[CHAPTER XVIII]
TOM TWIRLS FOR THE SCRUBS
Tom realised, as he walked over to the mound and picked up the ball, that at least a portion of his audience was hostile. He could not expect Pete Farrar to be wholly pleased at his advent on the scene, and Pete’s demeanour showed that he wasn’t, while for some less easily explainable reason Captain Warner seemed far from friendly. Not that these things bothered Tom very much, however. He was naturally a little nervous, but I doubt if anyone guessed it. As luck had it, the first three batsmen to confront him were Kenny, Craig, and Farrar, the last trio on the first team’s batting-list. Tom knew nothing about them and so wisely relied on the scrub catcher to tell him what to offer.
Tom presented a rather incongruous appearance in the box. He had removed his coat and waistcoat, tied his suspenders around his waist, and rolled up the sleeves of his blue-stripe shirt. Tommy Hughes had supplied him with a cap to take the place of the straw hat he had been wearing. His long trousers struck an odd note amongst the surrounding uniforms. On the bench, Mr. Talbot and Mr. Cummings sat side by side and watched interestedly, the latter a trifle anxiously as well. He was prepared to be very proud of Tom’s prowess and was mutely hoping that the boy would not, after all, prove a fiasco.
Arthur Brown, who caught for the scrubs, knelt behind the plate and gave the signal for a fast, straight ball. Tom settled his cap with a tug at the visor, brought his arms back over his head, lifted his left leg in air a little, and pitched. Joe Kenny watched the ball cut the centre of the plate, waist-high, and heard it slap into the big mitt behind him. Then he tapped his bat on the plate, squared himself, and seemed to dare Tom to do it again. And Tom did it again, only this time the ball, instead of whizzing up to the plate, came with deceptive slowness and Kenny hit much too soon. Steve Arbuckle, the team’s manager, who was umpiring, watched the ball go dancing along outside third-base-line and announced:
“Foul! Strike two!”
After that Tom tried Kenny with an out-shoot and Joe wisely refused to offer at it and it went as a ball. Then came another ball, a drop that was too low, and then, getting the signal from Brown, Tom shot over a high one that cut the plate squarely in two. Kenny struck at it too late, whirled on his heel, and dragged his bat toward the bench. A chorus of approval arose from Buster and Tommy and some of the others, and Mr. Cummings turned beamingly to the coach.
“How’s that?” he demanded. “That’s pitching ’em, isn’t it?”
The coach smiled approvingly. “He looks good, Mr. Cummings. And I like the way he does it, too. Looks like a born pitcher to me.”
“Of course he is!” declared the other convincedly, evidently forgetting that it was he who had evinced doubt of Tom’s ability. “That boy’s a wonder, Mr. Talbot!”