CHAPTER XIV
A KETTLE OF APPLE SAUCE
"Well, Joe, are you all ready?" It was Tom Davis, and he had called atJoe's house on his way from school, as Tom had to remain in physicsclass to finish an experiment, and Joe had gone on ahead.
"I sure am, Tom. Where are we going to practice? Over on thefairgrounds?"
"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 willbe 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 Iwish I did have lots of speed."
"Say now, don't make that mistake," said Tom earnestly, as Joe came outto join him, having picked up some old balls and a pitcher's glove.
"What mistake?"
"Trying for speed before you have control. I saw an article about thatin the pitching book last night. I brought it along. Here it is," andboth boys looked eagerly over the book as they walked along.
As Tom had said, some of the best authorities on pitching did advocatethe trying for control before a prospective boxman endeavored to geteither speed or curves.
"The thing seems to be," remarked Joe, "to get a ball just where youwant 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?"
"Well, one fellow says that the lad who can throw a stone straight cangenerally throw a ball straight. We'll have a contest when we get downto the lots. Nobody will see us there."
"I hope not," remarked Joe. "I don't want to be laughed at the way I waswhen Sam caught me down at the fairgrounds. I guess he thought I wastrying for his place then, and that's what made him mad."
The two friends were soon down behind the high board fence that markedthe boundaries of the Peterkin property. It was rather a largeplace--the Peterkin one--and was occupied by an aged couple. Mrs.Alvirah Peterkin was quite a housewife, always engaged in some kitchenor other household duties, while Ebenezer, her husband "puttered" aroundthe garden, as the folks of Riverside expressed it.
"Well, I guess we're all ready," remarked Tom, when he had picked out alarge flat stone to represent home plate. He took his position behindit, with his back to the fence, so that if any balls got by him theywould hit the barrier and bound back.
Joe began to pitch, endeavoring to bear in mind what the book had saidabout getting the balls where he wanted them.
"That was pretty far out from the plate," called Tom dubiously, afterone effort on the part of his chum.
"I know it was. Here's a better one."
"Good! That's the stuff. It was a strike all right--right over themiddle. Keep it up."
For a time Joe kept this up, pitching at moderate speed, and then thetemptation to "cut loose" could not be resisted. He "wound up" as he hadseen professional pitchers do and let the ball go. With considerableforce it went right through Tom's hands and crashed up against the fencewith a resounding bang. It was the first ball Tom had let get past him.
"That was a hot one all right!" the catcher called, "but it was awayout."
"All right, I'll slow down again," said Joe. He was a littledisappointed that he could not combine speed and accuracy.
The boys were about to resume their practice when a face, fringed with ashock of white hair on top, and a little ring of whiskers encircling itbelow, was raised over the edge of the fence, and a mild voice demanded:
"What you boys up to now--tryin' to knock down my fence?"
"Oh, hello, Mr. Peterkin," called Tom. "We're just playingbaseball--that's all."
"Where's the rest of ye?" the old man wanted to know.
"This is all there are of us," replied Tom, waving his hand toward Joe.
"Humph! Fust time I ever heard of two boys playin' a ball game all bythemselves," commented the aged man with a chuckle. "But I s'pose it'sone of them new-fangled kind. Land sakes, what th' world a-comin' t'anyhow, I'd like t' know? Wa'al, keep on, only don't knock any boardsoffen my fence," he stipulated as he resumed the making of his garden.
The boys laughingly promised and resumed their practice. Tom was a goodcatcher and he had an accurate eye. He did not hesitate to tell Joe whenthe balls were bad and he was a severe critic, for he had taken anhonest liking to the newcomer, and wanted to see him succeed.
"Just try for control," was the gist of his advice. "The rest if it willtake care of itself."
"Don't you want to pitch and let me catch for you?" asked Joe after abit, fearing that he was somewhat selfish.
"No, I don't specially need any practice at throwing," said Tom. "Firstis my position. I like it better than any other, and catching is thebest practice I can have for that. Keep it up."
So Joe kept on, using moderate speed after the warning of Mr. Peterkin,so that no more balls struck the fence. But then again came the almostirresistible desire to put on "steam," and indulging in this Joe sent inanother "hot one."
Almost the instant it left his hand Joe realized that he had lostcontrol of the ball and that it was going wild. He instinctively reachedout to pull it back, but it was too late.
