The Young Pitcher

By Zane Grey

1911

CONTENTS

 I. The Varsity Captain

 II. A Great Arm

 III. Prisoner of the Sophs

 IV. The Call for Candidates

 V. The Cage

 VI. Out on the Field

 VII. Annihilation

 VIII. Examinations

 IX. President Halstead on College Spirit

 X. New Players

 XI. State University Game

 XII. Ken Clashes with Graves

 XIII. Friendship

 XIV. The Herne Game

 XV. A Matter of Principle

 XVI. The First Place Game

 XVII. Ken's Day

 XVIII. Breaking Training

I

THE VARSITY CAPTAIN

Ken Ward had not been at the big university many days before herealized the miserable lot of a freshman. 

At first he was sorely puzzled. College was so different from whathe had expected. At the high school of his home town, which, beingthe capital of the State, was no village, he had been somebody. Thenhis summer in Arizona, with its wild adventures, had given him aself-appreciation which made his present situation humiliating. 

There were more than four thousand students at the university. Kenfelt himself the youngest, the smallest, the one of least consequence. He was lost in a shuffle of superior youths. In the forestry departmenthe was a mere boy; and he soon realized that a freshman there was thesame as anywhere. The fact that he weighed nearly one hundred and sixtypounds, and was no stripling, despite his youth, made not one whit ofdifference. 

Unfortunately, his first overture of what he considered good-fellowshiphad been made to an upper-classman, and had been a grievous mistake. Ken had not yet recovered from its reception. He grew careful afterthat, then shy, and finally began to struggle against disappointmentand loneliness. 

Outside of his department, on the campus and everywhere he ventured, he found things still worse. There was something wrong with him, withhis fresh complexion, with his hair, with the way he wore his tie, with the cut of his clothes. In fact, there was nothing right abouthim. He had been so beset that he could not think of anything buthimself. One day, while sauntering along a campus path, with his handsin his pockets, he met two students coming toward him. They went toright and left, and, jerking his hands from his pockets, roared ineach ear, "How dare you walk with your hands in your pockets!"

Another day, on the library step, he encountered a handsome bareheadedyouth with a fine, clean-cut face and keen eyes, who showed the truestamp of the great university. 

"Here, " he said, sharply, "aren't you a freshman?"

"Why--yes, " confessed Ken. 

"I see you have your trousers turned up at the bottom. "

"Yes--so I have. " For the life of him Ken could not understand whythat simple fact seemed a crime, but so it was. 

"Turn them down!" ordered the student. 

Ken looked into the stern face and flashing eyes of his tormentor, and then meekly did as he had been commanded. 

"Boy, I've saved your life. We murder freshmen here for that, "said the student, and then passed on up the steps. 

In the beginning it was such incidents as these that had bewildered Ken. He passed from surprise to anger, and vowed he would have something tosay to these upper-classmen. But when the opportunity came Ken alwaysfelt so little and mean that he could not retaliate. This made himfurious. He had not been in college two weeks before he could distinguishthe sophomores from the seniors by the look on their faces. He hated thesneering "Sophs, " and felt rising in him the desire to fight. But heboth feared and admired seniors. They seemed so aloof, so far abovehim. He was in awe of them, and had a hopeless longing to be likethem. And as for the freshmen, it took no second glance for Ken topick them out. They were of two kinds--those who banded together incrowds and went about yelling, and running away from the Sophs, andthose who sneaked about alone with timid step and furtive glance. 

Ken was one of these lonesome freshmen. He was pining for companionship, but he was afraid to open his lips. Once he had dared to go into CarltonHall, the magnificent club-house which had been given to the universityby a famous graduate. The club was for all students--Ken had read thaton the card sent to him, and also in the papers. But manifestly theupper-classmen had a different point of view. Ken had gotten a glimpseinto the immense reading-room with its open fireplace and huge chairs, its air of quiet study and repose; he had peeped into the brilliantbilliard-hall and the gymnasium; and he had been so impressed anddelighted with the marble swimming-tank that he had forgotten himselfand walked too near the pool. Several students accidentally bumped himinto it. It appeared the students were so eager to help him out thatthey crowded him in again. When Ken finally got out he learned theremarkable fact that he was the sixteenth freshman who had beenaccidentally pushed into the tank that day. 

So Ken Ward was in a state of revolt. He was homesick; he was lonelyfor a friend; he was constantly on the lookout for some trick; hisconfidence in himself had fled; his opinion of himself had suffereda damaging change; he hardly dared call his soul his own. 

But that part of his time spent in study or attending lecturesmore than made up for the other. Ken loved his subject and waseager to learn. He had a free hour in the afternoon, and often hepassed this in the library, sometimes in the different exhibitionhalls. He wanted to go into Carlton Club again, but his experiencethere made him refrain. 

One afternoon at this hour Ken happened to glance into a lecture-room. It was a large amphitheatre full of noisy students. The benches werearranged in a circle running up from a small pit. Seeing safety in thenumber of students who were passing in, Ken went along. He thought hemight hear an interesting lecture. It did not occur to him that he didnot belong there. The university had many departments and he felt thatany lecture-room was open to him. Still, caution had become a habitwith him, and he stepped down the steep aisle looking for an empty bench. 

How steep the aisle was! The benches appeared to be on the side ofa hill. Ken slipped into an empty one. There was something warm andpleasant in the close contact of so many students, in the ripple oflaughter and the murmur of voices. Ken looked about him with a feelingthat he was glad to be there. 

It struck him, suddenly, that the room had grown strangely silent. Even the shuffling steps of the incoming students had ceased. Kengazed upward with a queer sense of foreboding. Perhaps he onlyimagined that all the students above were looking down at him. Hurriedly he glanced below. A sea of faces, in circular rows, was turned his way. 

There was no mistake about it. He was the attraction. At the sameinstant when he prayed to sink through the bench out of sight aburning anger filled his breast. What on earth had he done now?He knew it was something; he felt it. That quiet moment seemed anage. Then the waiting silence burst. 

"_Fresh on fifth!_" yelled a student in one of the lower benches. 

"FRESH ON FIFTH!" bawled another at the top of his lungs. 

Ken's muddled brain could make little of the matter. He saw he was inthe fifth row of benches, and that all the way around on either sideof him the row was empty. The four lower rows were packed, and abovehim students were scattered all over. He had the fifth row of benchesto himself. 

"Fresh on fifth!"

Again the call rang up from below. It was repeated, now from the left ofthe pit and then from the right. A student yelled it from the first rowand another from the fourth. It banged back and forth. Not a word camefrom the upper part of the room. 

Ken sat up straight with a very red face. It was his intention to leavethe bench, but embarrassment that was developing into resentment heldhim fast. What a senseless lot these students were! Why could they notleave him in peace? How foolish of him to go wandering about in strangelecture-rooms!

A hand pressed Ken's shoulder. He looked back to see a student bendingdown toward him. 

"_Hang, Freshie!_" this fellow whispered. 

"What's it all about?" asked Ken. "What have I done, anyway? I neverwas in here before. "

"All Sophs down there. They don't allow freshmen to go below the sixthrow. There've been several rushes this term. And the big one's coming. Hang, Freshie! We're all with you. "

"Fresh on fifth!" The tenor of the cry had subtly changed. Good-humoredwarning had changed to challenge. It pealed up from many lusty throats, and became general all along the four packed rows. 

"_Hang, Freshie!_" bellowed a freshman from the topmost row. Itwas acceptance of the challenge, the battle-cry flung down to the Sophs. A roar arose from the pit. The freshmen, outnumbering the sophomores, drowned the roar in a hoarser one. Then both sides settled back inominous waiting. 

Ken thrilled in all his being. The freshmen were with him! That roartold him of united strength. All in a moment he had found comrades, and he clenched his fingers into the bench, vowing he would hang thereuntil hauled away. 

"Fresh on fifth!" shouted a Soph in ringing voice. He stood up inthe pit and stepped to the back of the second bench. "Fresh on fifth!Watch me throw him out!"

He was a sturdily built young fellow and balanced himself gracefully onthe backs of the benches, stepping up from one to the other. There wasa bold gleam in his eyes and a smile on his face. He showed good-naturedcontempt for a freshman and an assurance that was close to authority. 

Ken sat glued to his seat in mingled fear and wrath. Was he to be thebutt of those overbearing sophomores? He thought he could do nothing buthang on with all his might. The ascending student jumped upon the fourthbench and, reaching up, laid hold of Ken with no gentle hands. His gripwas so hard that Ken had difficulty in stifling a cry of pain. This, however, served to dispel his panic and make him angry clear through. 

The sophomore pulled and tugged with all his strength, yet he could notdislodge Ken. The freshmen howled gleefully for him to "Hang! hang!"

Then two more sophomores leaped up to help the leader. A blank silencefollowed this move, and all the freshmen leaned forward breathlessly. There was a sharp ripping of cloth. Half of Ken's coat appeared in thehands of one of his assailants. 

Suddenly Ken let go his hold, pushed one fellow violently, then swunghis fists. It might have been unfair, for the sophomores were beneathhim and balancing themselves on the steep benches, but Ken was tooangry to think of that. The fellow he pushed fell into the arms ofthe students below, the second slid out of sight, and the third, whohad started the fray, plunged with a crash into the pit. 

The freshmen greeted this with a wild yell; the sophomores answeredlikewise. Like climbing, tumbling apes the two classes spilledthemselves up and down the benches, and those nearest Ken laid holdof him, pulling him in opposite directions. 

Then began a fierce fight for possession of luckless Ken. Both sideswere linked together by gripping hands. Ken was absolutely powerless. His clothes were torn to tatters in a twinkling; they were soon torncompletely off, leaving only his shoes and socks. Not only was he indanger of being seriously injured, but students of both sides werehandled as fiercely. A heavy trampling roar shook the amphitheatre. As they surged up and down the steep room benches were split. In thebeginning the sophomores had the advantage and the tug-of-war ragednear the pit and all about it. But the superior numbers of the freshmenbegan to tell. The web of close-locked bodies slowly mounted up the room, smashing the benches, swaying downward now and then, yet irresistiblygaining ground. The yells of the freshmen increased with the assuranceof victory. There was one more prolonged, straining struggle, then Kenwas pulled away from the sophomores. The wide, swinging doors of theroom were knocked flat to let out the stream of wild freshmen. Theyhowled like fiends; it was first blood for the freshman class; thefirst tug won that year. 

Ken Ward came to his senses out in the corridor surrounded by anexcited, beaming, and disreputable crowd of freshmen. Badly as hewas hurt, he had to laugh. Some of them looked happy in nothing buttorn underclothes. Others resembled a lot of ragamuffins. Coats wereminus sleeves, vests were split, shirts were collarless. Blood andbruises were much in evidence. 

Some one helped Ken into a long ulster. 

"Say, it was great, " said this worthy. "Do you know who that fellowwas--the first one who tried to throw you out of number five?"

"I haven't any idea, " replied Ken. In fact, he felt that his ideaswere as scarce just then as his clothes. 

"That was the president of the Sophs. He's the varsity baseballcaptain, too. You slugged him!. .. Great!"

Ken's spirit, low as it was, sank still lower. What miserable luckhe had! His one great ambition, next to getting his diploma, hadbeen to make the varsity baseball team. 

II

A GREAT ARM

The shock of that battle, more than the bruising he had received, confined Ken to his room for a week. When he emerged it was to findhe was a marked man; marked by the freshmen with a great and friendlydistinction; by the sophomores for revenge. If it had not been forthe loss of his baseball hopes, he would have welcomed the chance tobecome popular with his classmates. But for him it was not pleasantto be reminded that he had "slugged" the Sophs' most honored member. 

It took only two or three meetings with the revengeful sophomores toteach Ken that discretion was the better part of valor. He learnedthat the sophomores of all departments were looking for him withdeadly intent. So far luck had enabled him to escape all but a wordybullying. Ken became an expert at dodging. He gave the corridors andcampus a wide berth. He relinquished his desire to live in one of thedormitories, and rented a room out in the city. He timed his arrivalat the university and his departure. His movements were governedentirely by painfully acquired knowledge of the whereabouts of hisenemies. 

So for weeks Ken Ward lived like a recluse. He was not one with hiscollege mates. He felt that he was not the only freshman who hadgotten a bad start in college. Sometimes when he sat near a sad-facedclassmate, he knew instinctively that here was a fellow equally inneed of friendship. Still these freshmen were as backward as he was, and nothing ever came of such feelings. 

The days flew by and the weeks made months, and all Ken did was attendlectures and study. He read everything he could find in the librarythat had any bearing on forestry. He mastered his text-books before theChristmas holidays. About the vacation he had long been undecided; atlength he made up his mind not to go home. It was a hard decision toreach. But his college life so far had been a disappointment; he wasbitter about it, and he did not want his father to know. Judge Wardwas a graduate of the university. Often and long he had talked to Kenabout university life, the lasting benefit of associations andfriendships. He would probably think that his son had barred himselfout by some reckless or foolish act. Ken was not sure what was toblame; he knew he had fallen in his own estimation, and that the lesshe thought of himself the more he hated the Sophs. 

On Christmas day he went to Carlton Hall. It was a chance he did notwant to miss, for very few students would be there. As it turned outhe spent some pleasant hours. But before he left the club his stepsled him into the athletic trophy room, and there he was plunged intogrief. The place was all ablaze with flags and pennants, silver cupsand gold medals, pictures of teams and individuals. There were mountedsculls and oars, footballs and baseballs. The long and proud recordof the university was there to be read. All her famous athletes werepictured there, and every one who had fought for his college. Kenrealized that here for the first time he was in the atmosphere ofcollege spirit for which the university was famed. What would he nothave given for a permanent place in that gallery! But it was too late. He had humiliated the captain of the baseball team. Ken sought out thepicture of the last season's varsity. What a stocky lot of young chaps, all consciously proud of the big letter on their shirts! Dale, thecaptain and pitcher, was in the centre of the group. Ken knew hisrecord, and it was a splendid one. Ken took another look at Dale, another at the famous trainer, Murray, and the professional coach, Arthurs--men under whom it had been his dream to play--and then heleft the room, broken-hearted. 

When the Christmas recess was over he went back to his lectures resignedto the thought that the athletic side of college life was not for him. He studied harder than ever, and even planned to take a course of lecturesin another department. Also his adeptness in dodging was called upon moreand more. The Sophs were bound to get him sooner or later. But he did notgrow resigned to that; every dodge and flight increased his resentment. Presently he knew he would stop and take what they had to give, andretaliate as best he could. Only, what would they do to him when theydid catch him? He remembered his watch, his money, and clothes, neverrecovered after that memorable tug-of-war. He minded the loss of hiswatch most; that gift could never be replaced. It seemed to him thathe had been the greater sufferer. 

One Saturday in January Ken hurried from his class-room. He was alwaysin a hurry and particularly on Saturdays, for that being a short dayfor most of the departments, there were usually many students passingto and fro. A runaway team clattering down the avenue distracted himfrom his usual caution, and he cut across the campus. Some one stoppedthe horses, and a crowd collected. When Ken got there many studentswere turning away. Ken came face to face with a tall, bronze-haired, freckle-faced sophomore, whom he had dodged more than once. There wasnow no use to dodge; he had to run or stand his ground. 

"Boys, here's that slugging Freshie!" yelled the Soph. "We've gothim now. "

He might have been an Indian chief so wild was the whoop thatanswered him. 

"Lead us to him!"

"Oh, what we won't do to that Freshie!"

