if you try. Suppose you take Kewpie on some of the time and see how you like it!"
"I would in an instant," responded Ned, "if you'd let me, but you wouldn't."
"I wouldn't!" echoed Laurie incredulously as he followed the other up-stairs to No. 16. "Say, you ain't so well! You just try me!"
But Ned shook his head, smiling gently. "Just now, old son, you're not quite yourself. When your better nature asserts itself you'll—"
"Oh, dry up," growled Laurie. "Throw me my Latin. There goes the bell!"
Kewpie took his ball back to No. 15, pulled a small paper-bound book entitled "How to Pitch" from a table drawer, and curled himself on the window-seat. Presently, as he turned the pages slowly, his usually placid countenance became troubled. Reaching for the ball, he wound his fingers about it, his eyes ever and anon traveling to the book. Finally he arose, gathered the pillows from the two beds, and set them upright against the closet door, side by side. Then he moved an arm-chair out of the way and, having fitted his fingers around the scuffed baseball as indicated in Diagram 6, let fly. Naturally, the
