“Not a soul that I know of. I’ll try it myself, if you say so,” he said with a feeble effort at humor.
“You cu-cu-cu-couldn’t do mu-mu-mu-much worse!” stuttered Tom, who had long since left the shade of the apple-tree and was now hopping around wide-eyed with excitement. “Why du-du-du-don’t you mu-mu-make Nel pu-pu-pu-pitch?”
“Can you?” cried Bob.
“No; that is, mighty little, Bob,” answered Nelson. “I pitched one season on a class team. But I’m willing to try if you want me to. Only don’t expect much; I’ll probably be worse than Wells was the last inning.”
“Find a ball,” said Bob quickly, his face lighting up with hope, “and pitch me a few. Where’s my mitten? Say, Nel, why didn’t you tell me you could pitch?”
“I can’t, not enough to call pitching. I can get a ball over now and then and I used to be able to work a pretty fair drop, but that’s about all. You’ll have to explain signals to me.”
“All right. Say, Van, run over and tell Kendall I want him to play center field, will you? There he is talking to Clint. Scoot!”
There was a yell at that moment, and Bob and Nelson looked up in time to see Loom drive out a pretty liner toward first. He was out without question, but the sacrifice had advanced Ridley to second, and Chicora’s little group of cheerers made themselves heard. Bob ran over to speak to Bryant, who was next up, and then came back to Nelson. The signals were quickly explained, and Nelson began throwing into Bob’s big mitten, slowly at first, then increasing in speed as something of the knack came back to him. Bryant offered at a close ball, and Ridley, who was ready and waiting, shot out for third. Catcher lost a half a second in getting the ball down, and the umpire waved his hand downward; Ridley was safe. Dan took Bob’s place in front of Nelson, and Bob hurried over to Ridley’s assistance, relieving Loom on the coacher’s line.
Nelson felt some of his old power returning to him and slammed ball after ball into Dan’s hands in a way that made that youth grin with approval. Once or twice he essayed a drop with but indifferent success; somehow, he couldn’t yet make that work.