"I wish you would. Look here; bring him down to the field to-morrow.”
As soon as the Greek recitation the next day was at an end, Edward and Keating hurried to the field. Bell and Payne were already there; they threw off coats and neckties and collars and were soon at work practising against the batting-net. Lawrence had come down to look on, and made himself useful in chasing balls.
Keating was, Edward had to acknowledge, a discouraging subject. He was willing enough, but he lacked weight and strength; he could n’t seem to help stepping away from the ball; and he invariably swung his bat in a slant instead of in a horizontal plane. Bell pitched easy curves to him, but Keating knocked almost nothing but pop flies.
Edward took the bat and stood at the plate, stepped forward, swung at an imaginary ball—went through the motions again and again, did them slowly and did them fast; and Keating watched intelligently and listened intelligently, but could n’t himself perform.
