POLLY APPROVES
Practice over, Laurie set out to find Ned. He was very low in his mind,
was Laurie, and he wanted comfort in the worst way. But Ned wasn’t
in the room. The door of No. 15, across the corridor, was half ajar,
and through it issued the voice of Kewpie. “That you, Nid?” inquired
Kewpie. “Say, come in here. I’ve――”
“No!” replied Laurie emphatically as he hurried, toward the stairs.
Kewpie Proudtree was the last person in the whole world he wanted to
hold converse with just then. In fact, he wasn’t sure that he would
be able to control himself in Kewpie’s presence. Murder, he reflected
gloomily, had been committed for less cause than he had!
He set out toward the Widow Deane’s, going the long way around, since
he had no heart for Bob Starling’s questions and surmises regarding
Mr. A. G. Goupil. He had so thoroughly forgotten that flinty-hearted
person that he had not even looked on the table in No. 16 to see if
the telegram had arrived, and only the thought of encountering Bob had
reminded him of it. Turning into Garden Street, he heard some one call:
“Oh, Ned! Oo-ee!” It was no new thing to be mistaken for Ned. During
the first two months, or thereabouts, of their stay at Hillman’s, he
and Ned had been daily, hourly, almost constantly mistaken one for the
other, and even to this moment such mistakes were not uncommon, which,
considering the fact that the twins were as alike as two peas, was not
unnatural. He wasn’t Ned, but he turned to see who was calling. It
proved to be Mae Ferrand. She was on the opposite side of the street
waving to him. Laurie crossed with little enthusiasm.
“Hello,” he said. “I’m looking for him, too, Mae.”
“Oh, it’s Laurie!” she exclaimed. “I do wish you boys wouldn’t dress
just alike!”
“We don’t,” said Laurie somberly. “He’s wearing brown stockings, and
I’m wearing green.” He looked down at them. “Sort of green, anyway.”
“Just as though any one could tell you by that,” laughed Mae. “Are you
going to Polly’s?”
Laurie acknowledged that he was, and they went on together. “Isn’t it
too bad about that poor, dear little Miss Comfort?” asked Mae. “Polly
told you, didn’t she?”
Laurie nodded. “Yes,” he answered. “Yes, it is too bad. At her age,
too. Eighty-something, isn’t she?”
“Why, no, of course not! The idea! She can’t be a day over sixty-five.”
“Oh!” Laurie sounded a trifle disappointed. “Well, that’s different,
isn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” agreed Mae without, however, quite getting his
point of view, “but it doesn’t make it much easier for her, I guess.”
“N-no.” Laurie was acquiring something close to distaste for the
subject. “Well, something may turn up,” he added vaguely, “before the
first of the month.”
“I hope so,” said Mae. But she didn’t sound hopeful. Laurie was glad
when she changed the subject with her next remark, although he could
have chosen a more welcome one: “Polly says that the――the conspiracy
is working just beautifully, Laurie. She says that Kewpie Proudtree is
quite like another boy the last day or two. Is he doing any better with
his pitching?”
Laurie turned and regarded her balefully. “Better? No, and he never
will,” he answered disgustedly. “Why that poor prune couldn’t pitch
ball if――if――” He stopped, suddenly recalling his statements made in
the cage a scant hour and a half since. He felt rather confused. Mae
nodded sympathetically.
“Well, I think it’s darling of you to take so much trouble with him,”
she said. “Sometimes I think that friendship means so much more with
boys than it does with girls.”
“Friendship!” blurted Laurie.
“Why, yes, don’t you call it friendship? Every one knows what great
pals you and Kewpie have been all winter. I think it’s perfectly
lovely!”
“Huh,” growled Laurie.
“For goodness’ sake, what is the matter with you to-day?” asked Mae
concernedly. “You’re――you’re awfully funny!”
