The next day Bert was conscious of sundry curious glances when he went out for practice. News travels fast in a college community and Drake had passed the word that Ainslee had uncovered a "phenom." But the coach had other views and was in no mood to satisfy their curiosity. He had turned the matter over in his mind the night before and resolved to bring Bert along slowly. To begin with, while delighted at the boy's showing on the first time out, he realized that this one test was by no means conclusive. He was naturally cautious. He was "from Missouri" and had to be "shown." A dozen questions had to be answered, and, until they were, he couldn't reach any definite decision. Did the boy have stamina enough to last a full game? Was that wonderful curve of his under full control? Was his heart in the right place, or, under the tremendous strain of a critical game, would he go to pieces? Above all, was he teachable, willing to acknowledge that he did not "know it all," and eager to profit by the instruction that would be handed out in the course of the training season? If all these questions could be answered to his satisfaction, he knew that the most important of all his problems--that of the pitcher's box--was already solved, and that he could devote his attention to the remaining positions on the team. Pursuing this plan of "hastening slowly," he cut out all "circus" stunts in this second day's practice. Bert was instructed to take it easy, and confine himself only to moderately fast straight balls, in order to get the kinks out of his throwing arm. Curves were forbidden until the newness wore off and his arm was better able to stand the strain. The coach had seen too many promising young players ruined in trying to rush the season, and he did not propose to take any such chances with his new find. His keen eyes sparkled, as from his position behind the pitcher, he noted the mastery that Bert had over the ball. He seemed to be able to put it just where he wished. Whether the coach called for a high or a low ball, straight over the center of the plate or just cutting the corners, the ball obeyed almost as though it were a living thing. Occasionally it swerved a little from the exact "groove" that it was meant to follow, but in the main, as Ainslee afterward confided to his assistant, "the ball was so tame that it ate out of his hand." He was far too cautious to say as much to Bert. Of all the dangers that came to budding pitchers, the "swelled head" was the one he most hated and detested. "Well," he said as he pretended to suppress a yawn, "your control is fairly good for a beginner. Of course I don't know how it will be on the curves, but we'll try them out too before long."