"Come on, boys!"

Ken heard these yells, saw a number of boys dash at him, then he brokeand ran as if for his life. The Sophs, a dozen strong, yelling loudly, strung out after him. Ken headed across the campus. He was fleet offoot, and gained on his pursuers. But the yells brought more Sophs onthe scene, and they turned Ken to the right. He spurted for Carlton Hall, and almost ran into the arms of still more sophomores. Turning tail, he fled toward the library. When he looked back it was to see thebronze-haired leader within a hundred yards, and back of him a longline of shouting students. 

If there was a place to hide round that library Ken could not find it. In this circuit he lost ground. Moreover, he discovered he had not usedgood judgment in choosing that direction. All along the campus was ahigh iron fence. Ken thought desperately hard for an instant, then withrenewed speed he bounded straight for College Hall. 

This was the stronghold of the sophomores. As Ken sped up the gravelwalk his pursuers split their throats. 

"Run, you Freshie!" yelled one. 

"The more you run--" yelled another. 

"The more we'll skin you!" finished a third. 

Ken ran into the passageway leading through College Hall. 

It was full of Sophs hurrying toward the door to see where the yellscame from. When Ken plunged into their midst some one recognized himand burst out with the intelligence. At the same moment Ken's pursuersbanged through the swinging doors. 

A yell arose then in the constricted passageway that seemed to Ken toraise College Hall from its foundation. It terrified him. Like an eelhe slipped through reaching arms and darted forward. Ken was heavy andfast on his feet, and with fear lending him wings he made a run throughCollege Hall that would have been a delight to the football coach. ForKen was not dodging any sophomores now. He had played his humiliatingpart of dodger long enough. He knocked them right and left, and many asurprised Soph he tumbled over. Reaching the farther door, he wentthrough out into the open. 

The path before him was clear now, and he made straight for the avenue. It was several hundred yards distant, and he got a good start toward itbefore the Sophs rolled like a roaring stream from the passage. Ken sawother students running, and also men and boys out on the avenue; butas they could not head him off he kept to his course. On that side ofthe campus a high, narrow stairway, lined by railings, led up to thesidewalk. When Ken reached it he found the steps covered with ice. Heslipped and fell three times in the ascent, while his frantic pursuersgained rapidly. 

Ken mounted to the sidewalk, gave vent to a gasp of relief, and, wheeling sharply, he stumbled over two boys carrying a bushel basketof potatoes. When he saw the large, round potatoes a daring inspirationflashed into his mind. Taking the basket from the boys he turned to thehead of the stairway. 

The bronze-haired Soph was half-way up the steps. His followers, twelveor more, were climbing after him. Then a line of others stretched allthe way to College Hall. 

With a grim certainty of his mastery of the situation Ken threw a hugepotato at his leading pursuer. Fair and square on the bronze head itstruck with a sharp crack. Like a tenpin the Soph went down. He plumpedinto the next two fellows, knocking them off their slippery footing. The three fell helplessly and piled up their comrades in a dense wedgehalf-way down the steps. If the Sophs had been yelling before, it wasstrange to note how they were yelling now. 

Deliberately Ken fired the heavy missiles. They struck with soddenthuds against the bodies of the struggling sophomores. A poor throwercould not very well have missed that mark, and Ken Ward was remarkablyaccurate. He had a powerful overhand swing, and the potatoes flew likebullets. One wild-eyed Soph slipped out of the tangle to leap up thesteps. Ken, throwing rather low, hit him on the shin. He buckled anddropped down with a blood-curdling yell. Another shook himself looseand faced upward. A better-aimed shot took him in the shoulder. He gavean exhibition of a high and lofty somersault. Then two more started upabreast. The first Ken hit over the eye with a very small potato, whichpopped like an explosive bullet and flew into bits. As far as effectwas concerned a Martini could not have caused a more beautiful fall. Ken landed on the second fellow in the pit of the stomach with a verylarge potato. There was a sound as of a suddenly struck bass-drum. The Soph crumpled up over the railing, slid down, and fell among hiscomrades, effectually blocking the stairway. 

For the moment Ken had stopped the advance. The sophomores had beenchecked by one wild freshman. There was scarcely any doubt about Ken'swildness. He had lost his hat; his dishevelled hair stood up like amane; every time he hurled a potato he yelled. But there was nothingwild about his aim. 

All at once he turned his battery on the students gathering belowthe crush, trying to find a way through the kicking, slipping masson the narrow stairs. He scattered them as if they had been quail. Some ran out of range. Others dove for cover and tried to dodge. This dodging brought gleeful howls from Ken. 

"Dodge, you Indian!" yelled Ken, as he threw. And seldom it was thatdodging was of any use. Then, coming to the end of his ammunition, he surveyed the battle-field beneath him and, turning, ran acrossthe avenue and down a street. At the corner of the block he lookedback. There was one man coming, but he did not look like a student. So Ken slackened his pace and bent his steps toward his boarding-house. 

"By George! I stole those potatoes!" he exclaimed, presently. "I wonderhow I can make that good. "

Several times as he turned to look over his shoulder he saw the man hehad noticed at first. But that did not trouble him, for he was sure noone else was following him. Ken reached his room exhausted by exertionand excitement. He flung himself upon his bed to rest and calm his mindso that he could think. If he had been in a bad light before, what washis position now? Beyond all reasoning with, however, was the spiritthat gloried in his last stand. 

"By George!" he kept saying. "I wouldn't have missed that--notfor anything. They made my life a nightmare. I'll have to leavecollege--go somewhere else--but I don't care. "

Later, after dinner as he sat reading, he heard a door-bell ring, aman's voice, then footsteps in the hall. Some one tapped on his door. Ken felt a strange, cold sensation, which soon passed, and he spoke:

"Come in. "

The door opened to admit a short man with little, bright eyes sharpas knives. 

"Hello, Kid, " he said. Then he leisurely removed his hat and overcoatand laid them on the bed. 

Ken's fear of he knew not what changed to amazement. At least hisvisitor did not belong to the faculty. There was something familiarabout the man, yet Ken could not place him. 

"Well up in your studies?" he asked, cordially. Then he seated himself, put a hand on each knee, and deliberately and curiously studied Ken. 

"Why, yes, pretty well up, " replied Ken. He did not know how to takethe man. There was a kindliness about him which relieved Ken, yet therewas also a hard scrutiny that was embarrassing. 

"All by your lonely here, " he said. 

"It is lonely, " replied Ken, "but--but I don't get on very well withthe students. "

"Small wonder. Most of 'em are crazy. "

He was unmistakably friendly. Ken kept wondering where he had seen him. Presently the man arose, and, with a wide smile on his face, reachedover and grasped Ken's right arm. 

"How's the whip?"

"What?" asked Ken. 

"The wing--your arm, Kid, your arm. "

"Oh--Why, it's all right. "

"It's not sore--not after peggin' a bushel of potatoes on a cold day?"

Ken laughed and raised his arm up and down. "It's weak to-night, butnot sore. "

"These boys with their India-rubber arms! It's youth, Kid, it's youth. Say, how old are you?"

"Sixteen. "

"What! No more than that?"

"No. "

"How much do you weigh?"

"About one hundred and fifty-six. "

"I thought you had some beef back of that stunt of yours to-day. Say, Kid, it was the funniest and the best thing I've seen at the universityin ten years--and I've seen some fresh boys do some stunts, I have. Well. .. Kid, you've a grand whip--a great arm--and we're goin' to dosome stunts with it. "

Ken felt something keen and significant in the very air. 

"A great arm! For what?. .. Who are you?"

"Say, I thought every boy in college knew me. I'm Arthurs. "

"The baseball coach! Are you the baseball coach?" exclaimed Ken, jumping up with his heart in his throat. 

"That's me, my boy; and I'm lookin' you up. "

Ken suddenly choked with thronging emotions and sat down as limp asa rag. 

"Yes, Kid, I'm after you strong. The way you pegged 'em to-day got me. You've a great arm!"

III

PRISONER OF THE SOPHS

"But if--it's really true--that I've a great arm, " faltered Ken, "it won't ever do me any good. I could never get on the varsity. "

"Why not?" demanded the coach. "I'll make a star of a youngster likeyou, if you'll take coachin'. Why not?"

"Oh, you don't know, " returned Ken, with a long face. 

"Say, you haven't struck me as a kid with no nerve. What's wrongwith you?"

"It was I who slugged Captain Dale and caused that big rush betweenthe freshmen and sophomores. I've lived like a hermit ever since. "

"So it was you who hit Dale. Well--that's bad, " replied Arthurs. He got up with sober face and began to walk the floor. "I rememberthe eye he had. It was a sight. .. . But Dale's a good fellow. He'll--"

"I'd do anything on earth to make up for that, " burst out Ken. 

"Good! I'll tell you what we'll do, " said Arthurs, his face brightening. "We'll go right down to Dale's room now. I'll fix it up with him somehow. The sooner the better. I'm goin' to call the baseball candidates to thecage soon. "

They put on coats and hats and went out. Evidently the coach was thinkinghard, for he had nothing to say, but he kept a reassuring hand on Ken'sarm. They crossed the campus along the very path where Ken had fled fromthe sophomores. The great circle of dormitories loomed up beyond withlights shining in many windows. Arthurs led Ken through a court-yard andinto a wide, bright hallway. Their steps sounded with hollow click uponthe tiled floor. They climbed three flights of stairs, and then Arthursknocked at a door. Ken's heart palpitated. It was all so sudden; he didnot know what he was going to say or do. He did not care what happenedto him if Arthurs could only, somehow, put him right with the captain. 

A merry voice bade them enter. The coach opened the door and led Kenacross the threshold. Ken felt the glow of a warm, bright room, colorfulwith pennants and posters, and cozy in its disorder. Then he saw Daleand, behind him, several other students. There was a moment's silence inwhich Ken heard his heart beat. 

Dale rose slowly from his seat, the look on his frank face changingfrom welcome to intense amazement and then wild elation. 

"Whoop!" he shouted. "Lock the door! Worry Arthurs, this's your bestbet ever!"

Dale dashed at the coach, hugged him frantically, then put hishead out of the door to bawl: "Sophs! Sophs! Sophs! Hurry call!Number nine!. .. Oh, my!"

Then he faced about, holding the door partially open. He positivelybeamed upon the coach. 

"Say, Cap, what's eatin' you?" asked Arthurs. He looked dumfounded. Ken hung to him desperately; he thought he knew what was coming. Therewere hurried footsteps in the corridor and excited voices. 

"Worry, it's bully of you to bring this freshman here, " declared thecaptain. 

"Well, what of it?" demanded the coach. "I looked him up to-night. He's got a great arm, and will be good material for the team. He toldme about the little scrap you had in the lecture-room. He lost histemper, and no wonder. Anyway, he's sorry, Cap, and I fetched himaround to see if you couldn't make it up. How about it, Kid?"

"I'm sorry--awfully sorry, Captain Dale, " blurted out Ken. "I was madand scared, too--then you fellows hurt me. So I hit right out. .. . ButI'll take my medicine. "

"So--oh!" ejaculated Dale. "Well, this beats the deuce! _That's_ whyyou're here?"

The door opened wide to admit half a dozen eager-faced youths. 

"Fellows, here's a surprise, " said Dale. "Young Ward, the freshman!the elusive slugging freshman, fast on his feet, and, as Worry heresays, a lad with a great arm!"

"WARD!" roared the Sophs in unison. 

"Hold on, fellows--wait--no rough-house yet--wait, " ordered Dale. "Ward's here of his own free will!"

Silence ensued after the captain spoke. While he turned to lock thedoor the Sophs stared open-mouthed at Ken. Arthurs had a worried look, and he kept his hand on Ken. Dale went to a table and began filling hispipe. Then he fixed sharp, thoughtful eyes upon his visitors. 

"Worry, you say you brought this freshman here to talk baseball?" he asked. 

"Sure I did, " blustered Arthurs. It was plain now where he got the namethat Dale called him. "What's in the wind, anyhow?"

Dale then gravely spoke to Ken. "So you came here to see me? Sorryyou slugged me once? Want to make up for it somehow, because you thinkyou've a chance for the team, and don't want me to be sore on you?That it?"

"Not exactly, " replied Ken. "I'd want to let you get square with me evenif you weren't the varsity captain. "

"Well, you've more than squared yourself with me--by coming here. You'llrealize that presently. But don't you know what's happened, what thefreshmen have done?"

"No; I don't. "

"You haven't been near the university since this afternoon when youpulled off the potato stunt?"

"I should say I haven't. "

This brought a laugh from the Sophs. 

"You were pretty wise, " went on Dale. "The Sophs didn't love you then. But they're going to--understand?"

Ken shook his head, too bewildered and mystified to reply. 

"Well, now, here's Giraffe Boswick. Look what you did to him!"

Ken's glance followed the wave of Dale's hand and took in the tall, bronze-haired sophomore who had led the chase that afternoon. Boswickwore a huge discolored bruise over his left eye. It was hideous. Kenwas further sickened to recollect that Boswick was one of the varsitypitchers. But the fellow was smiling amiably at Ken, as amiably asone eye would permit. The plot thickened about Ken. He felt his legstrembling under him. 

"Boswick, you forgive Ward, don't you--now?" continued Dale, witha smile. 

"With all my heart!" exclaimed the pitcher. "To see him here would makeme forgive anything. "

Coach Arthurs was ill at ease. He evidently knew students, and he didnot relish the mystery, the hidden meaning. 

"Say, you wise guys make me sick, " he called out, gruffly. "Here's akid that comes right among you. He's on the level, and more'n that, he's game! Now, Cap, I fetched him here, and I won't stand for a wholelot. Get up on your toes! Get it over!"

"Sit down Worry, here's a cigar--light up, " said Dale, soothingly. "It's all coming right, lovely, I say. Ward was game to hunt me up, a thousand times gamer than he knows. .. . See here, Ward, where areyou from?"

"I live a good long day's travel from the university, " answered Ken, evasively. 

"I thought so. Did you ever hear of the bowl-fight, the great eventof the year here at Wayne University?"

"Yes, I've heard--read a little about it. But I don't know what it is. "

"I'll tell you, " went on Dale. "There are a number of yearly rushes andscrapes between the freshmen and sophomores, but the bowl-fight is theone big meeting, the time-honored event. It has been celebrated here formany years. It takes place on a fixed date. Briefly, here's what comesoff: The freshmen have the bowl in their keeping this year because theywon it in the last fight. They are to select one of their number, alwaysa scrappy fellow, and one honored by the class, and they call him thebowl-man. A week before the fight, on a certain date, the freshmen hidethis bowl-man or protect him from the sophomores until the day of thefight, when they all march to Grant field in fighting-togs. Should thesophomores chance to find him and hold him prisoner until after the dateof the bowl-fight they win the bowl. The same applies also in case thebowl is in possession of the sophomores. But for ten years neither classhas captured the other's bowl-man. So they have fought it out on thefield until the bowl was won. "

"Well, what has all that got to do with me?" asked Ken. He felt curiouslylight-headed. 

"It has a _little_ to do with you--hasn't it, fellows?" said Dale, inslow, tantalizing voice. 

Worry Arthurs lost his worried look and began to smile and rub his hands. 

"Ward, look here, " added Dale, now speaking sharply. "You've been pickedfor the bowl-man!"

"Me--me?" stammered Ken. 

