“What’s this going to be, Kewpie?” asked Ned. “A drop?”
“Straight ball. Just warming up.” Kewpie let go, and the ball struck the fence and bounded back. Laurie sighed and went after it.
“I’m not as young as I was, Kewpie,” he said, “and anything more than ten feet on either side of me is likely to get away. See if you can put ’em somewhere near the plate.”
Kewpie laughed. “That one got away from me, Nod.”
“Me, too,” said Laurie. “Let her come. Shoot her in!”
Kewpie’s next offering was a good deal better, and Laurie didn’t have to move to get it. Kewpie sent four or five more balls within reasonable distance of the sweater. There was no speed in them, nor were they other than perfectly straight offerings. Still, as Laurie reflected encouragingly, it was something to be able to do that much. He was not quite sure he could do it himself the first few times.
“All right, old son,” he called. “Speed ’em up now.”
But speed did not seem to be included in Kewpie’s budget of tricks. The first attempt sent the ball over Laurie’s head and likewise over the fence. While Ned, sighing, went after it, Laurie indulged in gentle sarcasms. Kewpie thumped his glove with a bare fist and smiled genially. Then the ball came back, and Kewpie began again. Laurie picked the ball from the trampled turf between his feet and viewed Kewpie questioningly.
“Didn’t you have some drop on that?” he queried.
“Sure,” answered Kewpie. “Here’s another. You watch it.”