After that Tom tried Kenny with an out-shoot and Joe wisely refused to offer at it and it went as a ball. Then came another ball, a drop that was too low, and then, getting the signal from Brown, Tom shot over a high one that cut the plate squarely in two. Kenny struck at it too late, whirled on his heel, and dragged his bat toward the bench. A chorus of approval arose from Buster and Tommy and some of the others, and Mr. Cummings turned beamingly to the coach. “How’s that?” he demanded. “That’s pitching ’em, isn’t it?” The coach smiled approvingly. “He looks good, Mr. Cummings. And I like the way he does it, too. Looks like a born pitcher to me.” “Of course he is!” declared the other convincedly, evidently forgetting that it was he who had evinced doubt of Tom’s ability. “That boy’s a wonder, Mr. Talbot!” Sam Craig was the slugging kind of a batter and wanted, as all free hitters do, a ball on the end of his bat. Consequently when, after Tom, at Brown’s demand, had offered a high fast ball on the outside of the plate and Craig had slammed at it viciously and narrowly missed it, the catcher signalled for a straight, low one, Tom shook his head. Brown signalled again, and again Tom refused. Mr. Talbot watched eagerly. “Brown’s signalling for something Pollock doesn’t want to give him,” he said softly to Mr. Cummings. “Evidently Pollock has a head as well as an arm.” “Head!” began Mr. Cummings. But at that moment, Tom and his catcher having reached an agreement, a slow in-shoot floated across the inside of the plate, Craig staggered away from it, and the umpire announced, “Strike two!” Craig got to first in the end, however, finally taking an inside ball on the handle of his bat and trickling it slowly toward third, so slowly that by the time third baseman had come in and got it and thrown it to first Craig was safe on his bag. But Farrar was an easy proposition. Three fast, straight balls and one slow teaser did for him, and he retired disgruntled to confide to Frank Warner that “that chump hasn’t anything but a fast ball and you can knock the spots out of him!” Buster Healey faced Tom with a grin. “Be easy with me, Tom,” he called. “I used to play with you!” Tom smiled. “Just tell me what you want, Buster,” he answered. “And you won’t give it to me,” grumbled Buster. “I know!” Whatever it was Buster did want, it is safe to assume that what he got was something quite different, for Buster, after popping a foul back of first base, went out on strikes. When Tom came back to the bench, Mr. Talbot was slipping his left hand into a catcher’s mitt. “Pollock, come over here and show me what you can do,” he said eagerly. “Unless your arm’s tired?” “Not a bit, sir.” So while the school team took the field and the scrubs went to bat again Tom pitched to the coach, explaining his deliveries as he sent them in. “Here’s an in-shoot, sir. I try to break it just in front of the plate, but it doesn’t always do it.”