that the—the conspiracy is working just beautifully, Laurie. She says that Kewpie Proudtree is quite like another boy the last day or two. Is he doing any better with his pitching?"
Laurie turned and regarded her balefully. "Better? No, and he never will," he answered disgustedly. "Why that poor prune couldn't pitch ball if—if—" He stopped, suddenly recalling his statements made in the cage a scant hour and a half since. He felt rather confused. Mae nodded sympathetically.
"Well, I think it's darling of you to take so much trouble with him," she said. "Sometimes I think that friendship means so much more with boys than it does with girls."
"Friendship!" blurted Laurie.
"Why, yes, don't you call it friendship? Every one knows what great pals you and Kewpie have been all winter. I think it's perfectly lovely!"
"Huh," growled Laurie.
"For goodness' sake, what is the matter with you to-day?" asked Mae concernedly. "You're—you're awfully funny!"
Laurie summoned a mirthless and hollow laugh.
