CHAPTER VIII
KEWPIE AGREES
“Kewpie!”
“Yeah?”
“Come on over here!” It was Laurie calling from the doorway of No. 16. The door across the corridor opened, and the somewhat sleepy countenance of Kewpie peered forth inquiringly. The hour was 9:40.
“What do you want?” asked Kewpie. “I’m just going to bed. I’m tired, Nod.”
“You come over here,” was the stern, inexorable answer. “Ned and I want to talk to you.”
“Well, gosh, I tell you I’m sleepy,” muttered Kewpie, but he crossed the hall and followed Laurie into No. 16. Kewpie was chastely clad in a suit of out-size pajamas, which were white with a broad blue stripe at short intervals. Kewpie in night attire looked about half again as large as he did when more or less confined in street costume. Laurie thrust the visitor into the arm-chair. Kewpie subsided with a long sigh and blinked wonderingly, first at Nid and then at the determined Nod. Then he placed a large and pudgy hand in the neighborhood of his face and yawned cavernously.
“What’s the matter with you fellows?” he inquired. “What are you looking at me like that for?”
“Kewpie,” said Ned, “do you honestly think you can ever learn to pitch?”
“What!” Kewpie woke up a trifle. “I can pitch right now. Who says I can’t?”