It wasn’t necessary, however, for the detective to put any dents in Mr. Wright, for the next morning Mr. Cummings informed Tom that it was all arranged. “It wasn’t so easy to bring him around, Tom, but he came after awhile. I told him, among other things, that it would be good business. Said we sold a lot of things to the high school boys and that if you played ball with them and won games for them it would make us more popular than ever and we’d get more trade.” Mr. Cummings paused to chuckle reminiscently. “I sort of think that’s what did the business, son. After that he listened real patiently and finally gave in. So you’re to have three afternoons off every week this month and two next. You’d better see Mr. Talbot yourself and see what days he wants you. I guess Monday had better be one of them, for that’s usually rather a dull day with us. Then Wednesday and Saturday might do for the others.”

Tom thanked Mr. Cummings gratefully.

“Seems to me, though, it would be fairer if you were to take something off my wages until the baseball season’s over,” he urged. “I—I’d feel better about it.”

“Well, I suggested that to Horace, but he turned on me and nearly bit my head off. Said, so long as we didn’t have to get anyone in to take your place while you were out, he guessed we needn’t be so tarnation mean as all that! I guess we won’t quarrel about a dollar or so, Tom. After all, there is something in what I told Horace about getting more trade by letting you play with the team, and I guess we don’t stand to lose anything.”

Mr. Talbot suggested Thursdays instead of Wednesdays as one of the days, since the midweek games were played on Wednesdays and he believed Tom could learn more on a practice afternoon. So it was finally arranged that Tom was to report for practice on Monday and Thursday afternoons and for play on Saturdays until June. After that Thursdays and Saturdays were to suffice. Meanwhile Mr. George had talked with the coach and had agreed to go out to the field twice a week, and oftener if he could, and take the pitchers in hand. Tom couldn’t determine which seemed the most pleased, Mr. Talbot or Mr. George!

Tom’s first practice with the team took place the next Monday. He had supplied himself with a uniform and felt both proud and a trifle self-conscious as he walked onto the field in company with Sidney and Tommy Hughes. Nothing very exciting fell to his lot that day. For a half-hour he pitched to the batsmen in front of the net, and later sat on the bench and watched Pete Farrar and Toby Williams work in the box. Mr. Talbot instructed him to observe the fielding methods and watch particularly the conduct of the pitchers with men on bases. Tom soon saw that a pitcher had more to do than pitch. He had to handle balls in his own territory, cover first base on many occasions, and run up to the plate whenever a ball went past the catcher. He also learned things about holding the runners on bases, envying the dexterity with which Pete Farrar, who, like Tom, was a right-handed pitcher, whirled about to step from the box and peg the ball to first or second. Tom did not get into the practice game at all that afternoon, Mr. Talbot probably thinking that it would do him more good to look on from the bench. Captain Warner was friendly in a rather chilly way, but Pete Farrar quite evidently regarded him as an unwelcome interloper. The rest of the fellows, though, showed him that he was more than welcome. His advent had caused a sensation and practice was attended by nearly the entire school. Had they but known it, Cummings and Wright had already received a good many dollars’ worth of gratuitous advertisement!

On Thursday practice was harder and more prolonged than on any day thus far, perhaps owing to the fact that on the preceding day the team, with Pete Farrar pitching four disastrous innings and Toby Williams finishing the game, had gone down in overwhelming defeat before a nine composed of high school graduates led by Walter White. There was nearly an hour of batting practice, a good thirty minutes of fielding work, with Manager Arbuckle knocking fungoes to the outfield and Coach Talbot hitting balls to the basemen. Tom had his first practice in base-running that afternoon and discovered that he had a lot to learn. The first time he attempted a slide he landed a yard short of second and was easily out. Later the two teams played four innings, and Tom pitched again for the scrubs. Whether his previous exertions were responsible for his poor showing, I can’t say. But he got a severe drubbing that afternoon and went home surprised and discouraged.

“What could you expect?” asked Mr. George. “You were tired. Seems to me funny that Bat would let you pitch after having you run bases. Maybe, though, he meant to show you something you didn’t know, Tom.” Tom looked a question, and Mr. George added: “That you can’t do good work in the box if you’re not fresh and fit.”

Mr. George himself took hold of his part of the coaching the following afternoon. As it was a Friday, Tom was not on hand, but Mr. George told him about it when they met before dinner.

“A nice lot of fellows,” he said. “I had a real good time out there. That kid Williams is going to make a pitcher some day if he sticks at it. He’s a smooth little article, Tom. Of course he’s young yet, but he shows a lot of promise. The older fellow, Farrar, will never do anything. He’s got started all wrong and he won’t let anyone tell him anything. He hasn’t any head, either. He will be some better when I get through with him, I guess, but he won’t ever amount to much.”