"No other. The freshmen were late in choosing a man this year. To-day, after your stunt--holding up that bunch of sophomores--they had a meetingin Carlton Club and picked you. Most of them didn't even know your name. I'll bet the whole freshman class is hunting for you right now. "

"What for?" queried Ken, weakly. 

"Why, I told you. The bowl-fight is only a week off--and here you are. _And here you'll stay until that date's past!_"

Ken drew a quick breath. He began to comprehend. The sudden huzzahs ofDale's companions gave him further enlightenment. 

"But, Captain Dale, " he said, breathlessly, "if it's so--if my classhas picked me--I can't throw them down. I don't know a soul in myclass. I haven't a friend. But I won't throw them down--not to beforever free of dodging Sophs--not even to square myself with you. "

"Ward, you're all right!" shouted Dale, his eyes shining. 

In the quiet moment that followed, with all the sophomores watching himintently, Ken Ward instinctively felt that his measure had been taken. 

"I won't stay here, " said Ken, and for the first time his voice rang. 

"Oh yes, you will, " replied Dale, laughing. 

Quick as a cat Ken leaped for the door and got it unlocked and half openbefore some one clutched him. Then Dale was on him close and hard. Kenbegan to struggle. He was all muscle, and twice he broke from them. 

"His legs! Grab his legs! He's a young bull!"

"We'll trim you now, Freshie!"

"You potato-masher!"

"Go for his wind!"

Fighting and wrestling with all his might Ken went down under a halfdozen sophomores. Then Dale was astride his chest, and others weresitting on his hands and feet. 

"Boys, don't hurt that arm!" yelled Worry Arthurs. 

"Ward, will you be good now and stop scrapping or shall we tie you?"asked Dale. "You can't get away. The thing to do is to give your wordnot to try. We want to make this easy for you. Your word of honor, now?"

"Never!" cried Ken. 

"I knew you wouldn't, " said Dale. "We'll have to keep you under guard. "

They let him get up. He was panting, and his nose was bleeding, and oneof his knuckles was skinned. That short struggle had been no joke. TheSophs certainly meant to keep him prisoner. Still, he was made to feelat ease. They could not do enough for him. 

"It's tough luck, Ward, that you should have fallen into our hands thisway, " said Dale. "But you couldn't help it. You will be kept in my roomsuntil after the fifteenth. Meals will be brought you, and your books;everything will be done for your comfort. Your whereabouts, of course, will be a secret, and you will be closely watched. Worry, remember youare bound to silence. And Ward, perhaps it wasn't an ill wind that blewyou here. You've had your last scrap with a Soph, that's sure. As forwhat brought you here--it's more than square; and I'll say this: if youcan play ball as well as you can scrap, old Wayne has got a star. "

IV

THE CALL FOR CANDIDATES

There were five rooms in Dale's suite in the dormitory, and threeother sophomores shared them with him. They confined Ken in the endroom, where he was safely locked and guarded from any possible chanceto escape. 

For the first day or two it was irksome for Ken; but as he and hiscaptors grew better acquainted the strain eased up, and Ken began toenjoy himself as he had not since coming to the university. 

He could not have been better provided for. His books were at hand, and even notes of the lectures he was missing were brought to him. Thecollege papers and magazines interested him, and finally he was muchamused by an account of his mysterious disappearance. All in a day hefound himself famous. Then Dale and his room-mates were so friendly andjolly that if his captivity had not meant the disgrace of the freshmanclass, Ken would have rejoiced in it. He began to thaw out, though hedid not lose his backwardness. The life of the great university beganto be real to him. Almost the whole sophomore class, in squads of twosand threes and sixes, visited Dale's rooms during that week. No Sophwanted to miss a sight of a captive bowl-man. Ken felt so callow andfresh in their presence that he scarcely responded to their jokes. Worry Arthur's nickname of "Kid" vied with another the coach conferredon Ken, and that was "Peg. " It was significant slang expressing thelittle baseball man's baseball notion of Ken's throwing power. 

The evening was the most interesting time for Ken. There was alwayssomething lively going on. He wondered when the boys studied. Whensome of the outside students dropped in there were banjo and guitarplaying, college songs, and college gossip. 

"Come on, Peg, be a good fellow, " they said, and laughed at his refusalto smoke or drink beer. 

"Molly!" mocked one. 

"Willy-boy!" added another. 

Ken was callow, young, and backward; but he had a temper, and thiskind of banter roused it easily. The red flamed into his cheeks. 

"I promised my mother I wouldn't smoke or drink or gamble while Iwas in college, " he retorted, struggling with shame and anger. "And I--I won't. "

Dale stopped the good-natured chaff. "Fellows, stop guying Ward;cut it out, I tell you. He's only a kid freshman, but he's liableto hand you a punch, and if he does you'll remember it. Besides, he's right. .. . Look here, Ward, you stick to that promise. It's agood promise to stick to, and if you're going in for athletics it'sthe best ever. "

Worry Arthurs happened to be present on this evening, and he secondedDale in more forceful speech. "There's too much boozin' and smokin'of them coffin nails goin' on in this college. It's none of my affairexcept with the boys I'm coachin', and if I ketch any one breakin' myrules after we go to the trainin'-table he'll sit on the bench. There'sMurray; why, he says there are fellows in college who could break recordsif they'd train. Half of sprintin' or baseball or football is condition. "

"Oh, Worry, you and Mac always make a long face over things. Wayne haswon a few championships, hasn't she?"

"The varsity ball team will be a frost this year, that's sure, "replied Arthurs, gloomily. 

"How do you make that out?" demanded Dale, plainly nettled. "You'vehinted it before to me. Why won't we be stronger than last season?Didn't we have a crackerjack team, the fastest that ever representedold Wayne? Didn't we smother the small college teams and beat Placetwice, shut out Herne the first game, and play for a tie the second?"

"You'll see, all right, all right, " replied Arthurs, gloomier than ever;and he took his hat and went out. 

Dale slammed his cards down on the table. 

"Fellows, is it any wonder we call him Worry? Already he's begun tofuss over the team. Ever since he's been here he has driven the baseballcaptains and managers crazy. It's only his way, but it's so irritating. He's a magnificent coach, and Wayne owes her great baseball teams to him. But he's hard on captains. I see my troubles. The idea of this year'steam being a frost--with all the old stars back in college--with onlytwo positions to fill! And there are half a dozen cracks in college tofight for these two positions--fellows I played against on the summernines last year. Worry's idea is ridiculous. "

This bit of baseball talk showed Ken the obstacles in the way of afreshman making the varsity team. What a small chance there would befor him! Still he got a good deal of comfort out of Arthurs' interestin him, and felt that he would be happy to play substitute this season, and make the varsity in his sophomore year. 

The day of the bowl-fight passed, and Ken's captivity became history. Thebiggest honor of the sophomore year went to Dale and his room-mates. Kenreturned to his department, where he was made much of, as he had broughtfame to a new and small branch of the great university. It was a pleasureto walk the campus without fear of being pounced upon. Ken's dodging andloneliness--perhaps necessary and curbing nightmares in the life of afreshman--were things of the past. He made acquaintances, slowly losthis backwardness, and presently found college life opening to him brightand beautiful. Ken felt strongly about things. And as his self-enforcedexile had been lonely and bitter, so now his feeling that he was reallya part of the great university seemed almost too good to be true. Hebegan to get a glimmering of the meaning of his father's love for theold college. Students and professors underwent some vague change in hismind. He could not tell what, he did not think much about it, but therewas a warmer touch, a sense of something nearer to him. 

Then suddenly a blow fell upon the whole undergraduate body. It was athunderbolt. It affected every student, but Ken imagined it concernedhis own college fortunes more intimately. The athletic faculty barredevery member of the varsity baseball team! The year before the facultyhad advised and requested the players not to become members of thesummer baseball nines. Their wishes had not been heeded. Captain Daleand his fast players had been much in demand by the famous summer nines. Some of them went to the Orange Athletic Club, others to Richfield Springs, others to Cape May, and Dale himself had captained the Atlantic City team. 

The action of the faculty was commended by the college magazine. Even the students, though chafing under it, could not but acknowledgeits justice. The other universities had adopted such a rule, and Waynemust fall in line. The objections to summer ball-playing were not few, and the particular one was that it affected the amateur standing ofthe college player. He became open to charges of professionalism. Atleast, all his expenses were paid, and it was charged that usually hewas paid for his services. 

Ken's first feeling when he learned this news was one of blank dismay. The great varsity team wiped off the slate! How Place and Herne wouldhumble old Wayne this year! Then the long, hard schedule, embracingthirty games, at least one with every good team in the East--how wouldan untried green team fare against that formidable array? Then Kensuddenly felt ashamed of a selfish glee, for he was now sure of a placeon the varsity. 

For several days nothing else was talked about by the students. WheneverDale or his players appeared at Carlton Hall they were at once surroundedby a sympathetic crowd. If it was a bitter blow to the undergraduates, what was it to the members of the varsity? Their feeling showed in pale, stern faces. It was reported about the campus that Murray and Arthursand Dale, with the whole team, went to the directors of the athleticfaculty and besought them to change or modify the decision. Both thetrainer and the coach, who had brought such glory to the university, threatened to resign their places. The disgrace of a pitiably weakteam of freshmen being annihilated by minor colleges was eloquentlyput before the directors. But the decision was final. 

One evening early in February Worry Arthurs called upon Ken. His facewas long, and his mustache drooped. 

"Kid, what do you think of 'em fat-heads on the faculty queerin' myteam?" he asked. "Best team I ever developed. Say, but the way theycould work the hit-and-run game! Any man on the team could hit toright field when there was a runner goin' down from first. "

"Maybe things will turn out all right, " suggested Ken, hopefully. 

Worry regarded his youthful sympathizer with scorn. 

"It takes two years to teach most college kids the rudiments of baseball. Look at this year's schedule. " Worry produced a card and waved it at Ken. "The hardest schedule Wayne ever had! And I've got to play a kid team. "

Ken was afraid to utter any more of his hopes, and indeed he felt themto be visionary. 

"The call for candidates goes out to-morrow, " went on the coach. "I'llbet there'll be a mob at the cage. Every fool kid in the university willthink he's sure of a place. Now, Ward, what have you played?"

"Everywhere; but infield mostly. "

"Every kid has played the whole game. What position have you played most?"

"Third base. "

"Good! You've the arm for that. Well, I'm anxious to see you work, but don't exert yourself in the cage. This is a tip. See! I'll bebusy weedin' out the bunch, and won't have time until we get out onthe field. You can run around the track every day, get your wind andyour legs right, hold in on your arm. The cage is cold. I've seen manya good wing go to the bad there. But your chance looks good. Collegebaseball is different from any other kind. You might say it's playedwith the heart. I've seen youngsters go in through grit and spirit, love of playin' for their college, and beat out fellows who were theirsuperiors physically. Well, good-night. .. . Say, there's one more thing. I forgot it. Are you up in your subjects?"

"I surely am, " replied Ken. "I've had four months of nothing but study. "

"The reason I ask is this: That faculty has made another rule, theone-year residence rule, they call it. You have to pass your exams, get your first year over, before you can represent any athletic club. So, in case I can use you on the team, you would have to go up for yourexams two months or more ahead of time. That scare you?"

"Not a bit. I could pass mine right now, " answered Ken, confidently. 

"Kid, you and me are goin' to get along. .. . Well, good-night, and don'tforget what I said. "

Ken was too full for utterance; he could scarcely mumble good-night tothe coach. He ran up-stairs three steps to the jump, and when he reachedhis room he did a war dance and ended by standing on his head. When hehad gotten rid of his exuberance he sat down at once to write to hisbrother Hal about it, and also his forest-ranger friend, Dick Leslie, with whom he had spent an adventurous time the last summer. 

At Carlton Hall, next day, Ken saw a crowd of students beforethe bulletin-board and, edging in, he read the following notice:

 BASEBALL!

 CALL FOR CANDIDATES FOR THE VARSITY BASEBALL TEAM

 The Athletic Directors of the University earnestly request every student who can play ball, or who thinks he can, to present himself to Coach Arthurs at the Cage on Feb. 3rd. 

 There will be no freshman team this year, and a new team entirely will be chosen for the varsity. Every student will have a chance. Applicants are requested to familiarize themselves with the new eligibility rules. 

V

THE CAGE

Ken Ward dug down into his trunk for his old baseball suit and donnedit with strange elation. It was dirty and torn, and the shoes that wentwith it were worn out, but Ken was thinking of what hard ball-playingthey represented. He put his overcoat on over his sweater, took up hisglove and sallied forth. 

A thin coating of ice and snow covered the streets. Winter stillwhistled in the air. To Ken in his eagerness spring seemed a longway off. On his way across the campus he saw strings of uniformedboys making for Grant Field, and many wearing sweaters over theirevery-day clothes. The cage was situated at one end of the fieldapart from the other training-quarters. When Ken got there he founda mob of players crowding to enter the door of the big barn-likestructure. Others were hurrying away. Near the door a man was takingup tickets like a doorkeeper of a circus, and he kept shouting:"Get your certificates from the doctor. Every player must pass aphysical examination. Get your certificates. "

Ken turned somewhat in disgust at so much red tape and he jostled intoa little fellow, almost knocking him over. 

"Wull! Why don't you fall all over me?" growled this amiable individual. "For two cents I'd hand you one. "

The apology on Ken's lips seemed to halt of its own accord. 

"Sorry I haven't any change in these clothes, " returned Ken. He saw awiry chap, older than he was, but much smaller, and of most aggressivefront. He had round staring eyes, a protruding jaw, and his mouth turneddown at the corners. He wore a disreputable uniform and a small greencap over one ear. 

"Aw! don't get funny!" he replied. 

Ken moved away muttering to himself: "That fellow's a grouch. " Muchto his amazement, when he got to the training-house, Ken found that hecould not get inside because so many players were there ahead of him. After waiting an hour or more he decided he could not have his physicalexamination at that time, and he went back to the cage. The wide doorwas still blocked with players, but at the other end of the buildingKen found an entrance. He squeezed into a crowd of students and workedforward until stopped by a railing. 

Ken was all eyes and breathless with interest. The cage was a huge, open, airy room, lighted by many windows, and, with the exceptionof the platform where he stood, it was entirely enclosed by heavynetting. The floor was of bare ground well raked and loosened tomake it soft. This immense hall was full of a motley crowd ofaspiring ball-players. 

Worry Arthurs, with his head sunk in the collar of his overcoat, andhis shoulders hunched up as if he was about to spring upon something, paced up and down the rear end of the cage. Behind him a hundred ormore players in line slowly marched toward the slab of rubber whichmarked the batting position. Ken remembered that the celebrated coachalways tried out new players at the bat first. It was his belief thatbatting won games. 

"Bunt one and hit one!" he yelled to the batters. 

From the pitcher's box a lanky individual was trying to locate theplate. Ken did not need a second glance to see that this fellow wasno pitcher. 

"Stop posin', and pitch!" yelled Arthurs. 

One by one the batters faced the plate, swung valiantly or wildly atballs and essayed bunts. Few hit the ball out and none made a creditablebunt. After their turn at bat they were ordered to the other end of thecage, where they fell over one another trying to stop the balls thatwere hit. Every few moments the coach would yell for one of them, anyone, to take a turn at pitching. Ken noticed that Arthurs gave a sharpglance at each new batter, and one appeared to be sufficient. More andmore ambitious players crowded into the cage, until there were so manythat batted balls rarely missed hitting some one. 

Presently Ken Ward awoke from his thrilling absorption in the scene tonote another side of it. The students around him were making game ofthe players. 

