"That's better," commented the manager with something like a sigh of relief.

"And don't let this go any further," suggested the captain. "We don't want it known that there came near being a break in the Stars. Now get together, fellows. Show up at practice strong next time, and we'll win our next game!"

"That's the way to talk!" cried Tom Davis, and the crisis was pa.s.sed--for a time.

And, to the delight of Joe, he found that he had made many new friends, chiefly because of his sensational run. The members of the team, of course, crowded around him congratulating him, and asking him how he did it. But, in addition, there now flocked into the dressing room a crowd of lads who had witnessed the game. Some of them were high school pupils who knew Joe, at least by sight, but they now came up and spoke to him.

Other town lads did the same thing.

"Gee! It's great to be popular!" exclaimed Tom, with a mock sigh. "Why wasn't I born a home-run hitter instead of good looking, I wonder?"

"Get out!" laughed Joe. "Don't make me get a swelled head."

"No danger, I guess," retorted Tom.

Darrell and the captain strolled up to Joe, who had finished dressing.

"Well, that's over, for a while," said Darrell in a low voice, evidently referring to the unpleasant little incident. "I want to ask you to do some practicing, Matson. You need to try throwing a bit, for it's a long heave in from centre field and, to be frank, you aren't any too good at it."

"I'll practice every day," exclaimed our hero eagerly.

"And I'll coach him," added Tom.

"Get out, you lobster, you need coaching yourself," said the captain with a laugh. "You'll get rusty if Darrell doesn't get off first and give you a chance."

"I'll do it more often now," said the manager. "I want to be more on the coaching line. Two wallops in two weeks is more than the Stars can stand."

"Who do we play next week?" asked Tom.

"The Denville Whizzers, but I don't imagine we'll have much trouble with them," said the manager. "However, it won't do to take any chances.

Practice hard, fellows," and with that he left the dressing room.

Sam Morton had gone out some time before and Joe and Tom soon followed.

As they strolled down the street toward their homes Tom said:

"Say Joe, I was in earnest in saying I'd coach you. I believe you do need practice in throwing, and if you haven't given up the idea of pitching some day----"

"I'll never give up the idea until I'm knocked out of the box," declared Joe.

"Good! Then I'll help coach you. I was going to say it wasn't much fun practicing alone, and as a matter of fact it doesn't do much good."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I've been reading up about baseball lately. I got a book on pitching, and----"

"Say, will you lend it to me?" asked Joe eagerly. "Or tell me where I can buy one?"

"Sure I will. I was going to say that it has articles in it by star professional pitchers and a lot of them agree that it isn't much use just to go out and throw a ball at a spot on the backstop or the fence."

"What's the best way then?" asked Joe, who had supposed from his limited knowledge that to practice at hitting a certain spot with the ball was about the best he could do.

"Why, they say the best is to get something like a home plate--a flat stone say--and pitch over it with some one to catch for you."

"I suppose that would be a good way," began Joe doubtfully, "but who's going to catch for me?"

"I am!" exclaimed Tom quickly. "I said just now that I'd coach you. I'll do more than that, I'll catch for you. And the book I spoke of has other tricks of practice, so a fellow can get good control of a ball. That's the thing pitchers need it says--control. Say, we'll have some fun, you and I, down in a vacant lot practicing. When can you come?"

"How about Monday afternoon?"

"Suits me first rate."

"All right, we'll make it then, and we'll get in some scientific practice for you. Maybe after all, you'll pitch in Sam's place before the season is over."

"I wouldn't want to do it, if it's going to make a row in the team."

"Oh, don't let that worry you. Lots of the fellows don't like Sam any too well. They'd as soon have some one else in the box if he could deliver the goods. Well, so long; see you Monday, if not before."

"I guess I'm glad dad moved to Riverside after all," mused Joe as he walked toward home. "I was afraid I wouldn't like it at first, but now I'm on the team it's all right. I hope dad doesn't have any business troubles though. I wonder what is wrong for I'm sure something is. I hope it doesn't prevent me from going to boarding school next year," and with this reflection Joe went in the house.

CHAPTER XIV

A KETTLE OF APPLE SAUCE

"Well, Joe, are you all ready?" It was Tom Davis, and he had called at Joe's house on his way from school, as Tom had to remain in physics cla.s.s to finish an experiment, and Joe had gone on ahead.

"I sure am, Tom. Where are we going to practice? Over on the fairgrounds?"

"No, that's too far. We'll go down in the vacant lots back of Mrs.

Peterkin's house. There's a high fence back of her house and that will be a good backstop, in case I can't hold your hot ones."

"Oh, I guess you can all right," replied Joe with a laugh, "though I wish I did have lots of speed."

"Say now, don't make that mistake," said Tom earnestly, as Joe came out to join him, having picked up some old b.a.l.l.s and a pitcher's glove.

"What mistake?"

"Trying for speed before you have control. I saw an article about that in the pitching book last night. I brought it along. Here it is," and both boys looked eagerly over the book as they walked along.

As Tom had said, some of the best authorities on pitching did advocate the trying for control before a prospective boxman endeavored to get either speed or curves.

"The thing seems to be," remarked Joe, "to get a ball just where you want it, ten times out of ten if you can, and then when you can do that, try for the in and out shoots and the drop."

"That's it," agreed Tom. "Are you any good at throwing stones?"

"I don't know. Why?"