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 sphere in order to pitch that famous slow one of his that had foiled the best batsmen of the enemy last spring. But at the distance Laurie couldn't get it.

Pemberton was eighteen, tall, rather thin, rather awkward until he stepped into the box and took a baseball in his capable hand. After that he was as easy and graceful as a tiger. The difference between Pemberton's smooth wind-up and delivery and Kewpie's laborious and jerky performance brought Laurie a sigh of despair. As he stopped a high one with his mitt and quite dexterously plucked it from the air with his right hand, Laurie was more than ever convinced that the campaign on which he and Ned and Kewpie had embarked last evening so grimly and determinedly was foredoomed to failure. Gee! Kewpie would never be able to pitch like George Pemberton if he lived to be a hundred years old and practised twenty-four hours a day! Laurie almost wished that he had been born tongue-tied! Later, returning to the gymnasium, Laurie ranged himself beside Pemberton. He had provided himself with a ball, and now he offered it to the pitcher. "Say, George, show me how you