"What a bunch!"

"Look at that fuzzy gosling with the yellow pants!"

"Keep your shanks out of the way, Freshie!"

"Couldn't hit a balloon!"

Whenever a batter hit a ball into the crowd of dodging players downthe cage these students howled with glee. Ken discovered that he wasstanding near Captain Dale and other members of the barred varsity. 

"Say, Dale, how do the candidates shape up?" asked a student. 

"This is a disgrace to Wayne, " declared Dale, bitterly. "I never sawsuch a mob of spindle-legged kids in my life. Look at them! Scared todeath! That fellow never swung at a ball before--that one never heardof a bunt--they throw like girls--Oh! this is sickening, fellows. I seewhere Worry goes to his grave this year and old Wayne gets humbled byone-horse colleges. "

Ken took one surprised glance at the captain he had admired so muchand then he slipped farther over in the crowd. Perhaps Dale had spokentruth, yet somehow it jarred upon Ken's sensitive nature. The thingthat affected Ken most was the earnestness of the uniformed boys tryingtheir best to do well before the great coach. Some were timid, uncertain;others were rash and over-zealous. Many a ball cracked off a player'sknee or wrist, and more than once Ken saw a bloody finger. It was coldin the cage. Even an ordinarily hit ball must have stung the hands, and the way a hard grounder cracked was enough to excite sympathy amongthose scornful spectators, if nothing more. But they yelled in delightat every fumble, at everything that happened. Ken kept whispering tohimself: "I can't see the fun in it. I can't!"

Arthurs dispensed with the bunting and ordered one hit each forthe batters. "Step up and hit!" he ordered, hoarsely. "Don't beafraid--never mind that crowd--step into the ball and swing natural. .. . Next! Hurry, boys!"

Suddenly a deep-chested student yelled out with a voice that drownedevery other sound. 

"Hard luck, Worry! No use! You'll never find a hitter among those misfits!"

The coach actually leaped up in his anger and his face went from crimsonto white. Ken thought it was likely that he recognized the voice. 

"You knocker! You knocker!" he cried. "That's a fine college spirit, ain't it? You're a fine lot of students, I don't think. Now shut up, every one of you, or I'll fire you out of the cage. .. . And right hereat the start you knockers take this from me--I'll find more than onehitter among those kids!"

A little silence fell while the coach faced that antagonistic crowdof spectators. Ken was amazed the second time, and now because of theintensity of feeling that seemed to hang in the air. Ken felt a warmrush go over him, and that moment added greatly to his already strongliking for Worry Arthurs. 

Then the coach turned to his work, the batting began again, and thecrack of the ball, the rush of feet, the sharp cries of the playersmingled once more with the laughter and caustic wit of the unsympatheticaudience. 

Ken Ward went back to his room without having removed his overcoat. He was thoughtful that night and rebellious against the attitude ofthe student body. A morning paper announced the fact that over threehundred candidates had presented themselves to Coach Arthurs. It wenton to say that the baseball material represented was not worth consideringand that old Wayne's varsity team must be ranked with those of thefifth-rate colleges. This, following Ken's experience at the cage onthe first day, made him angry and then depressed. The glamour of thething seemed to fade away. Ken lost the glow, the exhilaration of hisfirst feelings. Everybody took a hopeless view of Wayne's baseballprospects. Ken Ward, however, was not one to stay discouraged long, and when he came out of his gloom it was with his fighting spiritroused. Once and for all he made up his mind to work heart and soulfor his college, to be loyal to Arthurs, to hope and believe in thefuture of the new varsity, whether or not he was lucky enough to wina place upon it. 

Next day, going early to the training-quarters, he took his placein a squad waiting for the physical examination. It was a wearisomeexperience. At length Ken's turn came with two other players, one ofwhom he recognized as the sour-complexioned fellow of the day before. 

"Wull, you're pretty fresh, " he said to Ken as they went in. He had amost exasperating manner. 

"Say, I don't like you a whole lot, " retorted Ken. 

Then a colored attendant ushered them into a large room in which wereseveral men. The boys were stripped to the waist. 

"Come here, Murray, " said the doctor. "There's some use in lookingthese boys over, particularly this husky youngster. "

A tall man in a white sweater towered over Ken. It was the famoustrainer. He ran his hands over Ken's smooth skin and felt of themuscles. 

"Can you run?" he asked. 

"Yes, " replied Ken. 

"Are you fast?"

"Yes. "

Further inquiries brought from Ken his name, age, weight, that he hadnever been ill, had never used tobacco or intoxicating drinks. 

"Ward, eh? 'Peg' Ward, " said Murray, smiling. "Worry Arthurs has thecall on you--else, my boy, I'd whisper football in your ear. Mebbe Iwill, anyhow, if you keep up in your studies. That'll do for you. "

Ken's companions also won praise from the trainer. They gave theirnames as Raymond and Weir. The former weighed only one hundred andtwenty-two, but he was a knot of muscles. The other stood only fivefeet, but he was very broad and heavy, his remarkably compact buildgiving an impression of great strength. Both replied in the negativeto the inquiries as to use of tobacco or spirits. 

"Boys, that's what we like to hear, " said the doctor. "You three oughtto pull together. "

Ken wondered what the doctor would have said if he had seen the waythese three boys glared at each other in the dressing-room. And hewondered, too, what was the reason for such open hostility. The answercame to him in the thought that perhaps they were both trying for theposition he wanted on the varsity. Most likely they had the same ideaabout him. That was the secret of little Raymond's pugnacious front andWeir's pompous air; and Ken realized that the same reason accounted forhis own attitude toward them. He wanted very much to tell Raymond thathe was a little grouch and Weir that he looked like a puffed-up toad. All the same Ken was not blind to Weir's handsome appearance. Thesturdy youngster had an immense head, a great shock of bright brownhair, flashing gray eyes, and a clear bronze skin. 

"They'll both make the team, I'll bet, " thought Ken. "They look it. I hope I don't have to buck against them. " Then as they walked towardthe cage Ken forced himself to ask genially: "Raymond, what're youtrying for? And you, Weir?"

"Wull, if it's any of your fresh business, I'm not _trying_ for anyplace. I'm going to play infield. You can carry my bat, " replied Raymond, sarcastically. 

"Much obliged, " retorted Ken, "I'm not going to substitute. I've acorner on that varsity infield myself. "

Weir glanced at them with undisguised disdain. "You can save yourselvesuseless work by not trying for my position. I intend to play infield. "

"Wull, puff-up, now, puff-up!" growled Raymond. 

Thus the three self-appointed stars of the varsity bandied wordsamong themselves as they crossed the field. At the cage door theybecame separated to mingle with the pushing crowd of excited boysin uniforms. 

By dint of much squeezing and shoulder-work Ken got inside the cage. He joined the squad in the upper end and got in line for the batting. Worry Arthurs paced wildly to and fro yelling for the boys to hit. Adense crowd of students thronged the platform and laughed, jeered, andstormed at the players. The cage was in such an uproar that Arthurscould scarcely be heard. Watching from the line Ken saw Weir come tobat and stand aggressively and hit the ball hard. It scattered the flockof fielders. Then Raymond came along, and, batting left-handed, didlikewise. Arthurs stepped forward and said something to both. AfterKen's turn at bat the coach said to him: "Get out of here. Go run roundthe track. Do it every day. Don't come back until Monday. "

As Ken hurried out he saw and felt the distinction with which he wasregarded by the many players whom he crowded among in passing. Whenhe reached the track he saw Weir, Raymond, and half a dozen otherfellows going round at a jog-trot. Weir was in the lead, setting thepace. Ken fell in behind. 

The track was the famous quarter-mile track upon which Murray trainedhis sprinters. When Ken felt the spring of the cinder-path in his feet, the sensation of buoyancy, the eager wildfire pride that flamed overhim, he wanted to break into headlong flight. The first turn around thetrack was delight; the second pleasure in his easy stride; the thirdbrought a realization of distance. When Ken had trotted a mile he wasnot tired, he still ran easily, but he began to appreciate that hislegs were not wings. The end of the second mile found him sweatingfreely and panting. 

Two miles were enough for the first day. Ken knew it and he began towonder why the others, especially Weir, did not know it. But Weir joggedon, his head up, his hair flying, as if he had not yet completed hisfirst quarter. The other players stretched out behind him. Ken sawRaymond's funny little green cap bobbing up and down, and it made himangry. Why could not the grouch get a decent cap, anyway?

At the end of the third mile Ken began to labor. His feet began tofeel weighted, his legs to ache, his side to hurt. He was wringing wet;his skin burned; his breath whistled. But he kept doggedly on. It hadbecome a contest now. Ken felt instinctively that every runner wouldnot admit he had less staying power than the others. Ken declared tohimself that he could be as bull-headed as any of them. Still to seeWeir jogging on steady and strong put a kind of despair on Ken. Forevery lap of the fourth mile a runner dropped out, and at the half ofthe fifth only Weir, Raymond, and Ken kept to the track. 

Ken hung on gasping at every stride. He was afraid his heart would burst. The pain in his side was as keen as a knife thrust. His feet were lead. Every rod he felt must be his last, yet spurred on desperately, andhe managed to keep at the heels of the others. It might kill him, but he would not stop until he dropped. Raymond was wagging alongready to fall any moment, and Weir was trotting slowly with head down. On the last lap of the fifth mile they all stopped as by one accord. Raymond fell on the grass; Ken staggered to a bench, and Weir leanedhard against the fence. They were all blowing like porpoises andregarded each other as mortal enemies. Weir gazed grandly at theother two; Raymond glowered savagely at him and then at Ken; andKen in turn gave them withering glances. Without a word the threecontestants for a place on the varsity then went their several ways. 

VI

OUT ON THE FIELD

When Ken presented himself at the cage on the following Monday it wasto find that Arthurs had weeded out all but fifty of the candidates. Every afternoon for a week the coach put these players through battingand sliding practice, then ordered them out to run around the track. On the next Monday only twenty-five players were left, and as the numbernarrowed down the work grew more strenuous, the rivalry keener, and thetempers of the boys more irascible. 

Ken discovered it was work and not by any means pleasant work. Hefortified himself by the thought that the pleasure and glory, thereal play, was all to come as a reward. Worry Arthurs drove themrelentlessly. Nothing suited him; not a player knew how to hold abat, to stand at the plate, to slide right, or to block a ground ball. 

"Don't hit with your left hand on top--unless you're left-handed. Don't grip the end of the bat. There! Hold steady now, step out andinto the ball, and swing clean and level. If you're afraid of bein'hit by the ball, get out of here!"

It was plain to Ken that not the least of Arthurs' troubles was theincessant gibing of the students on the platform. There was always acrowd watching the practice, noisy, scornful, abusive. They would neverrecover from the shock of having that seasoned champion varsity barredout of athletics. Every once in a while one of them would yell out:"Wait, Worry! oh! Worry, wait till the old varsity plays your yanigans!"And every time the coach's face would burn. But he had ceased to talkback to the students. Besides, the athletic directors were alwayspresent. They mingled with the candidates and talked baseball to themand talked to Arthurs. Some of them might have played ball once, butthey did not talk like it. Their advice and interference served onlyto make the coach's task harder. 

Another Monday found only twenty players in the squad. That day Arthurstried out catchers, pitchers, and infielders. He had them all throwing, running, fielding, working like Trojans. They would jump at his yell, dive after the ball, fall over it, throw it anywhere but in the rightdirection, run wild, and fight among themselves. The ever-flowingridicule from the audience was anything but a stimulus. So much ofit coming from the varsity and their adherents kept continually in theminds of the candidates their lack of skill, their unworthiness torepresent the great university in such a popular sport as baseball. Sothat even if there were latent ability in any of the candidates no onebut the coach could see it. And often he could not conceal his disgustand hopelessness. 

"Battin' practice!" he ordered, sharply. "Two hits and a bunt to-day. Get a start on the bunt and dig for first. Hustle now!"

He placed one player to pitch to the hitters, another to catch, and assoon as the hitters had their turn they took to fielding. Two turns foreach at bat left the coach more than dissatisfied. 

"You're all afraid of the ball, " he yelled. "This ain't no dodgin' game. Duck your nut if the ball's goin' to hit you, but stop lookin' for it. Forget it. Another turn now. I'm goin' to umpire. Let's see if you knowthe difference between a ball and a strike. "

He changed the catcher and, ordering Ken to the pitcher's box, hestepped over behind him. "Peg, " he said, speaking low, "you're nottryin' for pitcher, I know, but you've got speed and control and Iwant you to peg 'em a few. Mind now, easy with your arm. By thatI mean hold in, don't whip it. And you peg 'em as near where I sayas you can; see?"

As the players, one after another, faced the box, the coach kept sayingto Ken: "Drive that fellow away from the plate. .. Give this one a lowball. .. Now straight over the pan. Say, Peg, you've got a nice ballthere. .. Put a fast one under this fellow's chin. "

"Another turn, now, boys!" he yelled. "I tell you--_stand up to theplate!_" Then he whispered to Ken. "Hit every one of 'em! Peg 'em now, any place. "

"Hit them?" asked Ken, amazed. 

"That's what I said. "

"But--Mr. Arthurs--"

"See here, Peg. Don't talk back to me. Do as I say. We'll peg a littlenerve into this bunch. Now I'll go back of the plate and make a bluff. "

Arthurs went near to the catcher's position. Then he said: "Now, fellows, Ward's pretty wild and I've told him to speed up a few. Stand right up and step into 'em. "

The first batter was Weir. Ken swung easily and let drive. Straight asa string the ball sped for the batter. Like a flash he dropped flat inthe dust and the ball just grazed him. It was a narrow escape. Weirjumped up, his face flaring, his hair on end, and he gazed hard at Kenbefore picking up the bat. 

"Batter up!" ordered the coach. "Do you think this's a tea-party?"

Weir managed by quick contortions to get through his time at batwithout being hit. Three players following him were not so lucky. 

"Didn't I say he was wild?" yelled the coach. "Batter up, now!"

The next was little Raymond. He came forward cautiously, eying Kenwith disapproval. Ken could not resist putting on a little more steam, and the wind of the first ball whipped off Raymond's green cap. Raymondlooked scared and edged away from the plate, and as the second ballcame up he stepped wide with his left foot. 

"Step into the ball, " said the coach. "Don't pull away. Step in oryou'll never hit. "

The third ball cracked low down on Raymond's leg. 

"Oh!--Oh!--Oh!" he howled, beginning to hop and hobble about the cage. 

"Next batter!" called out Arthurs. 

And so it went on until the most promising player in the cage came tobat. This was Graves, a light-haired fellow, tall, built like a wedge. He had more confidence than any player in the squad and showed up wellin all departments of the game. Moreover, he was talky, aggressive, and more inclined to be heard and felt. He stepped up and swung hisbat at Ken. 

"You wild freshman! If you hit me!" he cried. 

Ken Ward had not fallen in love with any of his rivals for places onthe team, but he especially did not like Graves. He did not stop toconsider the reason of it at the moment, still he remembered severaltricks Graves had played, and he was not altogether sorry for thecoach's order. Swinging a little harder, Ken threw straight at Graves. 

"_Wham!_" The ball struck him fair on the hip. Limping away fromthe plate he shook his fist at Ken. 

"Batter up!" yelled Arthurs. "A little more speed now, Peg. You see itain't nothin' to get hit. Why, that's in the game. It don't hurt much. I never cared when I used to get hit. Batter up!"

