“I’ve got a ball in my pocket, but I don’t use it much.”

“Let me see it.”

Herbert produced the ball, which proved to be an expensive one, better than any Grant had ever owned.

“There, Herbert, stand here, and I will place myself about fifty feet away.  Now, throw it to me, no matter how swiftly.”

They were soon engaged in throwing the ball to each other.  Grant was a good ball player, and he soon interested the little boy in the sport.  Our hero was pleased to see Herbert’s quiet, listless manner exchanged for the animation which seemed better suited to a boy.

“You are improving, Herbert,” he said, after a while.  “You would make a good player in time.”

“I never liked it before,” said the little boy.  “I never knew there was so much fun in playing ball.”

“We shall have to try it every day.  I suppose it is about time to go home to supper.”

“And we haven’t been to Central Park, after all.”

“That will do for another day.  Are boys allowed to play ball in the park?”

“Two afternoons in the week, I believe, but I never played there.”

“We shall have to try it some day.”

“I should like to play—­with you.”

They reached home in full time for dinner.  At the dinner table Mr. Reynolds was struck by the unusually bright and animated face of his son, and his good appetite.

“What have you been doing to make you so hungry, Herbert?” he asked.

“I took a walk with Grant, and we had a fine game of ball.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said the broker, much pleased.  “If you want to become stout and strong like Grant, that is the best thing for you to do.”

“I never liked playing ball before, papa.”

“That is a compliment to you, Grant,” said the broker, smiling.

“I think,” he said to the prim, elderly lady who presided over the household, acting as housekeeper, “Herbert will be the better for having a boy in the house.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Mrs. Estabrook, stiffly.  “When he came into the house he had mud on his clothes.  He never did that till this boy came.”

“I won’t complain of that, if his health is improved.”

Mrs. Estabrook, who was a poor relation of Herbert’s mother, pursed up her mouth, but did not reply.  In her eyes, it was more important that a boy should keep his clothes whole and clean than to have color in his cheeks, and health in his frame.

“I hope that boy won’t stay here long,” she thought, referring, of course, to Grant.  “He’ll quite spoil Herbert by making him rough and careless of his appearance.”

“Well, Herbert, and how do you like Grant?” asked Mr. Reynolds, as his son was bidding him good-night before going to bed.

“I am so glad you brought him here, papa.  I shall have good times now.  You’ll let him stay all the time, won’t you?”