“I don’t know your signals,” he objected. “You tell me what you want.”
“Pitch some straight ones,” suggested the coach.
Kewpie obliged. His stand in the box and his wind-up were different from what they had been when Laurie had last caught him. Considering his build, Kewpie’s appearance and movements were easy and smooth. He had a queer habit of bringing the pitching hand back close to the left thigh after the delivery, which, while novel, was rather impressive. Kewpie’s deliveries were straight enough to please any one, but Mr. Mulford called:
“Speed them up, son. You’d never get past the batsman with those!”
Kewpie shot the ball away harder. Laurie returned it and thumped his mitt encouragingly. “That’s the stuff, Kewpie! Steam ’em up! Now then!”
Kewpie pitched again and once more. Mr. Mulford spoke. “You haven’t any speed, Proudtree,” he said regretfully. “The weakest batter on the scrub could whang those out for home runs. Got anything else?”
Kewpie had recovered his assurance now. “Sure,” he answered untroubledly. “What do you want?”
Mr. Mulford replied a trifle tartly. “I want to see anything you’ve got that looks like pitching. I certainly haven’t seen anything yet!”
“Curve some,” said Laurie.
Kewpie fondled the ball very carefully, wound up, and pitched. The result was a nice out-shoot that surprised even Laurie, who nearly let it get past him into the net. “That’s pitching,” he called. “Let’s have another.”