Laurie summoned a mirthless and hollow laugh. “I’m all right,” he
replied, “only I――I’ve got a lot of things to think of just now, and――”
Further explanation was spared him, for just then they reached the
shop and Laurie opened the door with a sigh of relief. Ned was there,
and so were Polly and Mrs. Deane. Laurie morosely declined the
offer of a soda, slung himself to a counter, met the surprised and
mildly disapproving gaze of the Widow, and got down again. The talk,
interrupted by their arrival, began once more. Of course it was about
Miss Comfort. (Mrs. Deane had been to see her that forenoon.) She
hadn’t heard again from the lawyer or from her brother-in-law, and she
had begun to pack her things. Laurie felt Ned’s gaze on him and turned.
Ned’s look was inquiring. Laurie didn’t know what he meant by it, and
frowned his perplexity. Ned worked around to him and whispered in his
ear.
“Did it come? Did you get it?” he asked.
“Get what?”
“Shut up! The telegram, you chump!”
“Oh! No, I don’t think so.”
“You don’t _think_――” began Ned in impatient sibilation.
“What are you two whispering about?” inquired Polly.
“Oh, nothing,” answered Ned airily.
“Ned Turner, don’t tell fibs,” said Polly severely. “There’s something
going on that we don’t know about, Mae. Mama’s in on it, too. I can
tell. She can no more hide a secret than she can fly. And I don’t
think,” ended Polly with deep pathos, “that it’s very nice of you to
have a secret from Mae and me.”
Ned looked concerned and apologetic. He viewed Laurie inquiringly.
“Shall we tell them?” he asked. Laurie shrugged.
“I don’t care,” he answered moodily.
“Oh, of course, if you don’t _want_ us to know,” began Polly very
haughtily. Laurie managed a most winning smile.
“Of course I do,” he assured her. “I――I was going to tell you, anyhow.”
Polly didn’t look wholly convinced, but, “Well?” she said. “Go on and
tell, then.” Laurie waved toward Ned.
“Let him do it,” he said.
So Ned confessed about the telegram to Mr. Goupil, taking rather more
credit to himself than, perhaps, the facts warranted――something that
might have brought a protest from Laurie had that youth been any longer
interested in what to him seemed now a closed incident. Polly exclaimed
applaudingly; Mae clapped her hands; and Mrs. Deane, proud of the fact
that for once in her life she had managed, if only for a few short
hours, to keep something secret from her daughter, beamed. Then praise
was fairly lavished on Laurie and Ned, the former receiving the lion’s
share, since the brilliant idea had been born in his stupendous brain.
Laurie looked decidedly bored, and the feminine portion of the assembly
credited his expression to modesty.
“Oh, Laurie,” exclaimed Polly, “I think you’re perfectly wonderful!
Don’t you, Mae?”
Mae was enthusiastically affirmative.
“It was just the one absolutely practical thing to do,” continued
Polly. “And I don’t see how Mr. Gou――Gou――whatever his name is――will
dare to go on with his disgusting plan, do you? If that telegram
doesn’t make him perfectly ashamed of himself, it――it――well, it ought
to!”
“Sort of funny, though,” said Ned, “that he hasn’t answered before
this. If he doesn’t answer at all――well, do you think we ought to send
him another, Laurie?”
Laurie shook his head. “No good,” he said briefly.
“Oh, but he will answer it,” declared Polly. “Why, he’d simply _have_
to! His own self-respect would――would demand it!”
“Of course!” agreed Mae. “Maybe there’s a telegram waiting for you now,
Laurie.”
“That’s so.” Laurie spoke with more animation. “Let’s go and see, Ned.”
“I didn’t say anything about it to Miss Comfort,” observed Mrs. Deane
in the tone of one asking commendation.
“Oh, no, you mustn’t,” said Polly. “If――if nothing came of it, after
all, she’d be _too_ disappointed. Laurie, if Mr. Whatshisname still
insists on――on things going ahead as they are going, what will you do
then?”
“Me?” Laurie regarded her unemotionally. Then he shrugged. “Why, I
guess that would settle it, wouldn’t it? Isn’t anything more I _could_
do, is there? Or any of us?”
“Oh, Laurie!” exclaimed Mae in vast disappointment. Polly, though, only
laughed.
