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.

Mr. Cummings seemed to sympathise with Tom’s yearning for the diamond and more than once suggested an afternoon off when the local club was to play at home. The senior partner was something of a “fan” himself and followed the fortunes of the Cleveland and other major league clubs with great interest. He and Tom soon got into the habit of discussing baseball affairs in slack moments and he always handed the morning paper to the boy after he had read it.

“Fine game in Chicago yesterday, Tom,” he would say. “Thirteen innings without a run!”

“Those White Sox have a great team this year, sir. I wouldn’t be surprised to see them win the pennant, the way they’re travelling now.”

“Hm; yes, maybe. But Philadelphia will stand a lot of watching, son. They made a bad start, I know, but they’re coming fast now.”

And then, if there were no customers awaiting Tom’s attention, they would talk baseball for many minutes, Mr. Cummings leaning with an elbow on a showcase and gazing thoughtfully into the street and Tom tidying his stock behind the counter. Sometimes Mr. Wright would enter quickly and find them there, and then Mr. Cummings’s efforts to appear busy were very amusing.

“I tell you, Tom, it’s a fine thing to be able to hit over three hundred, but if you can’t make time on the bases you might just as well bat around two hundred. Why, now you take—— These are going pretty well, are they? That’s good. Better not let your stock get too low.”

And Tom, bewildered at the sudden turn of conversation, would glance around to find Mr. Wright frowning from the doorway. It became an understood thing between the senior partner and Tom that when Mr. Wright appeared they were each to simulate deep attention to business!

Tom finished his first year at high school with credit, attended the graduation exercises—he had already gone to a moonlight picnic given by the senior class—and thus, so to say, made his entrance into Society. He had been presented to numerous young ladies, always to his embarrassment, and had secretly wished he could dance. As he could not, he had watched the others rather enviously and had felt somewhat awkward and out of it. Sidney wanted to enlist the services of a girl friend in Tom’s behalf. “She’ll teach you in an hour, Tom. She’s a wonder at it! What do you say?” But Tom had drawn back in unfeigned alarm and shaken his head with a vigour that had left no doubt in his chum’s mind as to his meaning. All that summer one of the worst experiences that could happen to Tom was to meet on the street one of the girls he had been introduced to. More than once, discerning a young lady in the distance, he crossed over to the other sidewalk and became absorbed in the window displays. There was one awful occasion—Tom couldn’t think of it without a shudder for weeks!—when he had encountered May Warner three blocks from the store and, in some mysterious way, had suddenly found himself walking beside her along the street. How it had happened he never did know, but it was certainly due to no effort on his part! The young lady, who was a very pretty girl of about his own age, had done most of the talking, Tom merely according an embarrassed “yes” or “no” now and then, but those were three of the longest blocks he had ever travelled. When they reached the doorway of Cummings and Wright’s, Tom fled without ceremony. Naturally he soon gained a reputation for bashfulness, and the girls, instead of taking pity on him and letting him alone, seemed to go out of their way to speak to him, getting a good deal of amusement from poor Tom’s unhappiness.

Sidney was to leave Amesville for the summer the last of July, his often expressed desire to spend the warm weather in town failing to impress his parents. Tom knew he was going to miss Sidney a good deal and he looked forward regretfully to the latter’s departure. Once, in June, Sidney accompanied Tom out to Derry to remain over Sunday and enjoyed the visit so much because of the novelty of it that he declared his intention of going again. Star had a fine time then, receiving more attention and petting than falls to the lot of most dogs in the short space of a day. Tom’s uncle was as gracious to the visitor as he ever was to anyone, but Sidney secretly voted Farmer Bowles “an old curmudgeon.” He got on finely with Aunt Patty, however. But for that matter Aunt Patty, in spite of her sharp tongue, would have been kind to a chimney-sweep had he been honoured with Tom’s friendship.

