CHAPTER VI

PSYCHOLOGY

By Wednesday the second――or the “Tuskers,” as the first surreptitiously called it――was doing rather better. Neither Frost nor Purdy yet had anything much to offer, and they yielded hits continuously, but the infield pulled itself together and here and there an individual shone brightly. “Slim” Scott, at first base, for instance, began to show rather a talent for his work. Slim was tall and long of arm, and, while somewhat deliberate, was also dependably steady. Connell, shortstop, who had recently been chosen captain, was another high spot. And then there was Jack Cooper, first choice catcher, hard-working and plucky, who handled the pitchers nicely and could peg a good throw to second. As for the others, they were so far no more than promises, and as for batting, well, the second hadn’t yet discovered just what that was, but it was learning. Tusks put the team through a solid hour of practice every afternoon before he led it across to oppose the first, and batting in front of the net consumed the major portion of the period. Clif began to show promise as a hitter, although there were plenty who bettered him at it daily, while Tom, with more playing experience, was making slow progress. Perhaps this was partly because Tom had much to unlearn. Tusks had ideas of his own on batting form and was quite out of sympathy with individual eccentricities. A few of the second-nine candidates who had undergone instruction at his hands before got along very well during that first fortnight, but the rest were continually being reminded to stand up to the plate, which, with Billy Purdy in one of his erratic moods, was something requiring real physical courage. Nevertheless, Tusks required that the batters should fairly toe the rubber. “If you can’t get out of the way of a ball before it hits you,” he said, “you’re too slow to bat at all.”

He was also down on “swings.” If you wanted to please Tusks you held the bat a foot from the end and never, never let it get behind your shoulder. Many of the fellows had their own particular idols and tried to copy their styles; there were at least half a dozen imaginary Ruths in the second squad, but this course was speedily discouraged by the coach. “After you’re playing ball for half a dozen years,” he said one day to Evans, “you can stand any way you like and swing any way you like, and walk to first on your hands, if you fancy doing it, but there’s only one way to learn to bat, and that way’s the _right_ way. And when you fellows spread your feet all over the box or start your swing from somewhere around the back of your necks you’re all wrong. If I want to hit a nail on the head with a hammer I don’t hold the hammer off at arm’s length. I hold it a foot or so away, and when I strike I hit the nail and not my thumb. In other words, fellows, the longer the swing the less accuracy. Now try it again, Evans. Shorten your grip. That’s better. Now, watch the ball and meet it square.”

One of Mr. Wadleigh’s favorite slogans was “Hit with your eyes!” Elaborated, that meant that you were to watch the pitcher from the instant you stepped into the box until the ball left his hand. After that you were to watch the ball. “Sometimes you can learn by watching the pitcher what sort of a ball he’s going to offer you. Very few pitchers that you’ll face can throw a curve with the same motion they throw a straight ball. Learn to note the difference. Study the pitcher, even when you’re on the bench. When he pitches glue your eyes to the ball and watch it until you’ve hit it or it’s gone by you. You’ll learn after a while to detect the wide ones and let them alone. The trouble with most of you right now is that you’re afraid to have a strike called on you, and you go after the ball no matter where it is. Remember that it’s only the third strike that carries a sting. That’s the one you must be ready for. It’s only weak batters who worry when the count’s against them. The experienced batters realize that if the pitcher has pinned two strikes on them the law of average is against his getting a third one over. Learn to let the ‘teasers’ alone and concentrate on the good ones. Hit with your eyes!”

Clif, having played but little ball before this spring, had fewer mistakes to correct than many of the others and followed Tusks’ instructions without questioning them. He began by standing up to the plate, keeping his feet together――the coach wasn’t insistent on that, but advised it――and confining his efforts to hitting the ball at no more than a half swing. Of course he developed faults, such as pulling away as he struck, but they were corrected before they had time to become habits. Tom, on the other hand, was prone to crouch as the ball sped toward him and straighten up as he swung, and, for this reason or some other, invariably hit, when he did hit, into the air. He was willing enough to substitute the coach’s methods for his own, but he found difficulty in doing it.

There was much discussion between Tom and Clif――yes, and Loring, too――on the subject of batting. Tom invariably instanced the phenomenal hitting of one “Clouter” Hearn, who played on one of the New Jersey State League teams, when either of the other members of the Triumvirate tactfully questioned the efficacy of his style. Clouter, it appeared, had never batted for less than .368, and Tom’s form was molded closely on Clouter’s. “Of course,” he said one evening in Loring’s room, “I don’t say that Tusks doesn’t know his business or that his dope isn’t right, but just the same I believe I can get a heap better results batting my own way than his. I could most always get a couple of good whangs off Purdy when I was doing the way I’m used to doing, but now, since I’ve been standing like a wooden soldier and sort of pecking at the ball, I don’t do a blame thing but fan!”

