“Oh, I don’t know,” replied the detective, slapping Tom on the shoulder as they passed around to the doorway. “I expect to get a bunch of fun out of it myself. And I guess it’ll do me good to limber some of the splints out of my arm. Anyway, if you don’t have enough, you let me know to-morrow. Practice is at six sharp, son!”
[CHAPTER XVI]
THE DETECTIVE DONS A MASK
Almost every day after that Tom and Mr. George spent the half-hour preceding dinner in the side-yard. Frequently the half-hour lengthened into three-quarters and the two had to brave Mrs. Tully’s coldly disapproving glances when they sought the table. Tom, though, was too happy to mind, while Mr. George seemed always quite unconscious of having transgressed a rule of the house. The more Tom saw of the detective the better he liked him. When they were together Mr. George—Tom discovered in time that his full name was Benjamin Culloden George—forgot that he was nearly forty-five, and made Tom forget it, too. He was jolly and full of jokes, infinitely patient while instructing Tom in the mysteries of the in-shoot or the drop ball, and a veritable mine of anecdotes of the playing field. And, best of all, he was able to impart what he knew about pitching a baseball, as able to teach as Tom was eager to learn. And Tom learned, too, putting his whole heart and soul into mastering the intricacies of pitching. Once Mr. George said to him:
“One thing I like about you, Tom, is you don’t say you understand when you don’t. You make me tell it all over again and then you go and do it. Lots of folks will say they know what you mean and then show that they haven’t got any idea!”
“I guess I’m kind of stupid about that wrist work,” said Tom apologetically. “I—I don’t get the hang of it very well.”
“Don’t you worry, it’ll come to you. It just takes practice, lots of practice. After awhile you’ll be snapping the ball away without knowing you’re doing it. Now you try again. Never mind about putting it over the plate; just throw at the fence. Snap her under now! That was better. Oh, never mind where the ball went. We don’t care about that—yet. See what I mean about the snap, don’t you?”
“I see what you mean, all right, but I can’t get it—yet.”
“That’s the idea! You can’t get it—yet. That means that you know you will get it finally, eh? Sure! Now, always remember that a ball curves the way you pinch it. It’s that pinch that gives the drag to it as it leaves your hand. The more drag the more spin, and the more spin the more curve. Only you don’t ever want to pitch an in-curve, Tom. You see, you’ve got to start it off with a round-arm delivery and that puts the batter on every time. He knows what’s coming, do you see? And he lams it! But if you give him an in-shoot he can’t tell what it’s going to be because an in-shoot starts off like any other ball. Curve ’em wide to the out, if you want to, but don’t do any ‘barrel-hoops’ on the in. One more now.”