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 station beside Nate Beedle, and a ripple of incredulous delight ran the length of the bench. Kewpie tossed a ball into Laurie's mitten, and the bench applauded with a note of hysteria. Not until then did Coach Mulford, who had been talking to the manager, become aware of the fact that something of interest was taking place. He looked, saw, stared. Then the ends of his mouth went up a little, tiny puckers appeared at the corners of his eyes, and he chuckled softly. Around him the players and substitutes were laughing uproariously. They had reason, it seemed. The sight of the short and rotund Kewpie in juxtaposition to the tall and slender Beedle might have brought a smile to the face of a wooden statue. But Kewpie seemed unaware of the amusement he was causing. He pitched his slow balls into Laurie's mitt gravely enough, finishing his delivery with his hand close to his left side, as though, as one facetious observer put it, a mosquito demanded attention.

Laurie laughed inwardly, but outwardly his expression and demeanor were as sober and as earnest as Kewpie's. Mr. Mulford's countenance showed him that that gentleman ap