“Why is a curve,” said Sidney helpfully.
“There’s some reason. There must be. There’s a perfectly good scientific reason for it, Sid.”
“Huh! What if there is? I’ll bet you won’t be able to curve a ball any better for knowing why,” jeered Sidney. “The way to learn to pitch is to pitch. Come on home.”
[CHAPTER X]
TOM PLAYS IN A REAL GAME
That spring proved to be the pleasantest in Tom’s recollection. To be sure, lessons didn’t always go easily; in fact, Tom had a fortnight of trouble when the first lazy, warm days came, and only extricated himself from his difficulties by resolutely remaining at home in the evenings and studying instead of playing ball. A slack time in the affairs of Cummings and Wright followed the first spring months and Tom was several times accorded the privilege of taking a couple of hours off on Saturday afternoons to watch the high school team play. He enjoyed that immensely, got terribly excited—although I must own that he didn’t show the fact much—and “rooted” loyally for the Brown-and-Blue. The team that year was nothing to boast of, although patriotic youths did boast, for all of that, and met a larger number of defeats than was either expected or desired. Once Tom journeyed with some forty enthusiastic boys to Lynton, over in the next county, and returned very much depressed in the cool of a June twilight. But there were victories, too, and by the time school was over for the year Amesville High had redeemed itself after a fashion by decisively defeating Petersburg two out of three contests. The fact that Petersburg was woefully weak that year had much to do with the result of the series.
Mr. Cummings seemed to sympathise with Tom’s yearning for the diamond and more than once suggested an afternoon off when the local club was to play at home. The senior partner was something of a “fan” himself and followed the fortunes of the Cleveland and other major league clubs with great interest. He and Tom soon got into the habit of discussing baseball affairs in slack moments and he always handed the morning paper to the boy after he had read it.
“Fine game in Chicago yesterday, Tom,” he would say. “Thirteen innings without a run!”
“Those White Sox have a great team this year, sir. I wouldn’t be surprised to see them win the pennant, the way they’re travelling now.”