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 it to him gravely. "Better put that on," he said with vast concern. "It would be awful if you got cold in that arm of yours."

Kewpie struggled with the garment, breathing heavily, and when he had conquered it he turned expectantly to Laurie. "Well, what do you say?" he asked.

"What do you want me to say?" Laurie stared frowningly at his mitten.

"Why, you know what I asked you," said Kewpie. "I—you—"

"But, great jumpin' Jupiter, Kewpie, I can't ask Pinky to put you on the squad just because you can pitch a sort of a drop! You haven't an ounce of speed; you can't curve 'em—"

"Well, but I haven't had any work!" protested the other. "Gee, I guess Nate Beedle couldn't do much better the first time he pitched!"

"But Nate knows how, you simple fish! All the work in the world won't make you any better if—"

"Practice makes perfect, don't it?" interrupted Kewpie indignantly.

"Maybe. Maybe not. If you don't know any