Astonished, he regarded her. After a moment he again looked toward the
man opposite, his expression sober.

"It's like you to think of me," he acknowledged, with slow gratitude.
"But that's all right. If any one else can get her, I'd better know it
now. Of course he'll want her, she's just the kind of girl he'd like,
such a sport herself about cars and things. If she likes him better than
me, why I'll have to stand it, that's all."

"Then, I shall be very glad to have Mr. Gerard stay with us, dear; don't
you and I always like the same things?"

"We sure do, Other Fellow?"

The childhood "play name" brought their cordial glances together, as Mr.
Rose dropped into his seat.

"Game's over, Corwin B.; better run get your friend," he notified,
cheerily imperious. "Hurry along."

Half-smiling, half-anxious, Corrie lingered on the verge of compliance.

"I--I feel a chill at the idea," he avowed. "I believe, after all, I'm
shy of Gerard!"

"Now what's the matter?" Mr. Rose ejaculated, staring after his son.
"Shy; and I've been trying ever since he was born--without
succeeding--to teach him that there were one or two people on earth
bigger than he is."

"Papa!"

"Isn't it so, then?"

She laughed with him, mutinously unanswering.

Whatever diffidence Corrie had felt promptly vanished when Gerard turned
from the group of players and met him. Flushed with vigorous exercise
and recent conquest, his smiling eyes warming to recognition as they
fell upon the breathless young motorist, there certainly was nothing
intimidating in the late pitcher's aspect.

"I'm Corrie Rose--you haven't forgotten? Come meet my father and sister,
won't you?" was Corrie's eager greeting.

It was not at all the dignified self-introduction and invitation he had
planned as he ran across the field, but Gerard had the gift of drawing
sincerity to meet his own, like to like.

"You haven't forgotten me," countered the other, giving his hand. "And I
should be delighted to meet your father and Miss Rose, if I were fit.
Perhaps you'll give me another chance."

"Fit? Why, we've been watching you play ball! A fellow don't play ball
in a frock coat. We want you to come home to dinner, now, and stay with
us over the race. You know I'm practising for it, too. Don't say no," as
Gerard moved. "We _want_ you."

The impulsive, italicized speech was very compelling.

"Thank you; I'll come over to your car, anyway," Gerard accepted.
"But----What is