Everyone had crossed to the further side of the field where the batting-nets stood, and Wayne took the strap down to second base and proceeded to fix it in place. When he had finished and had secured the bag to its spike he went over to Jimmy Slattery, who was coaching the batters at the nearer net, and held out the broken strap. “What shall I do with this?” he asked.
“Huh?” asked Jimmy. “Oh, throw it away, kid. Want a job?”
“Yes,” answered Wayne truthfully.
“Get out there then and chase some of those balls,” directed the other.
So Wayne went down the field, discarded his jacket and placed it against the fence and got to work. It was work, too, for only three of the players were fielding and they were quite content to let Wayne run after the hits that went over their heads or got past them. Now and then Wayne had the fun of trying for a fly. When he did he usually got it, although he started out with a muff that brought ironical remarks from the others.
“Open your mouth and let it fall in,” called Fawcett.
“Put your hands up,” advised Briggs facetiously, “and see will the ball hit ’em, kid!”
But Wayne only smiled as he trotted after the elusive sphere and threw it to the nearer fielder. The next time the ball did hit his hands and, moreover, stayed in them, and Briggs was ready with a cheerful “’Ata boy! Squeeze it!” After that, by common consent, a fly that passed over the heads of the three players was left to Wayne undisputed.
“Say, Win,” called Briggs once, “you’ll be losing your job first thing you know. The kid’s clever!”
At first Wayne threw to Briggs or Fawcett or the third fielder, Leary, and let them peg the ball back to the pitcher, but presently, when he had stopped a grounder well in, he took courage and threw the ball in himself and threw it so well that Fawcett turned and regarded him with new interest.