Ken sent up a very fast ball, on the outside of the plate. The batterswung wide, and the ball, tipping the bat, glanced to one side andstruck Arthurs in the stomach with a deep sound. 

Arthurs' round face went red; he gurgled and gasped for breath; he wassinking to his knees when the yelling and crowing of the students onthe platform straightened him up. He walked about a few minutes, thenordered sliding practice. 

The sliding-board was brought out. It was almost four feet wide andtwenty long and covered with carpet. 

"Run hard, boys, and don't let up just before you slide. Keep yourspeed and dive. Now at it!"

A line of players formed down the cage. The first one dashed forwardand plunged at the board, hitting it with a bang. The carpet wasslippery and he slid off and rolled in the dust. The second playerleaped forward and, sliding too soon, barely reached the board. Oneby one the others followed. 

"Run fast now!" yelled the coach. "Don't flinch. .. . Go down hardand slide. .. Light on your hands. .. Keep your heads up. .. Slide!"

This feature of cage-work caused merriment among the onlookers. Thatsliding-board was a wonderful and treacherous thing. Most players slidoff it as swift as a rocket. Arthurs kept them running so fast and soclose together that at times one would shoot off the board just as thenext would strike it. They sprawled on the ground, rolled over, androoted in the dust. One skinned his nose on the carpet; another slidthe length of the board on his ear. All the time they kept running andsliding, the coach shouted to them, and the audience roared with laughter. But it was no fun for the sliders. Raymond made a beautiful slide, andGraves was good, but all the others were ludicrous. 

It was a happy day for Ken, and for all the candidates, when the coachordered them out on the field. This was early in March. The sun wasbright, the frost all out of the ground, and a breath of spring was inthe air. How different it was from the cold, gloomy cage! Then the mockingstudents, although more in evidence than before, were confined to thestands and bleachers, and could not so easily be heard. But the presenceof the regular varsity team, practising at the far end of Grant Field, had its effect on the untried players. 

The coach divided his players into two nines and had them practisebatting first, then fielding, and finally started them in a game, with each candidate playing the position he hoped to make on thevarsity. 

It was a weird game. The majority of the twenty candidates displayedlittle knowledge of baseball. School-boys on the commons could havebeaten them. They were hooted and hissed by the students, and beforehalf the innings were played the bleachers and stands were empty. Thatwas what old Wayne's students thought of Arthurs' candidates. 

In sharp contrast to most of them, Weir, Raymond, and Graves showedthey had played the game somewhere. Weir at short-stop covered groundwell, but he could not locate first base. Raymond darted here and therequick as a flash, and pounced upon the ball like a huge frog. Nothinggot past him, but he juggled the ball. Graves was a finished andbeautiful fielder; he was easy, sure, yet fast, and his throw fromthird to first went true as a line. 

Graves's fine work accounted for Ken Ward's poor showing. Both weretrying for third base, and when Ken once saw his rival play out on thefield he not only lost heart and became confused, but he instinctivelyacknowledged that Graves was far his superior. After all his hopes andthe kind interest of the coach it was a most bitter blow. Ken had neverplayed so poor a game. The ball blurred in his tear-wet eyes and lookeddouble. He did not field a grounder. He muffed foul flies and missedthrown balls. It did not occur to him that almost all of the playersaround him were in the same boat. He could think of nothing but thedashing away of his hopes. What was the use of trying? But he kepttrying, and the harder he tried the worse he played. At the bat hestruck out, fouled out, never hit the ball square at all. Graves gottwo well-placed hits to right field. Then when Ken was in the fieldGraves would come down the coaching line and talk to him in a voice noone else could hear. 

"You've got a swell chance to make this team, you have, _not!_ Thirdbase is my job, Freshie. Why, you tow-head, you couldn't play marbles. You butter-finger, can't you stop anything? You can't even play sub onthis team. Remember, Ward, I said I'd get you for hitting me that day. You hit me with a potato once, too. I'll chase you off this team. "

For once Ken's spirit was so crushed and humbled that he could not saya word to his rival. He even felt he deserved it all. When the practiceended, and he was walking off the field with hanging head, trying tobear up under the blow, he met Arthurs. 

"Hello! Peg, " said the coach, "I'm going your way. "

Ken walked along feeling Arthurs' glance upon him, but he was ashamedto raise his head. 

"Peg, you were up in the air to-day--way off--you lost your nut. "

He spoke kindly and put his hand on Ken's arm. Ken looked up to seethat the coach's face was pale and tired, with the characteristicworried look more marked than usual. 

"Yes, I was, " replied Ken, impulsively. "I can play better than I didto-day--but--Mr. Arthurs, I'm not in Graves's class as a third-baseman. I know it. "

Ken said it bravely, though there was a catch in his voice. The coachlooked closely at him. 

"So you're sayin' a good word for Graves, pluggin' his game. "

"I'd love to make the team, but old Wayne must have the best playersyou can get. "

"Peg, I said once you and me were goin' to get along. I said also thatcollege baseball is played with the heart. You lost your heart. So didmost of the kids. Well, it ain't no wonder. This's a tryin' time. I'mplayin' them against each other, and no fellow knows where he's at. Now, I've seen all along that you weren't a natural infielder. I playedyou at third to-day to get that idea out of your head. To-morrow I'lltry you in the outfield. You ain't no quitter, Peg. "

Ken hurried to his room under the stress of a complete revulsion offeeling. His liking for the coach began to grow into something more. It was strange to Ken what power a few words from Arthurs had to renewhis will and hope and daring. How different Arthurs was when not on thefield. There he was stern and sharp. Ken could not study that night, and he slept poorly. His revival of hope did not dispel his nervousexcitement. 

He went out into Grant Field next day fighting himself. When inthe practice Arthurs assigned him to a right-field position, hehad scarcely taken his place when he became conscious of a queerinclination to swallow often, of a numbing tight band round hischest. He could not stand still; his hands trembled; there was amist before his eyes. His mind was fixed upon himself and upon theother five outfielders trying to make the team. He saw the playersin the infield pace their positions restlessly, run without aim whenthe ball was hit or thrown, collide with each other, let the ball gobetween their hands and legs, throw wildly, and sometimes stand as iftransfixed when they ought to have been in action. But all this wasnot significant to Ken. He saw everything that happened, but he thoughtonly that he must make a good showing; he must not miss any flies, orlet a ball go beyond him. He absolutely must do the right thing. Theair of Grant Field was charged with intensity of feeling, and Kenthought it was all his own. His baseball fortune was at stake, andhe worked himself in such a frenzy that if a ball had been battedin his direction he might not have seen it at all. Fortunately nonecame his way. 

The first time at bat he struck out ignominiously, poking weaklyat the pitcher's out-curves. The second time he popped up a littlefly. On the next trial the umpire called him out on strikes. At hislast chance Ken was desperate. He knew the coach placed batting beforeany other department of the game. Almost sick with the torture of theconflicting feelings, Ken went up to the plate and swung blindly. Tohis amaze he cracked a hard fly to left-centre, far between the fielders. Like a startled deer Ken broke into a run. He turned first base and sawthat he might stretch the hit into a three-bagger. He knew he could run, and never had he so exerted himself. Second base sailed under him, andhe turned in line for the third. Watching Graves, he saw him run for thebase and stand ready to catch the throw-in. 

Without slacking his speed in the least Ken leaped into the air headlongfor the base. He heard the crack of the ball as it hit Graves's glove. Then with swift scrape on hands and breast he was sliding in the dust. He stopped suddenly as if blocked by a stone wall. Something hard struckhim on the head. A blinding light within his brain seemed to explodeinto glittering slivers. A piercing pain shot through him. Then fromdarkness and a great distance sounded a voice:

"Ward, I said I'd get you!"

VII

ANNIHILATION

That incident put Ken out of the practice for three days. He had abruise over his ear as large as a small apple. Ken did not mind thepain nor the players' remarks that he had a swelled head anyway, buthe remembered with slow-gathering wrath Graves's words: "I said I'dget you!"

He remembered also Graves's reply to a question put by the coach. "I was only tagging him. I didn't mean to hurt him. " That rankledinside Ken. He kept his counsel, however, even evading a sharpquery put by Arthurs, and as much as it was possible he avoidedthe third-baseman. 

Hard practice was the order of every day, and most of it was batting. The coach kept at the candidates everlastingly, and always his cry was:"Toe the plate, left foot a little forward, step into the ball andswing!" At the bat Ken made favorable progress because the coach wasalways there behind him with encouraging words; in the field, however, he made a mess of it, and grew steadily worse. 

The directors of the Athletic Association had called upon the oldvarsity to go out and coach the new aspirants for college fame. The varsity had refused. Even the players of preceding years, whatfew were in or near the city, had declined to help develop Wayne'sstripling team. But some of the older graduates, among them severalof the athletic directors, appeared on the field. When Arthurs sawthem he threw up his hands in rage and despair. That afternoon Kenhad three well-meaning but old-fashioned ball-players coach him inthe outfield. He had them one at a time, which was all that savedhim from utter distraction. One told him to judge a fly by the soundwhen the ball was hit. Another told him to play in close, and when theball was batted to turn and run with it. The third said he must playdeep and sprint in for the fly. Then each had different ideas as tohow batters should be judged, about throwing to bases, about backingup the other fielders. Ken's bewilderment grew greater and greater. He had never heard of things they advocated, and he began to think hedid not know anything about the game. And what made his condition ofmind border on imbecility was a hurried whisper from Arthurs betweeninnings: "Peg, don't pay the slightest attention to 'em fat-headgrad. Coaches. "

Practice days succeeding that were worse nightmares to Ken Ward thanthe days he had spent in constant fear of the sophomores. It was aterribly feverish time of batting balls, chasing balls, and of havingdinned into his ears thousands of orders, rules of play, talks oncollege spirit in athletics--all of which conflicted so that it wasmeaningless to him. During this dark time one ray of light was thefact that Arthurs never spoke a sharp word to him. Ken felt vaguelythat he was whirling in some kind of a college athletic chaos, out ofwhich he would presently emerge. 

Toward the close of March the weather grew warm, the practice fielddried up, and baseball should have been a joy to Ken. But it was not. At times he had a shameful wish to quit the field for good, but he hadnot the courage to tell the coach. The twenty-fifth, the day scheduledfor the game with the disgraced varsity team, loomed closer and closer. Its approach was a fearful thing for Ken. Every day he cast furtiveglances down the field to where the varsity held practice. Ken hadnothing to say; he was as glum as most of the other candidates, buthe had heard gossip in the lecture-rooms, in the halls, on the street, everywhere, and it concerned this game. What would the old varsity doto Arthurs' new team? Curiosity ran as high as the feeling toward theathletic directors. Resentment flowed from every source. Ken somehow gotthe impression that he was blamable for being a member of the coach'sgreen squad. So Ken Ward fluctuated between two fears, one as bad asthe other--that he would not be selected to play, and the other that hewould be selected. It made no difference. He would be miserable if notchosen, and if he was--how on earth would he be able to keep his kneesfrom wobbling? Then the awful day dawned. 

Coach Arthurs met all his candidates at the cage. He came late, heexplained, because he wanted to keep them off the field until time forpractice. To-day he appeared more grave than worried, and where the boysexpected a severe lecture, he simply said: "I'll play as many of you asI can. Do your best, that's all. Don't mind what these old players say. They were kids once, though they seem to have forgotten it. Try to learnfrom them. "

It was the first time the candidates had been taken upon the regulardiamond of Grant Field. Ken had peeped in there once to be impressed bythe beautiful level playground, and especially the magnificent turretedgrand-stand and the great sweeping stretches of bleachers. Then they hadbeen empty; now, with four thousand noisy students and thousands of otherspectators besides, they stunned him. He had never imagined a crowd comingto see the game. 

Perhaps Arthurs had not expected it either, for Ken heard him mutter grimlyto himself. He ordered practice at once, and called off the names of thosehe had chosen to start the game. As one in a trance Ken Ward found himselftrotting out to right field. 

A long-rolling murmur that was half laugh, half taunt, rose from thestands. Then it quickly subsided. From his position Ken looked forthe players of the old varsity, but they had not yet come upon thefield. Of the few balls batted to Ken in practice he muffed only one, and he was just beginning to feel that he might acquit himself creditablywhen the coach called the team in. Arthurs had hardly given his newplayers time enough to warm up, but likewise they had not had timeto make any fumbles. 

All at once a hoarse roar rose from the stands, then a thunderingclatter of thousands of feet as the students greeted the appearanceof the old varsity. It was applause that had in it all the feeling ofthe undergraduates for the championship team, many of whom they consideredhad been unjustly barred by the directors. Love, loyalty, sympathy, resentment--all pealed up to the skies in that acclaim. It rolled outover the heads of Arthurs' shrinking boys as they huddled together onthe bench. 

Ken Ward, for one, was flushing and thrilling. In that moment he losthis gloom. He watched the varsity come trotting across the field, adoughty band of baseball warriors. Each wore a sweater with the hugewhite "W" shining like a star. Many of those players had worn thathonored varsity letter for three years. It did seem a shame to barthem from this season's team. Ken found himself thinking of the matterfrom their point of view, and his sympathy was theirs. 

More than that, he gloried in the look of them, in the trained, springystrides, in the lithe, erect forms, in the assurance in every move. Everydetail of that practice photographed itself upon Ken Ward's memory, andhe knew he would never forget. 

There was Dale, veteran player, captain and pitcher of the nine, hero ofvictories over Place and Herne. There was Hogan, catcher for three seasons, a muscular fellow, famed for his snap-throw to the bases and his fiendishchasing of foul flies. There was Hickle, the great first-baseman, whom theprofessional leagues were trying to get. What a reach he had; how easilyhe scooped in the ball; low, high, wide, it made no difference to him. There was Canton at second, Hollis at short, Burns at third, who had beenpicked for the last year's All-American College Team. Then there was Dreer, brightest star of all, the fleet, hard-hitting centre-fielder. This playerparticularly fascinated Ken. It was a beautiful sight to see him run. Theground seemed to fly behind him. When the ball was hit high he wheeledwith his back to the diamond and raced out, suddenly to turn with unerringjudgment--and the ball dropped into his hands. On low line hits he showedhis fleetness, for he was like a gleam of light in his forward dash; and, however the ball presented, shoulder high, low by his knees, or on a shortbound, he caught it. Ken Ward saw with despairing admiration what it meantto be a great outfielder. 

Then Arthurs called "Play ball!" giving the old varsity the field. 

With a violent start Ken Ward came out of his rhapsody. He saw a whiteball tossed on the diamond. Dale received it from one of the fieldersand took his position in the pitcher's box. The uniform set off hispowerful form; there was something surly and grimly determined inhis face. He glanced about to his players, as if from long habit, andcalled out gruffly: "Get in the game, fellows! No runs for this scruboutfit!" Then, with long-practised swing, he delivered the ball. Ittravelled plateward swift as the flight of a white swallow. The umpirecalled it a strike on Weir; the same on the next pitch; the third waswide. Weir missed the fourth and was out. Raymond followed on the battinglist. To-day, as he slowly stepped toward the plate, seemingly smallerand glummer than ever, it was plain he was afraid. The bleachers howledat the little green cap sticking over his ear. Raymond did not swing atthe ball; he sort of reached out his bat at the first three pitches, stepping back from the plate each time. The yell that greeted his weakattempt seemed to shrivel him up. Also it had its effect on the youngstershuddling around Arthurs. Graves went up and hit a feeble grounder to Daleand was thrown out at first. 

