a drop if you're going to put Nate Beedle out of business."
"That's not half so worse," commented Laurie after the next ball had performed a very creditable drop, "but let's see something else, old son. How about a curve just for variety?"
"We-ell," said Kewpie, "I haven't got curves down so well, but—" He spent a long moment fingering the ball and finally sent it off with a decidedly round-arm delivery. Laurie caught it by leaping far to the left.
"What was that supposed to be?" he asked politely.
"In-shoot," said Kewpie, but his tone lacked conviction.
"Huh," returned Laurie, "you ain't so well in your in-shoot. Better see a doctor about it. Try an out, old son."
But Kewpie's out wasn't any better, and, at the end of about twenty minutes, by which time Ned was the only member of the trio not bathed in perspiration, it had been shown conclusively that Kewpie's one and only claim to pitching fame rested on a not very remarkable drop-ball. Laurie picked up Kewpie's sweater and returned