The high school baseball team disbanded after school closed, for many of its members went away in the summer. But this year a few of the fellows who were to remain at home formed themselves into the Amesville Blues, filling the vacant places on the team with boys of their acquaintance. Sidney held his place in left field while he remained in the city, and it was Sidney who proposed that Tom be made manager of the team. So it fell to Tom’s lot to arrange games with rival nines in and out of town. This he did so well that the Blues played three times a week on an average and had a lot of good fun. They made short trips to neighbouring towns—the matter of railroad fares prohibited very long excursions—and once or twice Tom went with them. It was on one of these trips that Tom made his first entry into real baseball. Tommy Hughes, who was the regular centre fielder on the school team and filled the same position with the Blues, developed a bad case of stomach-ache on the way to Union Vale—he quite frankly owned to having put away three chocolate ice-cream sodas and half a dozen peaches!—and, as from motives of economy, the team had brought no substitute along, there was only one thing to do.

“I may be all right after awhile,” moaned Tommy, “but I couldn’t play now if you gave me a thousand dollars. Let Tom take my place, Walt.” (Walter White was captain and catcher.) “He can play fine, Tom can.”

So Tom, squeezing himself into Tommy’s suit and donning Tommy’s blue stockings, went out into the glare of centre field and nervously waited, wondering whether he would muff the first ball that came into his territory. As a matter of fact, he did, allowing the Union Vales to tally two runs, but after that he had five chances and accepted them all, while at bat he made the very creditable showing of two hits for a total of three bases out of six times up. The Amesville Blues won that game handily, and Tom returned home filled with the joy of victory and a new enthusiasm for baseball.

The last week in July, Tom accompanied Mr. and Mrs. Morris and Sidney to the station and saw them off for the summer. Of course he was pressingly invited to visit them at the Lake and spend as much time as he could, and he even promised to do it, but in his heart he knew very well he couldn’t afford it even if the opportunity in the shape of a summer vacation came to him. He felt rather lonely and downcast for several days after Sidney’s departure. There were almost daily letters for awhile, and these helped a good deal. But presently the letters became less frequent and by that time Tom had in a measure reconciled himself to his friend’s absence. Business at the store grew brisk in July and remained so all the summer. Tom didn’t mention the subject of a vacation and didn’t really very much care about having one. The trip to the Lake to visit Sidney, although the latter continually reminded him of his promise and wrote glowingly of the good times they could have, was quite out of the question. The fare there and return was over thirty dollars, and, while Tom was putting aside a little money every week, he was far from being a Croesus. He finally wrote Sidney to that effect, received in due time a very disappointed epistle in reply, and felt more at ease now that the matter was finally decided.

The sporting goods department did very well in the summer. There was something very like a “boom” in golf at Amesville and Tom did a good business in golf clubs, balls, and supplies. He had ventured on a line of rather expensive golf vests and sweaters, very stunning affairs they were, too, and was relieved to find that he could not only get rid of those he had ordered, but that it would be necessary to order more. Joe Gillig had taken a two-weeks’ vacation in June, and Mr. Cummings frequently went away for week-ends, usually, as Tom discovered, managing to witness a ball game somewhere during his absence, but Mr. Wright and Tom stuck to the ship all during the hot weather. And it was hot that summer in Amesville! Tom ruined two boxes of golf-balls by exposing them to the rays of the sun that, intensified by the plate-glass window, caused the enamel to blister. He mentioned the matter in trepidation to Mr. Wright, the senior partner being out of town at the time, and had visions of being told to charge the two dozen balls to himself. But Mr. Wright, frowning and “tut-tutting,” only said: “Ought to have known better, Tom; ought to have known better. Live and learn, though. Charge to profit and loss.”

Late in August, Sidney began to write of coming home in a fortnight or three weeks, and about that time business slackened up a little. Mr. Cummings said one morning: “Tom, how about taking a vacation? I guess we can get along without you for a week or two after the first of the month. You haven’t been here quite a year yet and so we can’t give you full pay, but you can have a week with wages and another week without if you want it.”

