Mr. George drew his arm back, brought his left foot off the ground and swung it around his right leg, and pitched. Down came arm and leg together and off went the ball. Tom watched it. He had just begun to tell himself that, after all, Mr. George had pitched only the straightest sort of a straight ball, when the flying sphere “broke” abruptly to the left and downward and slammed against the fence so forcibly that it rolled half-way back again. “Gee!” said Tom admiringly. “That was some curve!” “No curve about that, son. That’s an out-shoot. You see, your curve begins to break to the left almost as soon as it leaves your hand, but a shoot doesn’t break until it’s travelled part of the distance to the plate. Now you take an old-style in-curve, and that’s a good deal harder to pitch than an out-shoot, and put it over the inside of the plate. It isn’t hard for the batter because an in-curve never has as much on it as an out. But you make that in-curve an in-shoot, and it’s a puzzler. There was a fellow pitched with us two seasons down in Montgomery and he had an in-shoot that didn’t begin to break until it was right up to the plate. It was a dandy, I tell you. I tried to get him to show me that ball and he was willing enough, but he just couldn’t seem to explain it. I never could get it right.” “Did you--did you use to play baseball?” asked Tom with a touch of awe in his voice. The detective nodded. “Eight years at it--Southern, Central, and Texas leagues. That was ’most ten years ago now. There wasn’t anything in it and I quit before they threw me into the real bush. It isn’t bad as long as you’re young, but baseball isn’t any business for a man after thirty. And I’m getting on toward forty-five now. Let’s see your ball again. Here’s a drop that used to fool ’em some.” And it certainly was a drop! Mr. George wasn’t satisfied with it, explaining that his arm was all out of practice, but it almost made Tom’s eyes pop out! And the remarkable thing about the detective’s pitching was that he did it with seemingly no effort and the ball simply flew through the air! Tom wondered what would happen to the fence if he really tried to pitch a swift one! “I wish I could pitch like that,” he said enviously. “Or half as good.” “Maybe you will when you’ve been at it longer,” responded Mr. George. “Take it from me, son, there isn’t anything you can’t teach your muscles to do if you go at it right. Haven’t got a mitt, have you?” “No, sir.” “I was going to say, if you had, I’d catch a few for you. I’ll get one to-morrow and you and I’ll have some fun out here. I haven’t held a baseball for two years and it feels good.” He swung his arm around and made a grimace. “Stiff as a crutch,” he said. “Let’s see yours, son.”