owner's uncle whose sprawling factories had made the
family money that bought the owner his team. "Go
ahead!" he bawled at the right fielder, who was hesitating
halfway to the dugout.
Boley nodded from the mound. When the outfielders
were all out of the way he set himself and went into his
windup. Boleslaw's windup was a beautiful thing to all
who chanced to behold itunless they happened to root
for another team. The pitch was more beautiful still.
"I got it, I got it!" Andalusia cried from behind the
plate, waving the ball in his mitt. He returned it to the
pitcher triumphantly, as though he could hardly believe he
had caught the Boleslaw screwballafter only the first
week of spring training.
He caught the second pitch, too. But the third was
unpredictably low and outside. Andalusia dived for it in
vain.
"Ball one!" cried the umpire. The catcher scrambled
up, ready to argue.
"He is right," Boley called graciously from the mound.
"I am sorry, but my foot slipped. It was a ball."
"Thank you," said the umpire. T"P_ next screwball was
a strike, though, and so were the thiee sinkers to the third
manthough one of those caught a little piece of the bat
and turned into an into-the-dirt foul.
Boley came off the field to a spattering of applause. He
stopped under the stands, on the lip of the dugout. "I
guess I am a little rusty at that, Fogarty," he called.
"Don't let me forget to pitch another inning or two be-
fore we play Baltimore next month."
"I won't!" snapped Fogarty. He would have said more,
but the owner's uncle was talking.
"I don't know much about baseball, but that strikes me
as an impressive performance. My congratulations."
"You are right," Boley admitted. "Excuse me while I
shower, and then we can resume this discussion some
more. I think you are a better judge of baseball than you
say."
The owner's uncle chuckled, watching him go into the
dugout. "You can laugh," said Fogarty bitterly. "You
don't have to put up with that for a hundred fifty-four
games, and spring training, and the Series."
"You're pretty confident about making the Series?"
Fogarty said simply, "Last year Boley win thirty-one
games."
The owner's uncle nodded, and shifted position un-
comfortably. He was sitting with one leg stretched over a
large black metal suitcase, fastened with a complicated
lock. Fogarty asked, "Should I have one of the boys put
that in the locker room for you?"