"Grab it!" he yelled to Tom.
The plucky little first baseman made a magnificent jump up in the air,but the ball merely grazed the tip of his up-stretched glove. Then itwent on over the fence at undiminished speed. An instant later therewas the cry of alarm.
"Who did that?" demanded the voice--a voice full of anger. "Who threwthat ball? Oh! Oh! Of all things! I demand to know who did it?"
Joe and Tom were silent--looking blankly one at the other. Up over thefence rose the mild and bewhiskered face of Mr. Peterkin.
"Boys," asked the aged man gently. "Did anything happen? It sounds likeit to me."
"I--I threw the ball over the fence," admitted Joe.
"Hum! Then I'm afraid something _did_ happen," went on Mr. Peterkinstill more gently. "Yes, I'm _sure_ of it," he added as the sound ofsome one coming down the garden path could be heard. "Here comesAlvirah. Something has happened. Do--do you want to run?" he asked, forrumor had it that Mrs. Peterkin was possessed of no gentle temper andMr. Peterkin--well, he was a very mild-mannered man, every one knewthat. "Do you want to run?" he asked again.
"No," said Tom.
"Of course not," added Joe. "If we broke a window we'll pay for it--I'llpay for it," he corrected himself, for he had thrown the ball.
Mrs. Peterkin advanced to where her husband was working in the garden.The boys could not see the lady but they could hear her.
"You didn't throw that ball, did you, Ebenezer?" she asked. "If youdid--at your age--cutting up such foolish tricks as playingbaseball--I--I'll----"
"No, Alvirah, I didn't do it, of course not," Mr. Peterkin hastened tosay. "It was a couple of boys. Tom Davis and a friend of his. They wereplaying ball back of the fence and----"
"And they've run off now, I'll venture!" exclaimed the rasping voice ofMrs. Peterkin.
"No--no, I don't think so, Alvirah," said Mr. Peterkin mildly. "I--Irather think they're there yet. I asked 'em if they didn't want to runand----"
"You--asked them--if--they--didn't--want--to--run?" gasped Mrs.Peterkin, as if unable to believe his words. "Why, the very--idea!"
"Oh, I knew they'd pay for any damage they did," said her husbandquickly, "and I--er--I sort of thought--well, anyhow they're overthere," and he pointed to the fence.
"Let me see them! Let me talk to them!" demanded Mrs. Peterkin.
"Stand on that soap box an' ye kin see over the fence," said Mr.Peterkin. "But look out. The bottom is sort of soft an' ye may----"
He did not finish his sentence. The very accident he feared hadhappened. Mrs. Peterkin, being a large and heavy woman, had stepped inthe middle of the box. The bottom boards, being old, had given way andthere she was--stuck with both feet in the soap box.
"Ebenezer!" she cried. "Help me! Don't you kno
w any better than to standthere staring at me? Haven't you got any senses?"
"Of course I'll help you, Alvirah," he said. "I rather thought you'd gothrough that box."
"Then you'd no business to let me use it!" she snapped.
"It allers held _me_ up when I wanted to look over the fence," he saidmildly. "But then of course I never stepped in the middle of it," headded as he helped his wife pull aside the broken boards so she couldstep out. "I kept on the edges."
"Have those boys gone?" she demanded when free.
"I don't think so. I'll look," he volunteered as he turned the soap boxup on edge and peered over the fence. "No, they're here yet," heanswered as he saw Joe and Tom standing there, trying their best not tolaugh. "Was you wantin' to speak with 'em, Alvirah?"
"Speak with them! Of course I do!" she cried. "Tell them to come aroundto the side gate. I'll _speak_ to them," and she drew herself up like anangry hen.
"Did--did they smash a window?" asked Mr. Peterkin.
"Smash a window? I only wish it was no worse than that!" cried his wife."They threw their nasty baseball into a kettle of apple sauce that wasstewing on the stove, and the sauce splashed all over my clean kitchen.Tell them to come around. I'll _speak_ to them!"
"I--I guess you'd better come in, boys," said Mr. Peterkin softly, ashe delivered the message over the fence. Then he added--but tohimself--"Maybe you might better have run while you had the chance."
"We're in for it I guess," murmured Tom, as he and Joe went around tothe side gate.