Thorny frowned thoughtfully. Then his face cleared. “Well, we’ll find a way around that difficulty when the time comes. Meanwhile you keep on practising. Don’t get stale, old man. And, above all, don’t overwork that arm. The trouble is you’re likely to strain it or something handling heavy boxes or doing some other fool stunt. You’ve got to take care of it, Tom.” “I’ll try to, but I don’t believe I can lift boxes with just one hand.” “You oughtn’t to be doing it at all. A fellow that’s got the making of a perfectly dandy pitcher hasn’t any business risking his whole future the way you’re doing.” Tom smiled. “I guess my whole future wouldn’t amount to much if I didn’t work,” he said. “I’d like mighty well to pitch for the school if they wanted me to; I--I’m sort of crazy about playing ball; but I guess I wouldn’t be much good if I didn’t eat sometimes. And I wouldn’t be doing much eating if I quit working.” “Haven’t you got any folks to look after you?” demanded Thorny. “Only an uncle. And he wouldn’t let me stay around here and play baseball without I was making my living besides. If I stopped working here, I’d have to go out home and work on the farm.” “He’s a funny sort of an uncle,” growled Thorny. “I should think he’d be proud to have you pitch for the high school team. Most uncles would, I guess. Anyhow, you keep on with it, Tom. And, say, if you like, I’ll show you what I know about it. I can teach you a pretty good drop and a slow ball. And that’s about all you’ll need if you use your head and change your pace now and then. After all, it isn’t curves that wins; it’s using your ‘bean’!” “I’d like very much to have you show me,” answered Tom gratefully. “Only I guess I wouldn’t learn very quick, and it--it would be a heap of bother to you.” “No, it wouldn’t. I’d like it. Only thing is”--and Thorny frowned thoughtfully--“I’ll be going off to college pretty soon. Still, we might have a go at it Monday. And maybe we could get together a few more times before I leave. I’d like to see the team have a good pitcher to start out with next spring.” It was finally arranged that Tom was to call at Thorny’s house Monday after supper for his first lesson. “I’ll get a kid to catch you,” said Thorny. “Have you got a catcher’s mitt?” Tom hadn’t, but, after a moment of hesitation, recklessly promised to bring one. (After all, it would only cost him about a dollar at wholesale prices.) But Walter, who had been listening, came to the rescue by undoing his own mitt from his belt and passing it over. “You may take this, Tom,” he said. “I won’t need it until Wednesday and you can leave it with Thorny. How about the wrist, Thorny? Going to be able to pitch for us Wednesday?” “I guess so.” Thorny worked the wounded wrist experimentally and winced a little. “It’ll be all right then, I think. If it isn’t, Tom can take my place and I’ll play in the field.” “I couldn’t play Wednesday,” said Tom. “I’ll have to work. I’m only taking a week’s vacation.”