“I noticed, though,” remarked Loring, “that you generally hit flies, Tom.”

“Well, I hit! And that’s more than I can do now.”

“You’ll get onto it,” soothed Clif. “It takes time.”

“Just the same, I still think Tusks ought to let us hit the way it’s easiest for us to hit,” said Tom doggedly. “After all, it’s results that count, isn’t it? Sure! Well, then!”

“Probably Mr. Wadleigh thinks the results will be better when you thoroughly learn his way of batting,” said Loring. “I notice that men like Baker and Cobb hit about the way Mr. Wadleigh is teaching.”

“Back numbers!” snorted Tom. “Now this guy Clouter Hearn――”

“All right,” agreed Loring imperturbably, “let’s take some who aren’t. Sisler or Speaker, for example――”

“But, heck, I don’t know how those fellows bat,” protested Tom, “and you don’t either. You say――”

“But I do know,” answered Loring, smilingly. “I never saw them play, but I’ve got pictures of them at bat.”

“Pictures!” grumbled Tom. “Well, I guess I could find plenty of guys who hit over three hundred and don’t do it the way Tusks wants us to. I say every man for himself when it comes to hitting the old pill. It’s hits that count, no matter whether you get ’em standing on your two feet or on your left ear, by heck!”

“Right,” laughed Loring, “but the trouble is, Tom, that you can’t get them standing on your left ear, nor your right ear. As I understand it, and I’ve been out to most every practice, as you know, Tusks has to teach one method to all you fellows alike, and he’s teaching the one he considers to be the best. Isn’t that the way you understand it?”

“The weak point about Tusks,” remarked Clif regretfully, “is that he never saw Clouter Hearn play!”

“Shut up,” said Tom, grinning. “Oh, I don’t say Tusks isn’t all right, Loring. And I suppose he does have to teach one style to the lot of us. And I’m willing enough to bat the way he says, even if I still think I can do better batting my own way, but, Sacred Ibis of the River Nile, fellows, I can’t get the hang of his way! I start all right and then Purdy or Frosty gets my goat and I forget all about acting pretty and Tusks is on my neck again. But, heck, what’s the use of worrying about it, anyway? I’ve got as much chance of making the big team as a pig has to fly. Why should I lose weight over my batting?”

“What’s the matter,” asked Clif mildly, “with playing on the second? We can’t all be heroes, you know. I wouldn’t be surprised if we got a lot of fun out of it, Tom. Besides, as Mr. Babcock told us last fall when we were on the scrub eleven, it’s the lowly second team that teaches the first how to play! He also serves, you know, who only sits and――”

“Plays the goat,” aided Tom. “Well, that’s all right, too, but it doesn’t look to me as if I’d even get a place on the second. Tusks will only keep, maybe, a dozen fellows, besides the pitchers, and I saw him looking at me just this afternoon in a way I didn’t like at all. He had a sort of ‘Fe fi, fo, fum’ expression! I’ll bet the next time there’s a decrease in the squad, I’ll be one of the decreasees!”

“No, you won’t,” said Loring confidently, “and I’ll tell you why. I’ve been watching, Tom, and I know for a fact that there are at least four other fellows on the squad now who play considerably worse than you do.”

“Of which I’m one,” said Clif sadly.

“No, you’re not. I could tell you their names, but I’m not going to. Mr. Wadleigh has cut the squad to seventeen already, fellows, and he can’t drop more than three more.”

“Oh, yes, he can,” contradicted Tom. “Because Steve will be letting four or five go pretty quick, and they’ll drop back into our gang.”

“Well, even so,” Loring replied, “I still think your chance of staying is good, Tom. And Clif’s, too. And, what’s more, I want you to stay, both of you. I’m getting interested in baseball, and I want some one I know to watch. I can’t play myself, but I can follow your fortunes and feel almost as if I were. And now here’s where the Triumvirate gets busy and does its stuff. There are three of us, and there’s only one Mr. Wadleigh, and if we can’t convince him, between us, that you and Clif are necessary to the team, why, we――we’re a punk Triumvirate!”

“Sounds fair enough,” said Tom, “but just how are we going to do it?”

“Well, I don’t quite know――yet,” confessed Loring, “but I believe there’s a way. Do you know anything about psychology?”

“Not much. I had one a couple of years ago, but I ran it against an ice-wagon.”

“Cut out the comedy,” said Clif severely. “Loring’s got a scheme. Let’s hear it.”

“Well, I suppose it is just an idea so far. But here’s the way it looks to me, Clif. Suppose you and Tom make up your minds firmly to play good ball and make the second. And suppose I make up my mind just as earnestly to do everything I can to help you. That makes three of us, all――all concentrating on one purpose, one result, doesn’t it?”

“Your arithmetic is perfect,” said Tom gravely.

“Well, there must be something in this psychology stuff,” continued Loring. “I mean in the mastery of the will and――and mental suggestion and all that. You read of all sorts of cases where the thing’s been done. Some of them must be true, don’t you think?”

