Joe smiled, and his heart beat a trifle faster. It was his first trial with the big league, an unofficial and not very important trial, to be sure, but none the less momentous to him.
Soon was heard the crack of balls as they bounded off the bats, to be followed by the thuds as they landed in the gloves of the players. The training work was under way.
"What sort of ball do you pitch?" asked the old player pleasantly of Joe, as they moved off to a space by themselves for practice.
"Well, I've got an in, an out, a fadeaway and a spitter."
"Quite a collection. How about a cross-fire?"
"I can work it a little."
"That's good. Now let's see what you can do. But take it easy at first. You don't want to throw out any of your elbow tendons so early in the season."
"I guess not," laughed Joe.
Then he began to throw, bearing in mind the advice of the veteran assistant manager. The work was slow at first, and Joe found himself much stiffer than he expected. But the warm air, and the swinging of his arm, limbered him up a bit, and soon he was sending in some swift ones.
"Go slow, son," warned Boswell. "You're not trying to win a game, you know. You're getting a little wild."