Ken knew the half-inning was over; he saw the varsity players throw asidetheir gloves and trot in. But either he could not rise or he was glued tothe bench. Then Arthurs pulled him up, saying, "Watch sharp, Peg, thesefellows are right-field hitters!" At the words all Ken's blood turnedto ice. He ran out into the field fighting the coldest, most sickeningsensation he ever had in his life. The ice in his veins all went to thepit of his stomach and there formed into a heavy lump. Other times whenhe had been frightened flitted through his mind. It had been bad when hefought with Greaser, and worse when he ran with the outlaws in pursuit, and the forest fire was appalling. But Ken felt he would gladly havechanged places at that moment. He dreaded the mocking bleachers. 

Of the candidates chosen to play against the varsity Ken knew McCord atfirst, Raymond at second, Weir at short, Graves at third. He did not knoweven the names of the others. All of them, except Graves, appeared tooyoung to play in that game. 

Dreer was first up for the varsity, and Ken shivered all over when thelithe centre-fielder stepped to the left side of the plate. Ken wentout deeper, for he knew most hard-hitting left-handers hit to rightfield. But Dreer bunted the first ball teasingly down the third-baseline. Fleet as a deer, he was across the bag before the infielderreached the ball. Hollis was next up. On the first pitch, as Dreergot a fast start for second, Hollis bunted down the first-base line. Pitcher and baseman ran for the bunt; Hollis was safe, and the sprintingDreer went to third without even drawing a throw. A long pealing yellrolled over the bleachers. Dale sent coaches to the coaching lines. Hickle, big and formidable, hurried to the plate, swinging a long bat. He swung it as if he intended to knock the ball out of the field. When the pitcher lifted his arm Dreer dashed for home-base, and seemedbeating the ball. But Hickle deftly dumped it down the line and brokefor first while Dreer scored. This bunt was not fielded at all. Howthe bleachers roared! Then followed bunts in rapid succession, dashesfor first, and slides into the bag. The pitcher interfered with thethird-baseman, and the first-baseman ran up the line, and the pitcherfailed to cover the bag, and the catcher fell all over the ball. Every varsity man bunted, but in just the place where it was notexpected. They raced around the bases. They made long runs fromfirst to third. They were like flashes of light, slippery as eels. The bewildered infielders knew they were being played with. Thetaunting "boo-hoos" and screams of delight from the bleachers wereas demoralizing as the illusively daring runners. Closer and closerthe infielders edged in until they were right on top of the batters. Then Dale and his men began to bunt little infield flies over the headsof their opponents. The merry audience cheered wildly. But Graves andRaymond ran back and caught three of these little pop flies, thus retiringthe side. The old varsity had made six runs on nothing but deliberatebunts and daring dashes around the bases. 

Ken hurried in to the bench and heard some one call out, "Ward up!"

He had forgotten he would have to bat. Stepping to the plate was likefacing a cannon. One of the players yelled: "Here he is, Dale! Here'sthe potato-pegger! Knock his block off!"

The cry was taken up by other players. "Peg him, Dale! Peg him, Dale!"And then the bleachers got it. Ken's dry tongue seemed pasted to theroof of his mouth. This Dale in baseball clothes with the lowering frownwas not like the Dale Ken had known. Suddenly he swung his arm. Ken'squick eye caught the dark, shooting gleam of the ball. Involuntarily heducked. "Strike, " called the umpire. Then Dale had not tried to hit him. Ken stepped up again. The pitcher whirled slowly this time, turning withlong, easy motion, and threw underhand. The ball sailed, floated, soared. Long before it reached Ken it had fooled him completely. He chopped atit vainly. The next ball pitched came up swifter, but just before itcrossed the plate it seemed to stop, as if pulled back by a string, andthen dropped down. Ken fell to his knees trying to hit it. 

The next batter's attempts were not as awkward as Ken's, still they wereas futile. As Ken sat wearily down upon the bench he happened to get nextto coach Arthurs. He expected some sharp words from the coach, he thoughthe deserved anything, but they were not forthcoming. The coach put hishand on Ken's knee. When the third batter fouled to Hickle, and Kengot up to go out to the field, he summoned courage to look at Arthurs. Something in his face told Ken what an ordeal this was. He divined thatit was vastly more than business with Worry Arthurs. 

"Peg, watch out this time, " whispered the coach. "They'll line 'em atyou this inning--like bullets. Now try hard, won't you? _Just try!_"

Ken knew from Arthurs' look more than his words that _trying_ was allthat was left for the youngsters. The varsity had come out early inthe spring, and they had practised to get into condition to annihilatethis new team practically chosen by the athletic directors. And theyhad set out to make the game a farce. But Arthurs meant that all thevictory was not in winning the game. It was left for his boys to tryin the face of certain defeat, to try with all their hearts, to try withunquenchable spirit. It was the spirit that counted, not the result. The old varsity had received a bitter blow; they were aggressive andrelentless. The students and supporters of old Wayne, idolizing thegreat team, always bearing in mind the hot rivalry with Place and Herne, were unforgiving and intolerant of an undeveloped varsity. Perhaps neithercould be much blamed. But it was for the new players to show what it meantto them. The greater the prospect of defeat, the greater the indifferenceor hostility shown them, the more splendid their opportunity. For it wastheirs to try for old Wayne, to try, to fight, and never to give up. 

Ken caught fire with the flame of that spirit. 

"Boys, come on!" he cried, in his piercing tenor. "_They can't beat ustrying!_"

As he ran out into the field members of the varsity spoke to him. "You green-backed freshman! Shut up! You scrub!"

"I'm not a varsity has-been!" retorted Ken, hurrying out to his position. 

The first man up, a left-hander, rapped a hard twisting liner to rightfield. Ken ran toward deep centre with all his might. The ball kepttwisting and curving. It struck squarely in Ken's hands and bouncedout and rolled far. When he recovered it the runner was on third base. Before Ken got back to his position the second batter hit hard throughthe infield toward right. The ball came skipping like a fiendish rabbit. Ken gritted his teeth and went down on his knees, to get the boundingball full in his breast. But he stopped it, scrambled for it, and madethe throw in. Dale likewise hit in his direction, a slow low fly, difficult to judge. Ken over-ran it, and the hit gave Dale two bases. Ken realized that the varsity was now executing Worry Arthurs' famousright-field hitting. The sudden knowledge seemed to give Ken theblind-staggers. The field was in a haze; the players blurred in hissight. He heard the crack of the ball and saw Raymond dash over andplunge down. Then the ball seemed to streak out of the grass towardhim, and, as he bent over, it missed his hands and cracked on his shin. Again he fumbled wildly for it and made the throw in. The pain rousedhis rage. He bit his lips and called to himself: "I'll stop them if itkills me!"

Dreer lined the ball over his head for a home-run. Hollis made a bidfor a three-bagger, but Ken, by another hard sprint, knocked the balldown. Hickle then batted up a tremendously high fly. It went far beyondKen and he ran and ran. It looked like a small pin-point of black upin the sky. Then he tried to judge it, to get under it. The white skysuddenly glazed over and the ball wavered this way and that. Ken lostit in the sun, found it again, and kept on running. Would it never comedown? He had not reached it, he had run beyond it. In an agony he lungedout, and the ball fell into his hands and jumped out. 

Then followed a fusillade of hits, all between second base and first, and all vicious-bounding grounders. To and fro Ken ran, managing somehowto get some portion of his anatomy in front of the ball. It had becomea demon to him now and he hated it. His tongue was hanging out, hisbreast was bursting, his hands were numb, yet he held before him theone idea to keep fiercely trying. 

He lost count of the runs after eleven had been scored. He saw McCord andRaymond trying to stem the torrent of right-field hits, but those theyknocked down gave him no time to recover. He blocked the grass-cutterswith his knees or his body and pounced upon the ball and got it away fromhim as quickly as possible. Would this rapid fire of uncertain-boundingballs never stop? Ken was in a kind of frenzy. If he only had time tocatch his breath!

Then Dreer was at bat again. He fouled the first two balls over thegrand-stand. Some one threw out a brand-new ball. Farther and fartherKen edged into deep right. He knew what was coming. "Let him--hit it!"he panted. "I'll try to get it! This day settles me. I'm no outfielder. But I'll try!"

The tired pitcher threw the ball and Dreer seemed to swing and bound atonce with the ringing crack. The hit was one of his famous drives closeto the right-field foul-line. 

Ken was off with all the speed left in him. He strained every nerveand was going fast when he passed the foul-flag. The bleachers loomedup indistinct in his sight. But he thought only of meeting the ball. The hit was a savage liner, curving away from him. Cinders under hisflying feet were a warning that he did not heed. He was on the track. He leaped into the air, left hand outstretched, and felt the ballstrike in his glove. 

Then all was dark in a stunning, blinding crash--

VIII

EXAMINATIONS

When Ken Ward came fully to his senses he was being half carriedand half led across the diamond to the players' bench. He heardWorry Arthurs say: "He ain't hurt much--only butted into the fence. "

Ken tried manfully to entertain Worry's idea about it, but he was toodazed and weak to stand alone. He imagined he had broken every bone inhis body. 

"Did I make the catch--hang to the ball?" he asked. 

"No, Peg, you didn't, " replied the coach, kindly. "But you made a grandtry for it. "

He felt worse over failing to hold the ball than he felt over halfkilling himself against the bleachers. He spent the remainder ofthat never-to-be-forgotten game sitting on the bench. But to watchhis fellow-players try to play was almost as frightful as beingback there in right field. It was no consolation for Ken to seehis successor chasing long hits, misjudging flies, failing weaklyon wicked grounders. Even Graves weakened toward the close andspoiled his good beginning by miserable fumbles and throws. It wascomplete and disgraceful rout. The varsity never let up until thelast man was out. The team could not have played harder againstPlace or Herne. Arthurs called the game at the end of the sixthinning with the score 41 to 0. 

Many beaten and despondent players had dragged themselves off GrantField in bygone years. But none had ever been so humiliated, so crushed. No player spoke a word or looked at another. They walked off with bowedheads. Ken lagged behind the others; he was still stunned and lame. Presently Arthurs came back to help him along, and did not speak untilthey were clear of the campus and going down Ken's street. 

"I'm glad that's over, " said Worry. "I kicked against havin' the game, but 'em fat-head directors would have it. Now we'll be let alone. Therewon't be no students comin' out to the field, and I'm blamed glad. "

Ken was sick and smarting with pain, and half crying. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Arthurs, " he faltered, "we were--so--so--rotten!"

"See here, Peg, " was the quick reply, "that cuts no ice with me. It wassure the rottenest exhibition I ever seen in my life. But there's excuses, and you can just gamble I'm the old boy who knows. You kids were scaredto death. What hurts me, Peg, is the throw-down we got from my old teamand from the students. We're not to blame for rules made by fat-headdirectors. I was surprised at Dale. He was mean, and so were Hollis andHickle--all of 'em. They didn't need to disgrace us like that. "

"Oh, Mr. Arthurs, what players they are!" exclaimed Ken. "I never sawsuch running, such hitting. You said they'd hit to right field likebullets, but it was worse than bullets. And Dreer!. .. When he came upmy heart just stopped beating. "

"Peg, listen, " said Worry. "Three years ago when Dreer came out on thefield he was greener than you, and hadn't half the spunk. I made himwhat he is, and I made all of 'em--I made that team, and I can makeanother. "

"You are just saying that to--to encourage me, " replied Ken, hopelessly. "I can't play ball. I thought I could, but I know now. I'll never goout on the field again. "

"Peg, are you goin' to throw me down, too?"

"Mr. Arthurs! I--I--"

"Listen, Peg. Cut out the dumps. Get over 'em. You made the varsityto-day. Understand? You earned your big W. You needn't mention it, but I've picked you to play somewhere. You weren't a natural infielder, and you didn't make much of a showin' in the outfield. But it's thespirit I want. To-day was a bad day for a youngster. There's alwayslots of feelin' about college athletics, but here at Wayne this yearthe strain's awful. And you fought yourself and stage-fright and theridicule of 'em quitter students. You _tried_, Peg! I never saw a gamertry. You didn't fail me. And after you made that desperate run andtried to smash the bleachers with your face the students shut up theirguyin'. It made a difference, Peg. Even the varsity was a little ashamed. Cheer up, now!"

Ken was almost speechless; he managed to mumble something, at whichthe coach smiled in reply and then walked rapidly away. Ken limpedto his room and took off his baseball suit. The skin had been peeledfrom his elbow, and his body showed several dark spots that Ken knewwould soon be black-and-blue bruises. His legs from his knees downbore huge lumps so sore to the touch that Ken winced even at gentlerubbing. But he did not mind the pain. All the darkness seemed to haveblown away from his mind. 

"What a fine fellow Worry is!" said Ken. "How I'll work for him! Imust write to brother Hal and Dick Leslie, to tell them I've madethe varsity. .. . No, not yet; Worry said not to mention it. .. . Andnow to plug. I'll have to take my exams before the first collegegame, April 8th, and that's not long. "

In the succeeding days Ken was very busy with attendance at college inthe mornings, baseball practice in the afternoons, and study at night. 

If Worry had picked any more players for the varsity, Ken could nottell who they were. Of course Graves would make the team, and Weir andRaymond were pretty sure of places. There were sixteen players for theother five positions, and picking them was only guesswork. It seemedto Ken that some of the players showed streaks of fast playing at times, and then as soon as they were opposed to one another in the practicegame they became erratic. His own progress was slow. One thing he coulddo that brought warm praise from the coach--he could line the ball homefrom deep outfield with wonderful speed and accuracy. 

After the varsity had annihilated Worry's "kids, " as they had come tobe known, the students showed no further interest. When they ceasedto appear on the field the new players were able to go at their practicewithout being ridiculed. Already an improvement had been noticeable. But rivalry was so keen for places, and the coach's choice so deep amystery, that the contestants played under too great a tension, andschool-boys could have done better. 

It was on the first of April that Arthurs took Ken up into College Hallto get permission for him to present himself to the different professorsfor the early examinations. While Ken sat waiting in the office he heardArthurs talking to men he instantly took to be the heads of the AthleticAssociation. They were in an adjoining room with the door open, and theirvoices were very distinct, so that Ken could not help hearing. 

"Gentlemen, I want my answer to-day, " said the coach. 

"Is there so great a hurry? Wait a little, " was the rejoinder. 

"I'm sorry, but this is April 1st, and I'll wait no longer. I'm readyto send some of my boys up for early exams, and I want to know whereI stand. "

"Arthurs, what is it exactly that you want? Things have been in anawful mess, we know. State your case and we'll try to give you adefinite answer. "

"I want full charge of the coachin'--the handlin' of the team, as Ialways had before. I don't want any grad coaches. The directors seemdivided, one half want this, the other half that. They've cut out thetrainin' quarters. I've had no help from Murray; no baths or rub-downsor trainin' for my candidates. Here's openin' day a week off and Ihaven't picked my team. I want to take them to the trainin'-table andhave them under my eye all the time. If I can't have what I want I'llresign. If I can I'll take the whole responsibility of the team on myown shoulders. "

"Very well, Arthurs, we'll let you go ahead and have full charge. Therehas been talk this year of abolishing a private training-house and tablefor this green varsity. But rather than have you resign we'll waive that. You can rest assured from now on you will not be interfered with. Giveus the best team you can under the circumstances. There has been muchdissension among the directors and faculty because of our new eligibilityrules. It has stirred everybody up, and the students are sore. Thenthere has been talk of not having a professional coach this year, butwe overruled that in last night's meeting. We're going to see what youcan do. I may add, Arthurs, if you shape up a varsity this year that makesany kind of a showing against Place and Herne you will win the eternalgratitude of the directors who have fostered this change in athletics. Otherwise I'm afraid the balance of opinion will favor the idea ofdispensing with professional coaches in the future. "

Ken saw that Arthurs was white in the face when he left the room. Theywent out together, and Worry handed Ken a card that read for him to takehis examinations at once. 

