This time--Eureka! A veritable out-curve plainly visible to the naked eye, as Sidney triumphantly announced. And after that two more in succession! And then something went wrong again and the ball acted quite foolishly. “You’re tired, I guess,” Sidney said. “Let me have a try while you rest up.” So Sidney “put over” a few out-curves, making the astounding discovery that he and the book were quite in agreement as to the manner of holding the ball--a fact which he had doubted before,--and subsequently tried a drop with fair success. That slow ball wouldn’t materialise this evening. Then Tom sent Sidney to the fence with the mitt and tried again and again to make that obstinate leather-covered sphere do as he wanted it to. Once or twice it did, but the trouble was that Tom couldn’t discover why it did; or why it more often didn’t. Still, it could be done, and, moreover, he had done it, and that was something! Sidney wanted him to attempt an in-shoot or a drop or some of the other deliveries set forth in the book, but Tom shook his head. “I’m going to learn that out-curve thing first,” he said doggedly. “When I get so I can do that every time, I’ll try a new one. Some day I’m going to be able to pitch ’em all. First, though, I’m going to find out why--why----” “Why is a curve,” said Sidney helpfully. “There’s some reason. There must be. There’s a perfectly good scientific reason for it, Sid.” “Huh! What if there is? I’ll bet you won’t be able to curve a ball any better for knowing why,” jeered Sidney. “The way to learn to pitch is to pitch. Come on home.” CHAPTER X TOM PLAYS IN A REAL GAME That spring proved to be the pleasantest in Tom’s recollection. To be sure, lessons didn’t always go easily; in fact, Tom had a fortnight of trouble when the first lazy, warm days came, and only extricated himself from his difficulties by resolutely remaining at home in the evenings and studying instead of playing ball. A slack time in the affairs of Cummings and Wright followed the first spring months and Tom was several times accorded the privilege of taking a couple of hours off on Saturday afternoons to watch the high school team play. He enjoyed that immensely, got terribly excited--although I must own that he didn’t show the fact much--and “rooted” loyally for the Brown-and-Blue. The team that year was nothing to boast of, although patriotic youths did boast, for all of that, and met a larger number of defeats than was either expected or desired. Once Tom journeyed with some forty enthusiastic boys to Lynton, over in the next county, and returned very much depressed in the cool of a June twilight. But there were victories, too, and by the time school was over for the year Amesville High had redeemed itself after a fashion by decisively defeating Petersburg two out of three contests. The fact that Petersburg was woefully weak that year had much to do with the result of the series.