“If anyone comes,” whispered Small, “shove it out of sight quick. Here, you’ve got it upside down!”
“Oh, have I?” Kid viewed it earnestly. “I thought it was going to be a mug,” he ventured at last.
“We—ell, mugs are so common, I thought I’d make it a vase. Don’t you think that’s a very graceful shape? Nan’s tickled to death with it.”
“What’s all this?” Kid pointed to the embellishment. “What’s that thing?”
“That’s a wreath of laurel leaves,” replied Small a trifle exasperatedly. “And those are crossed bats, and that’s a ball. The inscription will be underneath there; see? I didn’t put that on because I don’t letter very well. Do you like it?”
“I guess it will do,” replied Kid, “but I don’t know that I just like the shape of it. It looks too much like a water pitcher, doesn’t it?”
“No, it doesn’t! If you knew anything about art you’d know that that is a very beautiful shape. It—it’s Etruscan.”
“Is it? Well, just the same it looks like a pitcher and I may decide to have it changed.”
“You may decide to have it changed!” Small laughed hoarsely. “What have you got to say about it? I’m the one that’s doing this, Kid.”
“Well, I’m the one that’s paying for it, ain’t I?”