“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.”

“Can’t make y’out,” admitted Breede once more, as they parted before the sanctuary he had indicated.

“Often puzzle myself,” confessed the inscrutable one, as the little old last year’s car started on.  Breede stood on the pavement looking after it.  For some reason the car puzzled him, too.

Bean was wondering if Julia herself wouldn’t have been a little appeased if she could have seen the Pitcher single him out of that throng.  Some day he might crush the woman by actually taking the Pitcher to call.