minutes. Now, Tim, I'm going to let some of the fellows steal bases.
Let's see you throw them out."

Don was glad of the respite. He retired beyond the foul lines and
watched. There was no doubt but that Tim knew his job. Short and stocky
and agile, he seemed made in a catcher's mold. He could reach second base
with a forearm throw while squatting on his heels, and a snap of the
wrist was enough to send the ball to first or to third.

"He's got an awfully strong arm," said Don to himself.

"All right, Don," called Ted.

He shed his sweater and went back to the mound. One by one the batters
were called in to hit against him. He watched for Tim's signals, and
tried to put the ball where Tim wanted it. The batters hit him freely.

When the practice ended he was worried. If older players could hit him
like that--

"Forget it," said Ted. "Fielding bunts for ten minutes took a lot of your
sap. You'll go in fresh tomorrow. Isn't that right, Tim?"

"Sure," said the catcher.

"And another thing," said the captain. "Toward the end there you were
shaking your head to Tim's signals and pitching what you wanted. None of
that tomorrow. Let Tim judge the batters. This is his second year against
town teams; he knows their game better than you."