So Tom chose to limit his vacation to one week. He went out to Derry one Saturday evening and remained until Tuesday. By that time he began to miss the town and so he moved back. The next morning he dropped in at the store, talked baseball with Mr. Cummings and hobnobbed awhile with Joe, and then went out to loiter rather aimlessly along the street. While he was studying the enticing placards outside the Empire Theatre and wondering whether to invest a dime and witness the moving pictures inside, someone slapped him on the shoulder and he glanced around to find Thornton Brooks grinning at him. Thorny Brooks had graduated from high school in the spring and was a big, fine-looking chap of eighteen. He had played with the Blues as pitcher, and Tom had become fairly well acquainted with him.

“Going in?” asked Thorny.

Tom looked undecided.

“Come on! It’s my treat. They’ve got some dandy pictures this week. I’ve seen ’em once, but I can stand ’em again.”

So Tom allowed the older boy to pull him up to the window and finally through the turnstile. They found seats in the back of the house, and Tom had his first glimpse of moving pictures. They seemed very wonderful to him and when, presently, a film showing a game of baseball at the Polo Grounds in New York was thrown on the screen he almost got out of his seat in his eagerness. Thorny, with the superior knowledge of one to whom moving pictures are an old story and who has seen the present programme before, explained to his companion in whispers.

“That’s Lewis at bat,” said Thorny. “Now watch. See him swing at that? Plain as day, isn’t it? There’s a hit. Watch him streak to first! That’s Murray fielding the ball in to second. That was a peach of a base-hit, eh? I don’t know who this chap is. He’s a big one, though. One ball! A foul! He’s got it! No, he hasn’t either! Look at the crowd in the stands, Tom. Now watch the fellow on first. There he goes!”

“He’s out!” exclaimed Tom in a hoarse and agitated whisper as the runner slid into second and the shortstop swung at him with the ball in hand.

“No, sir!” said Thorny triumphantly. “He’s safe! See that? That was some steal, eh? A close decision, though. I wonder who that umpire on bases is? I’d hate to be in his shoes, wouldn’t you?”

Tom agreed that he would, keeping meanwhile his eyes glued to the quivering drama before him. The batsman popped up a high foul, the New York catcher got under it, the batsman walked toward the bench in disgust, and the picture faded. Others followed, however, and Tom enjoyed them all hugely. It was long after noon when the boys emerged from the little theatre, bathed in perspiration. On the way back toward the centre of town Thorny said:

“We play the Red Sox this afternoon over by the railroad. Coming over to see it?”

“Yes,” Tom answered. “We got licked Monday, didn’t we?”

Thorny shrugged his broad shoulders in disgust.

“Why wouldn’t we? We had only six of our regulars. A chap named Squires or something was playing third and he never made a put-out once during the game. Say, Tom, why don’t you play in the field for us to-day? Then we can put Hobbs on third. Will you?”

“I’d like to,” said Tom eagerly, “if you want me to.”

“Surest thing you know, kid! That’s all right, then. I’ll tell Walter. We’ll need to put up a corking game to-day if we’re going to lick those toughies over there. Don’t forget. Three o’clock!”

Tom played in right field that afternoon, made no errors, and had three hits and one run to his credit. The Red Sox won their game, 7 to 5, however. On the way back Walter White, who captained the Blues, said:

“Can you go over to Lynton with us Saturday, Pollock? Wish you would. You played a dandy game to-day; didn’t he, Thorny?”

“Sure! The kid’s a ballplayer, that’s what he is. He’ll come; won’t you, Tom?”

“If you want me,” said Tom.

“We sure do! Wish you might have played all summer with us,” replied White. “You’ve got a fine eye for the ball. That two-bagger of yours was as clean a wallop as I’ve seen for a long time!”

“And that red-headed pitcher of theirs,” sighed Thorny, “was no cinch! I couldn’t find him at all!”

“We’re going over by trolley at half-past one,” said White. “Meet at Main and Ash, Pollock. Don’t be late, will you?”