Kingdon left it to Pence to make advances, and presently Horace wanted to try his arm. Kingdon caught for him, never uttering a word of encouragement or criticism all the time the black-eyed chap was working, although Pence was using all the speed at his command.
"I say," called Horace at last, "what d'you think of them?"
"You don't want to know what I think, do you?" Kingdon asked quietly.
"I wouldn't ask if I didn't," returned the heated Pence.
"I think you're likely to throw your arm out of joint, if you keep on," was Kingdon's frank response. "I'd take care if I were you. You don't put the ball over; you let it fly anywhere, as long as you put steam behind it."
Pence was unable to hide his chagrin. He flung the ball as far as he could across the field, and sullenly started back for his camp. But he slipped on his sweater as he went. He had remembered Kingdon's advice of the week before.
"He got what he asked for, and didn't like it," Peewee snickered.
"Shows his bringing up!" muttered Cloudman.
"Regular Chesterfield for manners!" chuckled Red Phillips.
Midkiff, too disgusted to speak at all, looked his contempt.