“Well, now look here, Showell,” said the acting coach, “do try and remember what you’ve been taught. Give me the bat.” Bissell took the other’s place. “Don’t stand as though you were going to run away. Face the plate; if you’re hit you’ve got your base. Now, watch me. All right, Weatherby.”
Jack sent him a fairly fast ball, and Bissell took it neatly on the end of his stick and sent it sailing in a short flight toward right field.
“You see, Showell? Swing back easily and don’t try to slug the ball. If you swing hard you miss your balance nine times out of ten. Bring the bat around easily on a line with the ball, hold it firmly and you’ve got your hit. Try it again, please.”
Showell did try it again and struck a palpable foul. Once more he tried and missed entirely. By this time he was as mad as a hatter.
“I can’t hit them unless he sends them over the plate,” he growled, eying Jack aggressively.
“You need to learn how to bat,” said a voice behind him. “I guess it would do you good to have a term with the third squad.”
He looked around into the face of Hanson, who unnoticed, had been watching his work for several minutes. He subsided and again faced the pitcher. But Jack had no desire to bring about Showell’s removal to the third squad, and so sent him a slow ball that he could not help hitting. When Showell had yielded his bat to the next man and stepped away Hanson turned to Bissell.
“Who’s that fellow?” he asked.
“Showell, a junior.”