“That’s the way!” exclaimed the enthusiastic assistant coaches. “Eat ’em up, ’varsity!”
Mr. Hasbrook smiled, but said nothing. At the end of the seventh inning Joe was sent in to pitch, but it was too late for the scrubs to save the game for themselves, since the ’varsity had it by six runs. Nor did Joe escape hitless, though from the time he went in no runs were made by his opponents.
“Joe, you’re a better pitcher than I am,” declared Avondale, frankly. “I can see where I’ve made mistakes.”
“Well, it isn’t too late to fix ’em.”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is,” and, as it developed, it was, for from then on Joe did most of the pitching for the scrub. Occasionally, when his arm was a bit lame, Avondale was sent in, or one of the other pitching candidates, but the result was nearly always disastrous for the scrub.
Not that Joe always made good. He had his off days, when his curves did not seem to break right, and when his control was poor. But he was trying to carry out Mr. Hasbrook’s instructions to get into more plays, and this handicapped him a bit at the start.
The head coach saw this, and made allowances, keeping Joe on the mound when the assistants would have substituted someone else.
“Wait,” advised the head coach. “I know what I’m doing.”
The season was beginning to open. Schedules were being arranged, and soon Yale would begin to meet her opponents. The practice grew harder and more exacting. The voices of the coaches were more stern and sharp. No errors were excused, and the scrub was worked doubly hard to make the ’varsity that much better.
Ford Weston had improved considerably and then one day he went to pieces in the box, when playing a particularly close and hard game with the scrub.