“Awfully pretty, isn’t it?” observed Hugh, nodding toward the wide expanse of new green that led away to the ribbon of river beyond. “Reminds me a lot of home—I mean England.” It sounded as if he was correcting himself, and Dud asked:
“But England is your home, isn’t it?”
Hugh nodded. “I suppose it is, only when I’m here I like to remember that I’m part American, if you know what I mean.”
“Your mother is American, isn’t she?” asked Dud.
“Yes, she was born in Maryland. Her folks have lived there for a long time. It’s a bit odd, Baker, but sometimes I feel as if I were more U. S. A. than British. Being sort of half-and-half like that, a fellow doesn’t quite know where he is, if you know what I mean!”
“I dare say,” murmured Dud. It was the first time that Hugh Ordway had ever approached him, and he felt rather embarrassed. The desire to make a good impression on the other only resulted in tying his tongue up. But Hugh appeared not to notice the fact.
“How are you getting on,” he asked, “with your bowl—your pitching?”
“Just fair, I guess. How do you like it? Baseball, I mean.”
“Crazy about it! I’ll never learn to play decently, I fancy, but it’s a jolly game, isn’t it? What I like best is batting, only I can’t seem to hit the ball very well yet. Myatt fools me every time, you know. I got a couple of good ones off Nate Leddy the other day, though. Are you pitching today?”