“Don’t be silly, Mae,” she said. “Of course he’s only fooling. You
ought to know Laurie well enough to know that he isn’t going to give up
as easily as all that. I’ll just bet you anything he knows this very
minute what he means to do. Only he doesn’t want to tell us yet.”
“I don’t, either,” protested Laurie vehemently. “Look here, this isn’t
any affair of mine, and――and――”
“Just what I told him,” said Mrs. Deane agreeably. “I think he’s been
very nice to take such an interest and so much trouble, but I’m sure he
can’t be expected to do any more, Polly.”
Polly smiled serenely. She shared the smile between her mother and a
disquieted Laurie. Then she slipped an arm around Mae and gave her a
squeeze. “We know, don’t we, Mae?” she asked.
Laurie stared helplessly for a moment. Then he seized Ned by the arm
and dragged him toward the door. “Come on,” he said despairingly. “Come
on home!”
“Say,” demanded Ned, once they were on the street, “what in the world’s
the matter with you?”
“Matter with me?” repeated Laurie a trifle wildly. “The matter with me
is that I talk too blamed much! That’s the matter with me! The matter
with me――”
“Yes, yes,” agreed Ned soothingly, “yes, yes, old-timer. But what’s the
present difficulty? Of course they don’t really expect us to find a
home for Miss Comfort, if that’s what’s biting you.”
“Well, I should hope not! But――but, listen, Neddie. Do you think Kewpie
knows enough about pitching to ever amount to a hill of beans? Do you
think that, if he practised like anything all spring, he could――could
get on the team?”
“Why, no, of course not,” replied Ned calmly. “Haven’t you said so
yourself a dozen times?”
“Yes. Yes, and now I’ve gone and said he could!”
“Who could? Could what?”
“Kewpie. Be a pitcher and get on the team.”
“Are you plumb loco?” asked Ned in astonishment.
“No.” Laurie shook his head mournfully. “No, it isn’t that. I――I just
talk too blamed much.”
“Well, who have you been talking to now? Get it off your chest,
partner.”
So Laurie told him. The narrative lasted until they had reached their
room, and after, and when, at last, Laurie ended his doleful tale
Ned looked at him in silence for a long, long moment. Finally, “You
half-portion of nothing!” breathed Ned pityingly. “You――you poor fish!”
“Well, what could I do?” asked Laurie. “I wasn’t going to let Elk make
me look like a fool.”
“Huh! What do you think you look like now?”
Laurie began to prepare for supper without replying. He acted as
if chastened and worried. Ned watched him for a minute in frowning
perplexity. At last the frown vanished. “Well, what are you going to
do?” he asked.
Laurie shrugged. “How do I know? I did think that maybe somehow or
other Kewpie could learn to pitch, but I guess you’re right about him.
He never could.”
“No, but he’s got to!” was Ned’s astounding answer. “We’ve got to see
that he does, Laurie. You’ve said you were going to make a pitcher of
him――”
“I didn’t actually say _I_ was going to do it.”
“Well, some one. You’ve said he was going to pitch on the team this
season. You might as well have said that I was going to be made
President. But you said it and, by heck, you’ve got to make good or
perish in the attempt. The honor of the Turners――”
“Looks to me like the honor of the Turners is going to get an awful
jolt,” murmured Laurie despondently. “Making a pitcher out of Kewpie――
Gee, Ned, the fellow who made a purse out of a pig’s ear had a snap!”
“It’s got to be done,” reiterated Ned firmly. “After supper we’ll
decide how. Hold on, though! We don’t actually have to have him a real
pitcher, son. All we have to do is to get him on the team just once,
even if it’s only for two minutes, don’t you see?” Ned’s tone was
triumphant.
“Yes, but how can we do that if he doesn’t know how to pitch? I don’t
see that that’s going to make it any easier.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Anyhow, it helps. There might be some way of faking
him on there. Well, we’ve got nearly three months to do it in, Laurie,
so cheer up. Let’s go and eat. A truce to all trouble! The bell rings
for supper――”
“Of cold meat as chewy as Indian rupper!” completed Laurie.
“Quitter!” laughed Ned, pushing him through the door.