"'S all right for town work," he said. "Good enough for all I want of a car." "'S awful!" said Breede, obviously forgetting the car for another subject. "What can I do? She says she's got the right," suggested Bean. "She'd take it anyway. _I_ know her. Pack a suit-case. Had times with her already. Takes it from her mother." "Can't be too rough at the start," declared Bean. "Manage 'em of course, but 'thout their finding it out--velvet glove." He looked quietly confident and Breede glanced at him almost respectfully. "When?" he asked. "Haven't made up my mind yet," said Bean firmly. "I may consult her, then again I may not; don't believe in long engagements." Breede's glance this time was wholly respectful. "You're a puzzle to me," he conceded. Bean's shrug eloquently seemed to retort, "that's what they all say, sooner or later." They were silent upon this. Bean wondered if Julia was still fussing back there. Or had she sent to White Plains for some more? And what was the flapper just perfectly doing at that moment? Life was wonderful! Here he was to witness a ball game on Friday! They were in the grandstand, each willing and glad to forget, for the moment, just how weirdly wonderful life was. A bell clanged twice, the plate was swept with a stubby broom, the home team scurried to their places. "There he is!" exclaimed Breede; "that's him!" Breede leaned out over the railing and pointed to the Greatest Pitcher the World Has Ever Seen. Bean sat coolly back. The Pitcher scanned the first rows of faces in the grandstand. His glance came to rest on a slight, becomingly attired young man, who betrayed no emotion, and, in the presence of twenty thousand people, the Pitcher unmistakably saluted Bunker Bean. Bean gracefully acknowledged the attention. "He know _you_?" queried Breede with animation. "_Know_ me!" He looked at Breede almost pityingly, then turned away. The Pitcher sent the ball fairly over the plate. "Stur-r-r-r-ike one!" bellowed the umpire. "With him all morning," said Bean condescendingly to his admiring companion. "Get shirts same place," he added. His cup had run over. He was on the point of confiding to his companion the supreme felicity in store for Breede as a grandfather. But the batter struck out and the moment was only for raw rejoicing. They forgot. Bean ceased to be a puzzle to any one, and Breede lapsed into unconsciousness of Julia. The game held them for eleven innings. The Greatest Pitcher saved it to the home team. "He was saying to me only this morning--" began Bean, as the Pitcher fielded the last bunt. But the prized quotation was lost in the uproar. Pandemonium truly reigned and the scene was unquestionably one of indescribable confusion. Outside the gate they were again Breede and Bean; or, rather, Bean and Breede. The latter could not so quickly forget that public recognition by the Greatest Pitcher. "You're a puzzle t'me," said Breede. "Lord! I can't g'ome yet. Have't take me club."