“This is all there are of us,” replied Tom, waving his hand toward Joe.
“Humph! Fust time I ever heard of two boys playin’ a ball game all by themselves,” commented the aged man with a chuckle. “But I s’pose it’s one of them new-fangled kind. Land sakes, what th’ world a-comin’ t’ anyhow, I’d like t’ know? Wa’al, keep on, only don’t knock any boards offen my fence,” he stipulated as he resumed the making of his garden.
The boys laughingly promised and resumed their practice. Tom was a good catcher and he had an accurate eye. He did not hesitate to tell Joe when the balls were bad and he was a severe critic, for he had taken an honest liking to the newcomer, and wanted to see him succeed.
“Just try for control,” was the gist of his advice. “The rest if it will take care of itself.”
“Don’t you want to pitch and let me catch for you?” asked Joe after a bit, fearing that he was somewhat selfish.
“No, I don’t specially need any practice at throwing,” said Tom. “First is my position. I like it better than any other, and catching is the best practice I can have for that. Keep it up.”
So Joe kept on, using moderate speed after the warning of Mr. Peterkin, so that no more balls struck the fence. But then again came the almost irresistible desire to put on “steam,” and indulging in this Joe sent in another “hot one.”
Almost the instant it left his hand Joe realized that he had lost control of the ball and that it was going wild. He instinctively reached out to pull it back, but it was too late.
“Grab it!” he yelled to Tom.
The plucky little first baseman made a magnificent jump up in the air, but the ball merely grazed the tip of his up-stretched glove. Then it went on over the fence at undiminished speed. An instant later there was the cry of alarm.