and that's all you have got. You haven't—haven't—What is it he hasn't got, Laurie?"
"He hasn't got anything except that drop. He can't pitch a straight ball with any speed—"
"I don't want to. Any one can hit the fast ones."
"And he hasn't a curve to his name. About all he has got is a colossal nerve."
"Nerve yourself," replied Kewpie. "I don't pretend to be a Joe Bush, or—or—"
"Can you learn?" demanded Ned. "If Laurie and I help every way we know how, if you study that book of yours, if you practise hard every day for—for two months, say, will you be able to pitch decently at the end of that time?"
Kewpie was plainly puzzled by this sudden and intense interest in him; puzzled and a trifle suspicious. "What do you want to know for?" he asked slowly.
"Never mind. Answer the question." Ned was very stern.
"Sure, I'd be able to pitch after two months. Bet you I'd have everything there is."
"All right," replied Ned. "Here's the dope. Laurie and Elk Thurston and Nate Beedle and
