“Black and blue are the only things he wasn’t,” said Joe. “He was about every other colour; buff and green and purple and lavender――――” “Shucks! He was dressed real quietly today; almost unostentatiously, so to speak! You ought to see him when he’s really dolled up! Now, look here, Joey. If you don’t buckle down and play ball and beat him out of his position at first I’ll never forgive you.” “But, Jack, I can’t play first the way he can!” “How do you know? You’ve never seen him play. Besides, you can out-hit him. Leastways, if you can’t you ought to be ashamed. And it’s batting that’s going to count this spring, old man. Petersburg has got a line of good pitchers this year and Bat will be going on the policy that hits mean runs. So you get your eye peeled, Joey, and win that bet for me.” “I don’t think I’ll ever be much of a batter,” said Joe sadly. “Poppycock and piffle! You can hit the merry sphere just as well as anyone can if you’ll only tell yourself so. Look here, what you want to do is to go out there and when the ball comes say to yourself, ‘It’s so big I can’t miss it if I try! Why, it’s a cinch. _Bing!_ That for you, Mr. Ball!’ Try it and see how well it will work.” “You’re great on the psychology stuff, aren’t you?” laughed Joe. “I don’t know the gentleman,” answered Jack serenely. “I only know that no chap ever became a decent batsman by telling himself that he was no good! Confidence, my friend, confidence! That’s the――er――the password, no, the keynote, to success! Think it over. Now, let’s go in and see how much money we’ve taken in this morning. Ah, as usual, Young has his Roman mob around the place. If he doesn’t make those loafers stay away we’ll get notice to quit, I’m thinking.” CHAPTER XII OUTDOOR PRACTICE _BASEBALL_ “Candidates report at the field dressed to play at 3:30. “CRAIG.” This notice met the gaze of Joe on Monday morning as he paused in front of the bulletin board in the school corridor. Sidney Morris and a companion came up and read the announcement over his shoulder. “That’s good news, Faulkner,” said Sidney. “Last year we were out a week earlier. By the way, do you know Toby Williams?” The boys shook hands and the trio walked together along the corridor. Williams was a nice-looking chap of about Joe’s age, rather solidly built, with a natural talent for pitching a baseball that had won for him the position of Tom Pollock’s understudy, Tom, it was said, showing Toby everything the former knew in the science so that next year Toby might come as near as possible to filling Tom’s shoes. There was still, however, a fairly long road for the younger boy to travel before he attained Tom Pollock’s standing. “You’re trying for the infield, aren’t you, Faulkner?” Toby asked.