Once they enlisted the services of Mr. Fales, a head clerk in Miller and Tappen’s shipping department, to stand at the plate with a bat and strike at the balls as they went by. He had explicit directions not to hit it, and probably didn’t intend to, but he did finally and the ball passed through an open window in the parlour and demolished the glass in the framed picture of Washington Crossing the Delaware. After that they got along with less realism. Tom pitched with very little “wind-up,” a fact which Mr. George greatly relished. One swing of his right arm, a short poise on the right foot, and then a long step forward and a good carry-through with arm and body. That was Tom’s style, and Mr. George declared he couldn’t better it. “I’m not saying that a hard ‘wind-up’ may not give more speed, but there’s a lot of lost effort in it. Besides that, it gives a runner a fine chance to steal on you. Why, I’ve seen three men in one game steal home on a pitcher with a long ‘wind-up.’ Nowadays, with a fast runner on bases, the pitcher cuts out the ‘wind-up’ and pitches from the shoulder, not taking any chances, but what’s the good of learning to pitch one way if you’ve got to pitch another way a dozen times in a game? Not that I’d advise a man who’d learned to pitch with a long ‘wind-up’ to change his style, though. I wouldn’t. But I say to a fellow who’s just learning: Go through as few motions as you can. You notice I always twist myself into a bunch. It never did me any good, except maybe it let me pitch a faster ball. Control’s the thing, Tom, and it’s usually the pitcher who keeps his feet on the ground most who has it best. Anyway, that’s how it seems to me.” Meanwhile, the high school team had struggled through the first three games of its schedule, losing two and winning one. So far neither Farrar nor Williams had shown enough stamina to pitch the full nine innings, and Sidney reported that Mr. Talbot was getting rather discouraged. Tom had not yet found an opportunity to see a game played, for business at the store was pretty brisk and he hesitated to ask for an afternoon off. Such an afternoon came, though, and in an unlooked-for way. CHAPTER XVII AFTERNOON PRACTICE It was a Thursday, languidly warm, and trade had been dull. Mr. Cummings wandered down to where Tom, having just got back from school, was placing selling marks on a new arrival of running shirts and trunks. “How’s the high school nine getting along, Tom?” he asked. “I saw they got beaten by the Y.M.C.A. team the other day.” “Yes, sir, rather badly. I haven’t seen them play yet, but I hear that they’re sort of up against it for pitchers this year.” “Haven’t seen them, you say? That’s so, you don’t have much chance, do you? What do you think of that, Horace?” Mr. Cummings turned to the junior partner, who was busy across the store. “Here’s Tom selling baseballs and bats and things and hasn’t seen a game of ball yet. Hard luck, eh?”