Part 9 (1/2)
”For the love of lemons! What do you call that but a whopper?”
Kewpie looked both ashamed and distressed. He swallowed hard and glanced furtively at Laurie as though hoping for aid. But Laurie looked as unsympathetic as Ned. Kewpie sighed dolefully. ”I-I suppose it was,” he acknowledged. ”I didn't think about that. I'm sorry, Ned, honest! I didn't mean to tell what wasn't so. I just wanted to get Joe's mind off his troubles. You understand.”
”Well, you got me in a mess,” grumbled Ned. ”I got by all right to-day, I suppose, but what's going to happen to-morrow?”
Kewpie evidently didn't know, for he stared morosely at the floor for a long minute. Finally, ”I'll go to Joe and fess up if-if you say so,” he gulped.
”I think you ought to,” responded Ned.
”Where's the sense in that?” demanded Laurie. ”What good would it do?
Proudtree did fib, but he didn't mean to. I mean he didn't do it for harm. If he goes and tells Stevenson that he fibbed, Stevenson will have it in for him harder than ever; and he will have it in for you, too, Ned. Maybe he will think it was a scheme that you and Proudtree hatched together. That's a punk idea, I say. Best thing to do is prove that Proudtree didn't fib.”
”How?” asked Ned.
”Why, Proudtree-”
”There's an awful lot of that 'Proudtree' stuff,” complained the visitor. ”Would you mind calling me Kewpie?”
”All right. Well, Kewpie told Captain Stevenson that you are a swell player. Go ahead and be one.”
”Huh, sounds easy the way you say it,” scoffed Ned; ”but how can I, when I don't know anything about the silly game? I wish to goodness you'd taken up football instead of me!”
”You got through to-day all right, didn't you?” asked Laurie. ”Well, keep it up. Keep your eyes open and learn. You can do it. You're no fool, even if you haven't my intellect. Besides, you're the best little fakir that ever came over the range.”
”You can't fake kicking a football,” said Ned, scathingly.
”Look here!” exclaimed Kewpie, his round face illumined by a great idea.
”Tell you what, Ned! I'll show you how to kick!”
The silence that greeted the offer might have offended a more sensitive youth, but Kewpie went on with enthusiasm. ”Of course, I'm no wonder at it. I'm a little too short in the leg and, right now, I-I'm a bit heavy; but I used to kick and I know how it ought to be done. Say we have a half-hour or so at it every morning for a while?”
”Wouldn't Stevenson know what was up?” asked Ned, dubiously.
”He needn't know. We'll go over to the lot behind the grammar school.
Even if he saw us, he'd think we were having some fun.”
”He must have a strange idea of fun,” sighed Ned. ”Still, if you want to take the trouble-”
”Glad to! Besides, I owe you something for-for getting you in wrong.
And I can put you wise to a lot of little things about handling a ball.
We could do some pa.s.sing, for instance. Wonder who's got a ball we could borrow. I'll find one somewhere. You understand. Now, what hour have you got free in the morning?”
A comparison of schedules showed that on two mornings a week the boys could meet at ten, and on two other mornings at ten-thirty. The remaining days were not accommodating, however.
”Well, even four times a week will show results,” said Kewpie, cheerfully. ”This is Thursday. We'll have the first lesson Sat.u.r.day at ten.”
”I hope they don't ask me to do any kicking before then,” said Ned.
”Not likely. You'll get about the same stuff to-morrow as you had to-day. You'll get by, take my word for it. That's settled, then.”