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 With Laurie's assistance, Kewpie told him.

"Wilkins," mused the coach. "Must have been the year before I took hold here. I don't remember any game with High School in which we got licked that badly. He must be all he says he is, though, if he can teach any one else to pitch that stuff. Well, I'm not going to tell you you're a Christy Mathewson, Proudtree, for you've got a long way to go yet before you'll be getting any medals. I guess I don't have to tell you that you aren't built quite right for baseball, eh?"

"Oh, I'm down to a hundred and fifty-four," answered Kewpie calmly, "and I'm not so slow as I look."

"I don't mean your weight," said the coach, suppressing a smile. "I mean your build. You'll have to work just about twice as hard as Beedle would, for instance, to get the same result. You're—well, you're just a little bit too close-coupled, son!"

"I've seen fellows like me play mighty good baseball," said Kewpie.

"I dare say. If you have, you've seen them work mighty hard at it! Well, I'm not trying to discourage you. I'm only telling you this to