"Are you up on 'em?" asked the coach, anxiously. 

"I--I think so, " replied Ken. 

"Well, Peg, good luck to you! Go at 'em like you went at Dreer's hit. "

Much to his amazement it was for Ken to discover that, now the time hadcome for him to face his examinations, he was not at all sanguine. Hebegan to worry. He forgot about the text-books he had mastered in hisroom during the long winter when he feared to venture out because ofthe sophomores. It was not very long till he had worked himself into astate somewhat akin to his trepidation in the varsity ball game. Thenhe decided to go up at once and have it done with. His whole freshmanyear had been one long agony. What a relief to have it ended!

Ken passed four examinations in one morning, passed them swimmingly, smilingly, splendidly, and left College Hall in an ecstasy. Thingswere working out fine. But he had another examination, and it was ina subject he had voluntarily included in his course. Whatever on earthhe had done it for he could not now tell. The old doctor who held thechair in that department had thirty years before earned the name of Crab. And slowly in the succeeding years he had grown crabbier, crustier, sostudent rumor had it. Ken had rather liked the dry old fellow, and hadbeen much absorbed in his complex lectures, but he had never been nearhim, and now the prospect changed color. Foolishly Ken asked a sophomorein what light old Crab might regard a student who was ambitious to passhis exams early. The picture painted by that sophomore would have madea flaming-mouthed dragon appear tame. Nerving himself to the ordeal, Kentook his card and presented himself one evening at the doctor's house. 

A maid ushered him into the presence of a venerable old man who did notlook at all, even in Ken's distorted sight, like a crab or a dragon. Hisponderous brow seemed as if it had all the thought in the world behindit. He looked over huge spectacles at Ken's card and then spoke in a dry, quavering voice. 

"Um-m. Sit down, Mr. Ward. "

Ken found his breath and strangely lost his fear and trembling. The doctordryly asked him why he thought he knew more than the other students, whowere satisfied to wait months longer before examination. Ken hastened toexplain that it was no desire of his; that, although he had studied hardand had not missed many lectures, he knew he was unprepared. Then he wenton to tell about the baseball situation and why he had been sent up. 

"Um-m. " The professor held a glass paperweight up before Ken and askeda question about it. Next he held out a ruler and asked something aboutthat, and also a bottle of ink. Following this he put a few queriesabout specific gravity, atomic weight, and the like. Then he satthrumming his desk and appeared far away in thought. After a whilehe turned to Ken with a smile that made his withered, parchment-likeface vastly different. 

"Where do you play?" he asked. 

"S-sir?" stammered Ken. 

"In baseball, I mean. What place do you play? Catch? Thrower? I don'tknow the names much. "

Ken replied eagerly, and then it seemed he was telling this stern oldman all about baseball. He wanted to know what fouls were, and how tosteal bases, and he was nonplussed by such terms as "hit-and-run. " Kendiscoursed eloquently on his favorite sport, and it was like a kind ofdream to be there. Strange things were always happening to him. 

"I've never seen a game, " said the professor. "I used to play myselflong ago, when we had a yarn ball and pitched underhand. I'll have tocome out to the field some day. President Halstead, why, he likesbaseball, he's a--a--what do you call it?"

"A fan--a rooter?" replied Ken, smiling. 

"Um-m. I guess that's it. Well, Mr. Ward, I'm glad to meet you. You maygo now. "

Ken got up blushing like a girl. "But, Doctor, you were to--I was to beexamined. "

"I've examined you, " he drawled, with a dry chuckle, and he looked overhis huge spectacles at Ken. "I'll give you a passing mark. But, Mr. Ward, you know a heap more about baseball than you know about physics. "

As Ken went out he trod upon air. What a splendid old fellow! The sophomorehad lied. For that matter, when had a sophomore ever been known to tellthe truth? But, he suddenly exclaimed, he himself was no longer a freshman. He pondered happily on the rosy lining to his old cloud of gloom. Howdifferent things appeared after a little time. That old doctor's smilewould linger long in Ken's memory. He felt deep remorse that he had evermisjudged him. He hurried on to Worry Arthurs' house to tell him the goodnews. And as he walked his mind was full with the wonder of it all--hislonely, wretched freshman days, now forever past; the slow change fromhatred; the dawning of some strange feeling for the college and histeachers; and, last, the freedom, the delight, the quickening stir inthe present. 

IX

PRESIDENT HALSTEAD ON COLLEGE SPIRIT

Wayne's opening game was not at all what Ken had dreamed it would be. The opposing team from Hudson School was as ill-assorted an aggregationas Ken had ever seen. They brought with them a small but noisy companyof cheering supporters who, to the shame of Ken and his fellows, hadthe bleachers all to themselves. If any Wayne students were presentthey either cheered for Hudson or remained silent. 

Hudson won, 9 to 2. It was a game that made Arthurs sag a little loweron the bench. Graves got Wayne's two tallies. Raymond at second playedabout all the game from the fielding standpoint. Ken distinguishedhimself by trying wildly and accomplishing nothing. When he went tohis room that night he had switched back to his former spirits, andwas disgusted with Wayne's ball team, himself most of all. 

That was on a Wednesday. The next day rain prevented practice, and onFriday the boys were out on the field again. Arthurs shifted the playersaround, trying resignedly to discover certain positions that might fitcertain players. It seemed to Ken that all the candidates, except oneor two, were good at fielding and throwing, but when they came to playa game they immediately went into a trance. 

Travers College was scheduled for Saturday. They had always turned outa good minor team, but had never been known to beat Wayne. They shutArthurs' team out without a run. A handful of Wayne students sat in thebleachers mocking their own team. Arthurs used the two pitchers he hadbeen trying hard to develop, and when they did locate the plate theywere hit hard. Ken played or essayed to play right field for a while, but he ran around like a chicken with its head off, as a Travers playerexpressed it, and then Arthurs told him that he had better grace thebench the rest of the game. Ashamed as Ken was to be put out, he wasyet more ashamed to feel that he was glad of it. Hardest of all to bearwas the arrogant air put on by the Travers College players. Wayne hadindeed been relegated to the fifth rank of college baseball teams. 

On Monday announcements were made in all the lecture-rooms and departmentsof the university, and bulletins were posted to the effect, that PresidentHalstead wished to address the undergraduates in the Wayne auditoriumon Tuesday at five o'clock. 

Rumor flew about the campus and Carlton Club, everywhere, that thepresident's subject would be "College Spirit, " and it was believed hewould have something to say about the present condition of athletics. Ken Ward hurried to the hall as soon as he got through his practice. Hefound the immense auditorium packed from pit to dome, and he squeezedinto a seat on the steps. 

The students, as always, were exchanging volleys of paper-balls, matching wits, singing songs, and passing time merrily. WhenPresident Halstead entered, with two of his associates, he wasgreeted by a thunder of tongues, hands, and heels of the standingstudents. He was the best-beloved member of the university faculty, a distinguished, scholarly looking man, well-stricken in years. 

He opened his address by declaring the need of college spirit in collegelife. He defined it as the vital thing, the heart of a great educationalinstitution, and he went on to speak of its dangers, its fluctuations. Then he made direct reference to athletics in its relation to bothcollege spirit and college life. 

"Sport is too much with us. Of late years I have observed a great increasein the number of athletic students, and a great decrease in scholarship. The fame of the half-back and the short-stop and the stroke-oar has grownout of proportion to their real worth. The freshman is dazzled by it. Thegreat majority of college men cannot shine in sport, which is the bestthing that could be. The student's ideal, instead of being the highestscholarship, the best attainment for his career, is apt to be influencedby the honors and friendships that are heaped upon the great athlete. This is false to university life. You are here to prepare yourselvesfor the battle with the world, and I want to state that that battle isbecoming more and more intellectual. The student who slights his studiesfor athletic glory may find himself, when that glory is long past, distanced in the race for success by a student who had not trained torun the hundred in ten seconds. 

"But, gentlemen, to keep well up in your studies and _then_ go in forathletics--that is entirely another question. It is not likely thatany student who keeps to the front in any of the university courseswill have too much time for football or baseball. I am, as you allknow, heartily in favor of all branches of college sport. And thatbrings me to the point I want to make to-day. Baseball is my favoritegame, and I have always been proud of Wayne's teams. The new eligibilityrules, with which you are all familiar, were brought to me, and afterthoroughly going over the situation I approved of them. Certainly it isobvious to you all that a university ball-player making himself famoushere, and then playing during the summer months at a resort, is layinghimself open to suspicion. I have no doubt that many players are innocentof the taint of professionalism, but unfortunately they have becomemembers of these summer teams after being first requested, then warned, not to do so. 

"Wayne's varsity players of last year have been barred by the directors. They made their choice, and so should abide by it. They have had theirday, and so should welcome the opportunity of younger players. But Iam constrained to acknowledge that neither they nor the great body ofundergraduates welcomed the change. This, more than anything, proves tome the evil of championship teams. The football men, the baseball men, the crew men, and all the student supporters want to win _all_ the games_all_ the time. I would like to ask you young gentlemen if you can takea beating? If you cannot, I would like to add that you are not yet fittedto go out into life. A good beating, occasionally, is a wholesome thing. 

"Well, to come to the point now: I find, after studying the situation, that the old varsity players and undergraduates of this university havebeen lacking in--let us be generous and say, college spirit. I do notneed to go into detail; suffice it to say that I know. I will admit, however, that I attended the game between the old varsity and the newcandidates. I sat unobserved in a corner, and a more unhappy time Inever spent in this university. I confess that my sympathies were withthe inexperienced, undeveloped boys who were trying to learn to playball. _Put yourselves in their places. _ Say you are mostly freshmen, and you make yourselves candidates for the team because you love thegame, and because you would love to bring honor to your college. Yougo out and try. You meet, the first day, an implacable team of skilledveterans who show their scorn of your poor ability, their hatred ofyour opportunity, and ride roughshod--I should say, run with spikedshoes--over you. You hear the roar of four thousand students applaudingthese hero veterans. You hear your classmates, your fellow-students inWayne, howl with ridicule at your weak attempts to compete with better, stronger players. .. . Gentlemen, how would you feel?

"I said before that college spirit fluctuates. If I did not know studentswell I would be deeply grieved at the spirit shown that day. I know thatthe tide will turn. .. . And, gentlemen, would not you and the old varsitybe rather in an embarrassing position if--if these raw recruits shouldhappen to develop into a team strong enough to cope with Place and Herne?Stranger things have happened. I am rather strong for the new players, not because of their playing, which is poor indeed, but for the way they_tried_ under peculiarly adverse conditions. 

"That young fellow Ward--what torture that inning of successive hardhits to his territory! I was near him in that end of the bleachers, and I watched him closely. Every attempt he made was a failure--thatis, failure from the point of view of properly fielding the ball. But, gentlemen, that day was not a failure for young Ward. It was a grandsuccess. Some one said his playing was the poorest exhibition ever seenon Grant Field. That may be. I want to say that to my mind it was alsothe most splendid effort ever made on Grant Field. For it was made againstdefeat, fear, ridicule. It was elimination of self. It was made for hiscoach, his fellow-players, his college--that is to say, for the studentswho shamed themselves by scorn for his trial. 

"Young men of Wayne, give us a little more of such college spirit!"

X

NEW PLAYERS

When practice time rolled around for Ken next day, he went upon thefield once more with his hopes renewed and bright. 

"I certainly do die hard, " he laughed to himself. "But I can never godown and out now--never!"

Something seemed to ring in Ken's ears like peals of bells. In spite ofhis awkwardness Coach Arthurs had made him a varsity man; in spite of hisunpreparedness old Crab had given him a passing mark; in spite of hisunworthiness President Halstead had made him famous. 

"I surely am the lucky one, " said Ken, for the hundredth time. "Andnow I'm going to force my luck. " Ken had lately revolved in his minda persistent idea that he meant to propound to the coach. 

Ken arrived on the field a little later than usual, to find Arthurs foronce minus his worried look. He was actually smiling, and Ken soon sawthe reason for this remarkable change was the presence of a new playerout in centre field. 

"Hello, Peg! things are lookin' up, " said the coach, beaming. "That'sHomans out there in centre--Roy Homans, a senior and a crackerjackball-player. I tried to get him to come out for the team last year, buthe wouldn't spare the time. But he's goin' to play this season--said thepresident's little talk got him. He's a fast, heady, scientific player, just the one to steady you kids. "

Before Ken could reply his attention was attracted from Homans toanother new player in uniform now walking up to Arthurs. He was tall, graceful, powerful, had red hair, keen dark eyes, a clean-cut profileand square jaw. 

"I've come out to try for the team, " he said, quietly, to the coach. 

"You're a little late, ain't you?" asked Worry, gruffly; but he rana shrewd glance over the lithe form. 

"Yes. "

"Must have been stirred up by that talk of President Halstead's, wasn't you?"

"Yes. " There was something quiet and easy about the stranger, and Ken liked him at once. 

"Where do you play?" went on Worry. 

"Left. "

"Can you hit? Talk sense now, and mebbe you'll save me work. Can you hit?"

"Yes. "

"Can you throw?"

"Yes. " He spoke with quiet assurance. 

"Can you run?" almost shouted Worry. He was nervous and irritablethose days, and it annoyed him for unknown youths to speak calmlyof such things. 

"Run? Yes, a little. I did the hundred last year in nine and four-fifths. "

"What! You can't kid me! Who are you?" cried Worry, getting red in theface. "I've seen you somewhere. "

"My name's Ray. "

"Say! Not _Ray_, the intercollegiate champion?"

"I'm the fellow. I talked it over with Murray. He kicked, but I didn'tmind that. I promised to try to keep in shape to win the sprints at theintercollegiate meet. "

"Say! Get out there in left field! Quick!" shouted Worry. .. . "Peg, hithim some flies. Lam 'em a mile! That fellow's a sprinter, Peg. What luckit would be if he can play ball! Hit 'em at him!"

Ken took the ball Worry tossed him, and, picking up a bat, began toknock flies out to Ray. The first few he made easy for the outfielder, and then he hit balls harder and off to the right or left. Withoutappearing to exert himself Ray got under them. Ken watched him, andalso kept the tail of his eye on Worry. The coach appeared to begetting excited, and he ordered Ken to hit the balls high and faraway. Ken complied, but he could not hit a ball over Ray's head. Hetried with all his strength. He had never seen a champion sprinter, and now he marvelled at the wonderful stride. 

"Oh! but his running is beautiful!" exclaimed Ken. 

"That's enough! Come in here!" yelled Worry to Ray. .. . "Peg, he makesDreer look slow. I never saw as fast fieldin' as that. "

When Ray came trotting in without seeming to be even warmed up, Worryblurted out: "You ain't winded--after all that? Must be in shape?"

"I'm always in shape, " replied Ray. 

"Pick up a bat!" shouted Worry. "Here, Duncan, pitch this fellow a few. Speed 'em, curve 'em, strike him out, hit him--anything!"

