As Tom had said, some of the best authorities on pitching did advocate the trying for control before a prospective boxman endeavored to get either speed or curves.
“The thing seems to be,” remarked Joe, “to get a ball just where you want it, ten times out of ten if you can, and then when you can do that, try for the in and out shoots and the drop.”
“That’s it,” agreed Tom. “Are you any good at throwing stones?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Well, one fellow says that the lad who can throw a stone straight can generally throw a ball straight. We’ll have a contest when we get down to the lots. Nobody will see us there.”
“I hope not,” remarked Joe. “I don’t want to be laughed at the way I was when Sam caught me down at the fairgrounds. I guess he thought I was trying for his place then, and that’s what made him mad.”
The two friends were soon down behind the high board fence that marked the boundaries of the Peterkin property. It was rather a large place—the Peterkin one—and was occupied by an aged couple. Mrs. Alvirah Peterkin was quite a housewife, always engaged in some kitchen or other household duties, while Ebenezer, her husband “puttered” around the garden, as the folks of Riverside expressed it.
“Well, I guess we’re all ready,” remarked Tom, when he had picked out a large flat stone to represent home plate. He took his position behind it, with his back to the fence, so that if any balls got by him they would hit the barrier and bound back.
Joe began to pitch, endeavoring to bear in mind what the book had said about getting the balls where he wanted them.
“That was pretty far out from the plate,” called Tom dubiously, after one effort on the part of his chum.