“Besides that will be easier when old man Young gets here and we get them out for coaching. You can also pick them out in batting practice. Just tell them to throw straight swift balls over the plate and you can pick out the poor ones anyhow, because a pitcher who can’t put a straight ball over nine times out of ten, isn’t worth developing. Then by the time Young gets a chance at them for a week we’ll know which are no good at all, and what ones it will pay him to coach.”
“I had a talk,” said Johnny, “with that California lad, Case. He is a quiet chap and unassuming. He says he is a southpaw pitcher too, and he may be what we are looking for.”
A few days after this talk in Hughie’s room the snow began to melt and within a week Lowell field, which had for months been covered with snow and ice, suddenly took on a greenish look, the ground became dry and firm and everyone began to feel the spring in the air. One day, not long after, there appeared upon the bulletin board the following notice:
University Baseball. Outdoor practice. On the field at 1 P. M. February 25th. Candidates must bring their own suits.
Hugh Jenkins, Manager.
There was joy in the hearts of the hundred, for there were about that number who hoped to be picked for the Varsity. Out of the hundred, at least ninety were certain to be disappointed as far as the Varsity was concerned, for there were only about ten places to fill, counting the substitutes.
Of course, there was a chance that a fellow would get on the second squad which might help him to the Varsity next year, and then there was always the freshman team which was formed last and which generally was an all pitcher team, so to speak, because every man on it had nursed secret hopes of making the Varsity his first year, as a pitcher.
Harold Case was out early. He had come to the field with Hagner and was now sitting on the steps of the clubhouse waiting for Hagner, who had become his good friend. It was a strange friendship that had sprung up between these two—the tall big-boned and awkward German lad, almost a man in looks, and this young and exceedingly graceful Western lad, and both were profiting by it.
While he was sitting there, what was left of last year’s champions trotted out on the field. Gibbs, second catcher last year, and Larke, old cronies; Black and Delvin; and last of all, of course, the inseparables, Everson and Jenkins. The rest of the candidates straggled out on to the field in twos and threes, to the number of fully a hundred, and presently Hagner came out with his old bat and glove in hand and Harold got up and they walked over to the diamond together.
“Better not let yourself out any to-day,” said Hagner, as they approached the others who had already paired off and were tossing balls back and forth to each other.