Baseball practice had by this time really become baseball practice. I mean by that that the period of dumb-bell exercises and setting-up drills had passed and the candidates, reënforced by some dozen or so late-comers, were passing and batting and learning the tricks of the game. The battery candidates comprised Nate Leddy, Ben Myatt, Gus Weston, Will Brunswick, Joe Kelly and Dud Baker, pitchers, and Pete Gordon, Hal Cherry and Ed Brooks, catchers. Of the pitchers, Myatt was last year’s star and a clever twirler, Leddy was a good man but not so dependable. Weston had speed but little control, and the others were still unknown quantities, except that both Kelly and Dud had twirled a few times for the second nine the spring before. Pete Gordon was the regular catcher and Brooks the second-choice man. Cherry was a beginner who showed promise. At the end of the first two weeks of indoor work, the battery candidates were given their first try-out one afternoon at the conclusion of the regular practice, and Dud, somewhat to his surprise, survived. Still, as Jimmy kindly pointed out to him later, that didn’t mean much since it was the custom to keep all the would-be pitchers until the team got out of doors. Nevertheless, Dud was encouraged and did his level best to make good. Myatt, a big, likable chap of eighteen or over, took a real interest in the efforts of the younger members of the staff and was generous with advice and instruction. One afternoon, shortly before the candidates got out-doors for the first time, he took Dud in hand after practice.
“Say, Baker,” Ben called as Dud was leaving the cage, “got time to pitch me a few?”
Dud, pulling his glove off, turned back. “Why, yes,” he answered. “Want me to?”
“Yes. Yell to Ed Brooks to lend me his mitt, will you?” A minute later Ben took his place in front of the net and thumped the big mitten encouragingly. “All right now, boy! Try a few easy ones. That’s nice. I say, Baker, mind if I give you a hint or two?”
“I’d be awfully glad if you would,” replied Dud eagerly. “I know I’m not much good.”
“Who says so?”
“I do.” Dud smiled.
But Ben shook his head reprovingly. “You ought to be the last one to say it,” he announced gravely. “First thing you want to do, boy, is stop tying yourself in a knot on your wind-up. You’ll never last nine innings if you go through all that gymnastic stuff. What’s the big idea?”
“I don’t know,” faltered Dud. “That’s the way I’ve always done it, I suppose.”