The baseball squad took to the big, quiet-mannered, good-hearted detective at once; Tom saw that the next day. Mr. George even threatened to rival Coach Talbot in the affections of the boys. The team journeyed to Minturn on Saturday, and Tom went along. The game with the Minturn team was a loosely played contest, which the Brown-and-Blue won by the one-sided score of 14 to 3. Tom pitched three innings, relieving Pete Farrar in the seventh. He wasn’t forced to extend himself any to dispose of the Minturn hitters that faced him. He struck out five, made one put-out, and assisted twice. At bat, which he reached but once, he managed to make a rather scratchy hit and got as far as second when Buster slashed a hard one down the left alley. Then he performed a “bone-head” play that ended his chances of scoring and put the side out. Bert Meyers popped a high infield fly and Tom started for third before the frenzied cries of the coaches could stop him. By the time he was racing back to his base the Minturn first baseman had caught the fly and pegged the ball across to shortstop and Tom made the third out. He felt very much ashamed of himself and rather expected censure from Coach Talbot. But all the latter said as Tom went over to the bench was, “Infield flies are bad things to run on, Pollock.”

Captain Warner, however, was not so lenient, and regarded Tom with a scowl as he passed him on his way to second. “You want to keep your wits about you, Pollock,” he said severely, “when you play this game. Don’t you know enough to hold your base on an infield fly, when there’s only one out?”

“I’m sorry,” he said contritely. Warner grunted.

To atone for his mistake, Tom set to work and ended the contest then and there, disposing of the next three batsmen with exactly thirteen pitched balls. The victory, however, was not one to be very proud of, for the error column of Manager Arbuckle’s score-sheet showed seven little black dots.

It was the Monday morning following the Minturn game that Tom stopped for a minute to watch the work on the new office building. The concrete foundation piers were in place and big steel girders were being lifted about by towering cranes like so many jack-straws. While he watched at the edge of the throng, the contractor to whom Mr. Cummings had sold the pump passed and chanced to catch sight of him.

“Hello!” he said, turning back with a smile, “aren’t you the boy who told me about that pump that Cummings sold me?”

“Yes, sir. Was it all right?”

“Yes, it saved us a lot of money, I guess. Are you still with Cummings?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ask him if he wants to buy it back, then. I’m through with it. Any fair offer takes it.”

The contractor nodded and hurried on, and Tom took up his journey again. He didn’t go far, though. Presently he was back at the corner, where a minute’s search discovered the contractor.

“Mr. Cummings will give five dollars for that pump, sir,” he announced.

“Five dollars!” The contractor stared and then laughed. “Well, he isn’t risking his money to-day, is he? You tell Cummings——” Then he paused. “Will he take it away to-day at that price?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right. Tell him to come and get it.”

At the store Tom sought Mr. Cummings. “Will you loan me five dollars, please, sir, until I can get it from the bank?” he asked.

“I guess we can accommodate you, Mr. Pollock,” responded the senior partner with a smile. “Miss Miller, give Tom five dollars and put it on memorandum, please. He wants to return it to-day. What are you doing, Tom? Buying stocks this morning?”

“Pumps,” laughed Tom. “I’m going to take back that pump we sold. Could I store it in the cellar again?”

“What! Don’t tell me that white elephant is coming back!” exclaimed Mr. Cummings in mock dismay.

“Yes, sir, he offered to sell it and I said you’d give him five dollars for it and take it away to-day. Don’t you think it’s worth five dollars?”

“Of course it is! Hang it, Tom, if you had a dozen pumps, I’ll bet you’d be a millionaire by the end of the year! I don’t see, though, why he’d want to sell it for five dollars. It would be worth that much for old iron.”

“I guess he bought another one, sir. Anyway, he said he was through with it. He seemed to think five dollars wasn’t very much for it.”

“I should say it wasn’t!”

“But he took it,” added Tom. “So I’m going to bring it over here and put it in the basement again, if you don’t mind. Maybe I’ll be able to sell it again some day.”

“Sell it again! Why, Tom, I expect you’ll get rich on that old pump!”

“I’ll be about eighteen dollars behind to-night, sir.”

“What? Didn’t I hand you over a sixty-dollar check only a couple of weeks ago?”

“Yes, sir,” Tom laughed, “but you must remember that I’d already paid sixty dollars for it.”

“That’s so,” acknowledged Mr. Cummings. “Well, send it along, Tom, and I’ll look after it when it comes. And I’ll see if I can’t find a buyer for you.”

