XIII

As the little old last year's car bore them to the north, some long
sleeping-image seemed to stir in Breede's mind.

"Got car like this m'self somewheres," he remarked.

Bean was relieved. He didn't want the name of a woman to be brought into
the matter just then.

"'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 p