Browning lazily smothered the ball in his big mitt.
“That was better,” commented Frank, “but it wasn’t perfect. Try another.”