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 impress you with the fact—and it is a fact, Proudtree—that you'll have to buckle down and work mighty earnestly if you want to be a really capable pitcher next year."

"Well, what about—" Kewpie glanced fittingly at Laurie—"what about this year, sir?"

Laurie saw the coach's gaze waver. "This year?" he echoed. "Why, I don't know. We're fixed pretty well this year, you see. Of course I'm perfectly willing to let you work with the crowd for the rest of the season. Pitching to the net will teach you a whole lot, for you can't judge your stuff until you've got some ambitious chap swinging at it. Some of that stuff you've just showed me would be candy for a good hitter. You've got one weakness, Proudtree, and it's an important one. You haven't speed, and I don't believe you'll have it. That's your build; no fault of yours, of course."

"I know that," agreed Kewpie, "but Brose Wilkins says I don't need speed. He says I've got enough without it. He says there are heaps of mighty good pitchers in the Big League that can't pitch a real fast ball to save their lives!"

"Maybe, but you're not a candidate for the Big