“And, of course, you wouldn’t do that,” said Ned gravely.
“Oh, shut up,” answered Kewpie, grinning. “You don’t think I can pitch, I’ll bet.”
“You win,” replied Ned simply.
“All right, then, I’ll show you, by Joshua! You get Nod to catch me, and you’ll see. Honest, you might help a fellow, Nid, instead of joshing him. Why, say, look how I got you on the football team last fall! If I hadn’t told Joe Stevenson about you being a star half-back—”
“Yes, and you came mighty close to getting your silly dome knocked clean off you,” interrupted Ned grimly. “A nice bunch of trouble you got me into!”
“Well, it came out all right, didn’t it?” asked Kewpie irrepressibly. “Didn’t you win the old game for us with that kick of yours? Sure, you did! I’ll say so!”
“Never you mind about that, old son. If you expect me to help you get on the baseball team you needn’t crack up what you did last fall!”
Kewpie looked momentarily pained, but perhaps he was accustomed to the ingratitude of human nature. Anyway, he arose with careful deliberation from the window-seat, an inquiring palm laid against his stomach, and smiled forgivingly down on Ned. “Well, I’ve got to be going back,” he announced. “Tell Nod I’ll be in about six, won’t you? And—er—say, you don’t happen to have a half-dollar you don’t need right away, I suppose.”
“I might,” answered Ned, reaching into a pocket. “Going to bribe your way into baseball, you fat rascal?”
“No, but I went off without paying for the stuff at the Widow’s, Nid; clean forgot all about it, and—”