It was, he told himself, a dandy day, just the sort of a day for a ball game. And he was going to play! That was certainly bully. He’d show the fellows that he could play ball even if he was little! He paused in the middle of the drive and swung at an imaginary ball with an equally imaginary bat, and then, still in imagination, watched the ball flying high and far against the blue Spring sky.
“I’ll show ’em!” he murmured.
He had completed the purchase of three new balls in their neat red and white boxes and was out on the village street again when he heard his name spoken.
“Hello, Kid, what are you doing?”
It was “Toots” Morgan, “Toots” who still owed him that quarter, “Toots” who was to serve them with his puzzling curves and drops that afternoon. Kid scowled.
“Picking blueberries,” he replied flippantly.
“Think you’re smart, don’t you?” returned Toots with a frown.
“I think—” began Kid aggressively. Then he stopped and gazed for a moment thoughtfully at the adversary. Then, to “Toots’” surprise, he smiled genially. “I’ve been buying balls, ‘Toots.’ Ben found we hadn’t enough.”
“You’ll need a lot when we get at you,” replied “Toots,” amiably. “What kind did you get?”
Kid exhibited them and “Toots” approved, explaining at some length as he lounged along at Kid’s side why he preferred that particular make to any other. “Toots” was in very good humor this morning, it seemed, and Kid’s brain became active. He listened most respectfully to the other’s words of wisdom and viewed him admiringly.