“You—you wouldn’t care to make that a promise, would you, sir?” asked Laurie. Pinky’s round, red face smiled back as, after a perceptible pause, he nodded.
“Yes, I’ll make it a promise, Turner,” he agreed. “But, mind you, you mustn’t ask me to waste my time. If your Great Unknown gets so he can really pitch, you let me know, and I’ll look him over. But no duds, Turner!”
When, just before supper that evening, Laurie jubilantly repeated the conversation to Kewpie, Kewpie was all swelled up over that title of Great Unknown until Ned dryly remarked that most Great Unknowns never amounted to a hill of beans. Even that pessimistic utterance failed to dispel all of Kewpie’s pleasure, however.
“That’s all right,” he said. “But some of them make good, don’t they? Well, here’s one of ’em. You ask Nod if I didn’t pitch some mighty nice curves this morning.”
“Yeah,” agreed Laurie glumly, “they curved all right, but you mustn’t think that a batter’s going to step out of his box to hit your balls, Kewpie. Batters aren’t that accommodating!”
“Gosh,” complained Kewpie, “you don’t give a fellow credit when he deserves it. If you think it’s any fun going through that stunt every morning—”
“Who started it?” demanded Laurie.
“Well, that’s all right, but—”
“You’ll get a nice long rest pretty soon,” said Ned soothingly. “Spring recess’ll be along in less than two weeks, old son.”
Kewpie made no reply for a moment. Then, “Well,” he began hesitantly, “I was thinking, Nid, that maybe I ought—oughtn’t—oughtn’t to go home at recess.”