“What do you want me to say?” Laurie stared frowningly at his mitten.
“Why, you know what I asked you,” said Kewpie. “I—you—”
“But, great jumpin’ Jupiter, Kewpie, I can’t ask Pinky to put you on the squad just because you can pitch a sort of a drop! You haven’t an ounce of speed; you can’t curve ’em—”
“Well, but I haven’t had any work!” protested the other. “Gee, I guess Nate Beedle couldn’t do much better the first time he pitched!”
“But Nate knows how, you simple fish! All the work in the world won’t make you any better if—”
“Practice makes perfect, don’t it?” interrupted Kewpie indignantly.
“Maybe. Maybe not. If you don’t know anything about pitching you can practise from now until—”
“But I do know, I tell you. All I need is practice. I’ve got a book that tells—”
“Book be blowed!” exploded Laurie. “You can’t learn pitching by taking a correspondence-course, you fat-head!”
“Quit your arguing, you two,” said Ned. “Laurie’s quite right, Kewpie. He can’t recommend you to Mr. Mulford until you’ve got more to show than you’ve shown just now. But I don’t see what’s to prevent you from learning more tricks or what’s to prevent Laurie from helping you if he can. Seems to me the thing to do is for you two to get together every day for a while.” Ned was looking meaningly at his brother. “Maybe Kewpie’s got it in him, Laurie. You can’t tell yet, eh?”