One afternoon Mr. George announced that he had conquered the science of pitching the “knuckle-ball” and set about teaching it to Tom. It wasn’t easy, for Tom’s hand was rather small and his fingers short. In the end, though, he learned to pitch the deceptive ball fairly well, although it never became a favourite offering with him. It did serve him well, however, on many occasions, for the “knuckle-ball,” when properly delivered, is particularly deceptive. Twice a week the high school team met an opponent and marked up a victory or defeat. The team was showing progress each week, but was playing erratically. Several times contests that should have resulted in easy wins for Amesville became victories for their opponents, while, to balance things up, more than once a game that was conceded to the enemy at the start was turned into a triumph for the Brown-and-Blue. Mr. George worked wonders with the battery candidates, for he didn’t confine himself altogether to the pitchers. Sam Craig learned many a trick from the new coach. Pete Farrar showed improvement over his early-season form, while Toby Williams was fast developing into a brilliant pitcher. Only his youthfulness kept Williams back. He hadn’t the strength to pitch nine hard innings and he was never allowed to attempt that feat. But as a relief pitcher he was a big success. The first of June Mr. George, unfortunately for the pitching staff, had to go away and was gone for nearly a fortnight. Tom missed him a good deal, for, although he went into the yard by himself before dinner and practised his curves and breaks, and quite often found someone to don the catcher’s mitt and stand in front of him, it was not like having the detective there to advise and instruct.

Tom’s two afternoons of practice had greatly improved his playing. As a batsman he would doubtless never perform in the three-hundred class, but he was fully as good with the stick as two or three other players who had won places on the team. He soon learned how to field his position and became so adept at throwing to bases that runners no longer took daring leads when he was on the mound. He and Buster, who played first, got so that they worked together like machinery and many an unfortunate runner was caught off just when things looked their brightest.

When June came Tom’s two afternoons of practice became one, but by that time one was sufficient to keep him in condition, since he always had a half-hour workout every day before dinner. Mr. Cummings followed the fortunes of the high school team, and of Tom especially, with great interest. Once or twice a week, usually when there was a game to be played, he would go out to the field and take his place on the players’ bench, evidently under the impression that Mr. Talbot’s original invitation held good for the season. No one, however, ever disputed his right to the privilege and the players seemed to like to have him there.

Sometimes in the evenings Sidney and Tom and one or two of the neighbourhood youths would appear in the vacant lot near Sidney’s home and play ball, but as a general thing Tom and Sidney had had about enough of baseball by dinner time and their evenings were more likely to be spent in less strenuous ways. The Saturday games didn’t interfere with Tom’s trips to Derry and he always spent Sundays at the farm. He had told Uncle Israel about disposing of the pump, and Uncle Israel had merely commented to the effect that all the fools weren’t dead yet! But he had, Tom thought, seemed a bit pleased, nevertheless. When, later, Tom informed him smilingly that he had bought the pump back again, Uncle Israel stared and grunted.

“Seems like you were well enough rid of it before,” he said dryly. “I suppose you expect to find another idiot, eh?”

“Well, I hope to find someone who wants a good pump and is willing to pay half of what it’s worth. Besides, if I can’t sell it, I guess it will always be worth five or six dollars as junk.”

“Maybe, maybe,” replied Uncle Israel with a wave of his big hand. “Anyway, it’s your affair.”

On the first Saturday in June, Amesville was to play its first of three contests with Petersburg High School. Petersburg High was Amesville’s principal rival in all sports and the success of the baseball season was judged by the outcome of the Petersburg series. Naturally Tom expected to go into the box for the high school that afternoon and was much surprised when, after he and Pete Farrar and Toby Williams had warmed up, Coach Talbot announced that Farrar was to begin the game. Sidney, who was seated beside Tom on the bench, grumbled.

“That’s a silly way to do,” he said. “Pete’ll put us in a hole and then you’ll have to go and pull the game out of the fire. I don’t see why he doesn’t let you start it.”

“He wanted to,” said Tommy Hughes, at Sidney’s elbow, speaking in low tones, “but Frank threw a fit about it. Bat knuckled right under to him. I thought he had more backbone.”

To tell the truth, Tommy had looked for a quarrel between coach and captain and was not a little disappointed! Sidney took up the cudgels for Mr. Talbot.

“Bat knows what he’s doing,” he said stoutly. “Don’t you worry, Tommy. I dare say he just wants to show Frank that Pete isn’t any good against a hard-hitting bunch like Petersburg.”

“I like that!” exclaimed Tommy aggrievedly. “Why, you were just criticising Bat yourself!”

“Not at all,” returned Sidney loftily. “I only said——”

But what he said didn’t appear, for just then the home team was called on to take the field.