“Sure to. I don’t know whether Bat will start you or Toby Williams, but it’s going to take more than one pitcher to get through a game on a day like this. So you’re certain to get your chance. When you do, Tom, just remember that you aren’t expected to perform any miracles. Lots of young pitchers get the idea fixed in their heads that the whole game depends on them. They get so anxious and keyed up that they don’t do themselves justice. Just remember that you’ve got eight other fellows with you, Tom, and let them do their share. When you get where it’s a case of put one across or give a base, why, slam it over and let someone else worry. And whatever you do, son, work slow. Take all the time you want--and then some! Don’t let anyone hurry you. It’s better for you and it’s harder on the batsman. Lots of men can’t stand a pitcher who’s deliberate. They want to hit and hit right away, and the more the pitcher keeps ’em waiting the more anxious they get. And there’s no one easier to handle than an over-anxious batter. He will reach out after wide ones and step back for inside ones and it’s dollars to doughnuts you’ve got his number right at the start. Just remember that, Tom. Time doesn’t cost you a cent. Help yourself to it!” Then, later, on the way out to the grounds on the car, they went over once more the peculiarities of the players of the Petersburg team. Mr. George had them all catalogued as to their batting. This one was death on low ones outside and mustn’t have that sort. This one was a good bunter and must not be fed high ones. This one, with runners on second or third and the game at a critical place, should be passed, since he was a hard clouter. And so on, Tom listening and memorising. “Of course, this is up to Craig,” said Mr. George, “but he may forget or mix his signals and so there’s no harm in your knowing what you’re up against. Here we are. Pile out!” That final game drew the biggest crowd of the season, although the stands were but half-filled when the team assembled for warming-up work. By the time the game was called, however, the seats were all occupied and there was a good sprinkling of spectators along the base-lines. About everyone we know was there. Mr. Cummings, of course, rather excited and waving a palm-leaf fan in a corner of the players’ bench; Mr. and Mrs. Morris in a front row of the stand near third base; (Tom went over and chatted with them a minute just before the teams took their positions;) Mr. Tully, whom Tom had presented with a ticket, his coat in his lap and his pipe sending a cloud of smoke straight up in the still air; and several others from the boarding-house, who had in some way or other managed to get the afternoon off.