“Just what do you mean by curves?” asked a rather gruff voice.
Joe turned and recognized Professor Enoch Crabbe of the Riverside Academy, who had been strolling by, and having caught a glimpse of the unusual number present through the open door, had concluded to add himself to the spectators. He was a man generally respected in the town, but very positive and set in his views and not at all diffident about expressing them.
“Good afternoon, Professor,” said Joe. “I didn’t quite understand what you meant by your question. I was just going to curve the ball——”
“That’s just it,” interrupted the professor with a superior smile. “You thought you were going to curve the direction of the ball, but you were going to do nothing of the kind. It can’t be done.”
“But Professor,” expostulated Joe, a little bewildered, “the proof of the pudding is in the eating. I’ve done it a thousand times.”
“I don’t question your good faith at all, Mr. Matson,” said the professor, still with that smug air of certainty. “You undoubtedly think you curved the ball. I positively know that you didn’t.”
“Well,” retorted Joe, who was getting a little nettled, “they say that seeing is believing. Just watch this ball.”
He gripped it firmly and sent in a wide outcurve. The ball went straight as a die for perhaps forty feet and then turned swiftly outward so that Tom had to jump to get his hands on it.
“Now,” said Joe triumphantly, “if that wasn’t a curve, what was it?”