"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.
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