“You mean,” asked Clif, “that we are to will ourselves onto the second team?”

“Not exactly that. I mean you are to start right now with the determination to make the team and work as hard as you know how; make up your minds to play better every day――”

“Every day in every play I’m getting――”

“Shut up, Tom!” said Clif. “While we’re trying to make the team we’re to keep telling ourselves that we’re _going_ to. Is that it, Loring?”

“Yes. Suppose the fellows who are after the positions you want play hard but don’t keep their minds on what they’re after, don’t use their wills; and suppose you play just as hard and never lose sight of why you’re doing it, of what you’re going after, and use all your will power. Isn’t it fair to assume that you’ll have the edge on the other chaps?”

“Y-yes,” assented Clif. “I see what you mean.”

“So do I,” said Tom, “but what I’d like to know is what’s to prevent those other guys trying the psychology stunt too!”

“Nothing, but they just won’t think of it. You hadn’t, had you?”

“I’ll say I hadn’t! Heck, I never took much stock in this mental suggestion stuff, Loring. It always sounds nutty to me.”

“I don’t think it’s nutty,” said Loring. “Doesn’t it stand to reason that your chance of getting a thing is better if you bend all your energies to getting it? And a fellow’s energies aren’t wholly physical, are they? His mind――”

“That’s all right, but this thing of ‘willing’ something to happen, now; that’s different from just _wanting_ it to, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. You can want anything a whole lot and yet not set your mental energies to the job of going after it. That’s the point I’m trying to make. Look here, Tom, have you ever watched a pole-vaulter at work? Do you suppose that he’s thinking about what he’s going to have for supper or――or some fool thing like that? He isn’t. He’s saying to himself, _hard_: ‘I’m going to do it! I’m going over! This time I’m going to _make_ it!’ And he isn’t thinking about a thing in the world but just getting up there and straightening his body out right and clearing that bar! And if he didn’t _think_ he was going to do it, if he didn’t use his will as well as his body, he never would do it!”

“Keno!” said Tom. “I get you, old scout. Like when Clif made that last goal in the hockey game awhile back. I’ll bet it was just his _will_ that shot that puck in, for, goodness knows, he didn’t have any command over the rest of him!”

Clif laughed, but Loring went on, still seriously. “‘Work and Will’ is the slogan, fellows. But we don’t have to stop there. Remember that it’s ‘one for all and all for one.’ Each of us helps the others every chance he gets.”

“Such as how?” asked Clif.

“Well, if you see Tom doing something the wrong way you’ll tell him. If Tom sees you making mistakes he will tell you. If I see either of you missing an opportunity I’ll put my oar in. Being on the side-lines, so to speak, I might, you know. Then there’s propaganda. Whenever any of us sees a chance to speak a good word for another we’ll do it. And there may be other ways, too. The main thing is to be looking for them and to use them. Now what do you say? Remember it’s three to one, and that’s a sure thing in any fight!”

“Looks to me,” objected Tom, “more like three to two. Suppose I want to play second base. I’ve got ‘Stu’ Evans against me, for one, and Coach Connover for another. Stu wants to keep the job and Steve wants him to.”

“Mr. Connover won’t want him to if you show you’re as good as Evans. But, for the sake of argument, call it three to two, Tom. That’s still a big margin.”

“It might be if Steve didn’t have a whole lot more to say than the whole bunch of us!”

“That’s the point. It’s up to us to see that Steve says what we want him to! That’s where our wills get in their work. He may have more authority than you, or the three of us together, Tom, but your _will_ is just as strong as his is!”

“Is it?” asked Tom startledly. “What do you know about that?”

“Of course it is. And you can make it stronger all the time by using it. In many of us the will power is merely dormant until we begin to exercise it.”

“Well, it’s all sort of mixed-up to me,” said Tom. “Guess I’ll never quite get the rights of it. But I’m willing to try the gag. What do I do first?”

“Quit joshing and talk sense,” advised Clif impatiently. “Loring’s got a good scheme, and it won’t hurt us a bit to try it. Even if it doesn’t get us anything it’ll be sort of fun, sort of interesting.”

“Joshing!” exclaimed Tom in hurt tones. “I wasn’t joshing. I’m just as dead serious as the rest of you, but I’ve got to know what I’m to do before I do it, haven’t I?”

“You’ve got to do what we’ve all got to do,” answered Loring. “Tell yourself over and over that you’re going to make an infield position on the second nine――”

“But I don’t want just _any_ position,” interrupted Tom anxiously; “I want to play second base!”

“And keep on telling yourself that until you believe it. When you believe it others will. Work as hard as you can for that position. Keep in mind that Clif and I are thinking and believing and working with you every minute. Work and will, Tom. Let’s go then! ‘One for all and――’”

“All for fun,” said the irrepressible Tom.