Ray was left-handed, and he stood up to the plate perfectly erect, with his bat resting quietly on his shoulder. He stepped straight, swung with an even, powerful swing, and he hit the first ball clearover the right-field bleachers. It greatly distanced Dreer's hit. 

"What a drive!" gasped Ken. 

"Oh!" choked Worry. "That's enough! You needn't lose my balls. Bunt one, now. "

Ray took the same position, and as the ball came up he appeared to dropthe bat upon it and dart away at the same instant. 

Worry seemed to be trying to control violent emotion. "Next batter up!"he called, hoarsely, and sat down on the bench. He was breathing hard, and beads of sweat stood out on his brow. 

Ken went up to Worry, feeling that now was the time to acquaint thecoach with his new idea. Eager as Ken was he had to force himself totake this step. All the hope and dread, nervousness and determinationof the weeks of practice seemed to accumulate in that moment. Hestammered and stuttered, grew speechless, and then as Worry lookedup in kind surprise, Ken suddenly grew cool and earnest. 

"Mr. Arthurs, will you try me in the box?"

"What's that, Peg?" queried the coach, sharply. 

"Will you give me a trial in the box? I've wanted one all along. You putme in once when we were in the cage, but you made me hit the batters. "

"Pitch? you, Peg? Why not? Why didn't I think of it? I'm sure gettin'to be like 'em fat-head directors. You've got steam, Peg, but can youcurve a ball? Let's see your fingers. "

"Yes, I can curve a ball round a corner. Please give me a trial, Mr. Arthurs. I failed in the infield, and I'm little good in theoutfield. But I know I can pitch. "

The coach gave Ken one searching glance. Then he called all thecandidates in to the plate, and ordered Dean, the stocky littlecatcher, to don his breast-protector, mask, and mitt. 

"Peg, " said the coach, "Dean will sign you--one finger for a straightball, two for a curve. "

When Ken walked to the box all his muscles seemed quivering and tense, and he had a contraction in his throat. This was his opportunity. He wasnot unnerved as he had been when he was trying for the other positions. All Ken's life he had been accustomed to throwing. At his home he hadbeen the only boy who could throw a stone across the river; the only onewho could get a ball over the high-school tower. A favorite pastime hadalways been the throwing of small apples, or walnuts, or stones, and hehad acquired an accuracy that made it futile for his boy comrades tocompete with him. Curving a ball had come natural to him, and he wouldhave pitched all his high-school games had it not been for the fact thatno one could catch him, and, moreover, none of the boys had found anyfun in batting against him. 

When Ken faced the first batter a feeling came over him that he hadnever before had on the ball field. He was hot, trembling, hurried, but this new feeling was apart from these. His feet were on solidground, and his arm felt as it had always in those throwing contestswhere he had so easily won. He seemed to decide from McCord's positionat the plate what to throw him. 

Ken took his swing. It was slow, easy, natural. But the ball travelledwith much greater speed than the batter expected from such motion. McCordlet the first two balls go by, and Arthurs called them both strikes. ThenKen pitched an out-curve which McCord fanned at helplessly. Arthurs sentTrace up next. Ken saw that the coach was sending up the weaker hittersfirst. Trace could not even make a foul. Raymond was third up, and Kenhad to smile at the scowling second-baseman. Remembering his weaknessfor pulling away from the plate, Ken threw Raymond two fast curves onthe outside, and then a slow wide curve, far out. Raymond could not havehit the first two with a paddle, and the third lured him irresistiblyout of position and made him look ridiculous. He slammed his bat downand slouched to the bench. Duncan turned out to be the next easy victim. Four batters had not so much as fouled Ken. And Ken knew he was holdinghimself in--that, in fact, he had not let out half his speed. Blake, thenext player, hit up a little fly that Ken caught, and Schoonover madethe fifth man to strike out. 

Then Weir stood over the plate, and he was a short, sturdy batter, hardto pitch to. He looked as if he might be able to hit any kind of a ball. Ken tried him first with a straight fast one over the middle of the plate. Weir hit it hard, but it went foul. And through Ken's mind flashed thethought that he would pitch no more speed to Weir or players who swungas he did. Accordingly Ken tried the slow curve that had baffled Raymond. Weir popped it up and retired in disgust. 

The following batter was Graves, who strode up smiling, confident, sarcastic, as if he knew he could do more than the others. Ken imaginedwhat the third-baseman would have said if the coach had not been present. Graves always ruffled Ken the wrong way. 

"I'll strike him out if I break my arm!" muttered Ken to himself. Hefaced Graves deliberately and eyed his position at bat. Graves asdeliberately laughed at him. 

"Pitch up, pitch up!" he called out. 

"Right over the pan!" retorted Ken, as quick as an echo. He went hot asfire all over. This fellow Graves had some strange power of infuriatinghim. 

Ken took a different swing, which got more of his weight in motion, andlet his arm out. Like a white bullet the ball shot plateward, rising alittle so that Graves hit vainly under it. The ball surprised Dean, knocked his hands apart as if they had been paper, and resounded fromhis breast-protector. Ken pitched the second ball in the same place witha like result, except that Dean held on to it. Graves had lost his smileand wore an expression of sickly surprise. The third ball travelled byhim and cracked in Dean's mitt, and Arthurs called it a strike. 

"Easy there--that'll do!" yelled the coach. "Come in here, Peg. Out onthe field now, boys. "

Homans stopped Ken as they were passing each other, and Ken felt himselfunder the scrutiny of clear gray eyes. 

"Youngster, you look good to me, " said Homans. 

Ken also felt himself regarded with astonishment by many of the candidates;and Ray ran a keen, intuitive glance over him from head to foot. But it wasthe coach's manner that struck Ken most forcibly. Worry was utterly unlikehimself. 

"Why didn't you tell me about this before--you--you--" he yelled, red asa beet in the face. He grasped Ken with both hands, then he let him go, and picking up a ball and a mitt he grasped him again. Without a word heled Ken across the field and to a secluded corner behind the bleachers. Ken felt for all the world as if he was being led to execution. 

Worry took off his coat and vest and collar. He arranged a block of woodfor a plate and stepped off so many paces and placed another piece ofwood to mark the pitcher's box. Then he donned the mitt. 

"Peg, somethin's comin' off. I know it. I never make mistakes in sizin'up pitchers. But I've had such hard luck this season that I can't believemy own eyes. We've got to prove it. Now you go out there and pitch to me. Just natural like at first. "

Ken pitched a dozen balls or more, some in-curves, some out-curves. Thenhe threw what he called his drop, which he executed by a straight overhandswing. 

"Oh--a beauty!" yelled Worry. "Where, Peg, where did you learn that?Another, lower now. "

Worry fell over trying to stop the glancing drop. 

"Try straight ones now, Peg, right over the middle. See how many youcan pitch. "

One after another, with free, easy motion, Ken shot balls squarely overthe plate. Worry counted them, and suddenly, after the fourteenth pitch, he stood up and glared at Ken. 

"Are you goin' to keep puttin' 'em over this pan all day that way?"

"Mr. Arthurs, I couldn't miss that plate if I pitched a week, "replied Ken. 

"Stop callin' me Mister!" yelled Worry. "Now, put 'em where I hold myhands--inside corner. .. Outside corner. .. Again. .. Inside now, low. .. Another. .. A fast one over, now. .. High, inside. Oh, Peg, this ain'tright. I ain't seein' straight. I think I'm dreamin'. Come on with 'em!"

Fast and true Ken sped the balls into Worry's mitt. Seldom did thecoach have to move his hands at all. 

"Peg Ward, did you know that pitchin' was all control, puttin' the ballwhere you wanted to?" asked Worry, stopping once more. 

"No, I didn't, " replied Ken. 

"How did you learn to peg a ball as straight as this?"

Ken told him how he had thrown at marks all his life. 

"Why didn't you tell me before?" Worry seemed not to be able to getover Ken's backwardness. "Look at the sleepless nights and the grayhairs you could have saved me. " He stamped around as if furious, yetunderneath the surface Ken saw that the coach was trying to hide hiselation. "Here now, " he shouted, suddenly, "a few more, and _peg_ 'em!See? Cut loose and let me see what steam you've got!"

Ken whirled with all his might and delivered the ball with all hisweight in the swing. The ball seemed to diminish in size, it went soswiftly. Near the plate it took an upward jump, and it knocked Worry'smitt off his hand. 

Worry yelled out, then he looked carefully at Ken, but he made no effortto go after the ball or pick up the mitt. 

"Did I say for you to knock my block off?. .. Come here, Peg. You're onlya youngster. Do you think you can keep that? Are you goin' to let me teachyou to pitch? Have you got any nerve? Are you up in the air at the thoughtof Place and Herne?"

Then he actually hugged Ken, and kept hold of him as if he might get away. He was panting and sweating. All at once he sat down on one of the bracesof the bleachers and began mopping his face. He seemed to cool down, toundergo a subtle change. 

"Peg, " he said, quietly, "I'm as bad as some of 'em fat-head directors. .. . You see I didn't have no kind of a pitcher to work on this spring. I kepton hopin'. Strange why I didn't quit. And now--my boy, you're a kid, butyou're a natural born pitcher. "

XI

STATE UNIVERSITY GAME

Arthurs returned to the diamond and called the squad around him. He mighthave been another coach from the change that was manifest in him. 

"Boys, I've picked the varsity, and sorry I am to say you all can't be onit. Ward, Dean, McCord, Raymond, Weir, Graves, Ray, Homans, Trace, Duncan, and Schoonover--these men will report at once to Trainer Murray and obeyhis orders. Then pack your trunks and report to me at 36 Spring Streetto-night. That's all--up on your toes now. .. . The rest of you boys willeach get his uniform and sweater, but, of course, I can't give you thevarsity letter. You've all tried hard and done your best. I'm much obligedto you, and hope you'll try again next year. "

Led by Arthurs, the players trotted across the field to Murray'squarters. Ken used all his eyes as he went in. This was the sacredprecinct of the chosen athletes, and it was not open to any others. He saw a small gymnasium, and adjoining it a large, bright room withpainted windows that let in the light, but could not be seen through. Around the room on two sides were arranged huge box-like bins with holesin the lids and behind them along the wall were steam-pipes. On the othertwo sides were little zinc-lined rooms, with different kinds of pipes, which Ken concluded were used for shower baths. Murray, the trainer, was there, and two grinning negroes with towels over their shoulders, and a little dried-up Scotchman who was all one smile. 

"Murray, here's my bunch. Look 'em over, and to-morrow start 'em in forkeeps, " said Arthurs. 

"Well, Worry, they're not a bad-looking lot. Slim and trim. We won'thave to take off any beef. Here's Reddy Ray. I let you have him thisyear, Worry, but the track team will miss him. And here's Peg Ward. I was sure you'd pick him, Worry. And this is Homans, isn't it? Iremember you in the freshmen games. The rest of you boys I'll haveto get acquainted with. They say I'm a pretty hard fellow, but that'son the outside. Now, hustle out of your suits, and we'll give you alla good stew and a rub-down. "

What the stew was soon appeared plain to Ken. He was the first playerundressed, and Murray, lifting up one of the box-lids, pushed Ken inside. 

"Sit down and put your feet in that pan, " he directed. "When I drop thelid let your head come out the hole. There!" Then he wrapped a huge towelaround Ken's neck, being careful to tuck it close and tight. With thathe reached round to the back of the box and turned on the steam. 

Ken felt like a jack-in-the-box. The warm steam was pleasant. He lookedabout him to see the other boys being placed in like positions. Raymondhad the box on one side, and Reddy Ray the one on the other. 

"It's great, " said Ray, smiling at Ken. "You'll like it. "

Raymond looked scared. Ken wondered if the fellow ever got any enjoymentout of things. Then Ken found himself attending to his own sensations. The steam was pouring out of the pipe inside the box, and it was growingwetter, thicker, and hotter. The pleasant warmth and tickling changed toa burning sensation. Ken found himself bathed in a heavy sweat. Then hebegan to smart in different places, and he was hard put to it to keeprubbing them. The steam grew hotter; his body was afire; his breathlabored in great heaves. Ken felt that he must cry out. He heardexclamations, then yells, from some of the other boxed-up players, and he glanced quickly around. Reddy Ray was smiling, and did notlook at all uncomfortable. But Raymond was scarlet in the face, andhe squirmed his head to and fro. 

"_Ough!_" he bawled. "Let me out of here!"

One of the negro attendants lifted the lid and helped Raymond out. He danced about as if on hot bricks. His body was the color of aboiled lobster. The attendant put him under one of the showers andturned the water on. Raymond uttered one deep, low, "O-o-o-o!" ThenMcCord begged to be let out; Weir's big head, with its shock of hair, resembled that of an angry lion; little Trace screamed, and Duncanyelled. 

"Peg, how're you?" asked Murray, walking up to Ken. "It's always prettyhot the first few times. But afterward it's fine. Look at Reddy. "

"Murray, give Peg a good stewin', " put in Arthurs. "He's got a greatarm, and we must take care of it. "

Ken saw the other boys, except Ray, let out, and he simply could notendure the steam any longer. 

"I've got--enough, " he stammered. 

"Scotty, turn on a little more stew, " ordered Murray, cheerfully; thenhe rubbed his hand over Ken's face. "You're not hot yet. "

Scotty turned on more steam, and Ken felt it as a wet flame. He wasbeing flayed alive. 

"Please--please--let me out!" he implored. 

With a laugh Murray lifted the lid, and Ken hopped out. He was as redas anything red he had ever seen. Then Scotty shoved him under a shower, and as the icy water came down in a deluge Ken lost his breath, hischest caved in, and he gasped. Scotty led him out into the room, driedhim with a towel, rubbed him down, and then, resting Ken's arm on hisshoulder, began to pat and beat and massage it. In a few moments Kenthought his arm was a piece of live India rubber. He had never been insuch a glow. When he had dressed he felt as light as air, strong, fresh, and keen for action. 

"Hustle now, Peg, " said Arthurs. "Get your things packed. Supper to-nightat the trainin'-house. "

It was after dark when Ken got an expressman to haul his trunk to theaddress on Spring Street. The house was situated about the middle ofa four-storied block, and within sight of Grant Field. Worry answeredhis ring. 

"Here you are, Peg, the last one. I was beginnin' to worry about you. Have your trunk taken right up, third floor back. Hurry down, for dinnerwill be ready soon. "

Ken followed at the heels of the expressman up to his room. He wassurprised and somewhat taken back to find Raymond sitting upon thebed. 

"Hello! excuse me, " said Ken. "Guess I've got the wrong place. "

"The coach said you and I were to room together, " returned Raymond. 

"Us? Room-mates?" ejaculated Ken. 

Raymond took offence at this. 

"Wull, I guess I can stand it, " he growled. 

"I hope I can, " was Ken's short reply. It was Ken's failing that hecould not help retaliating. But he was also as repentant as he wasquick-tempered. "Oh, I didn't mean that. .. . See here, Raymond, ifwe've got to be room-mates--"

Ken paused in embarrassment. 

"Wull, we're both on the varsity, " said Raymond. 

"That's so, " rejoined Ken, brightening. "It makes a whole lot ofdifference, doesn't it?"

Raymond got off the bed and looked at Ken. 

"What's your first name?" queried he. "I don't like 'Peg. '"

"Kenneth. Ken, for short. What's yours?"

"Mine's Kel. Wull, Ken--"

Having gotten so far Raymond hesitated, and it was Ken who firstoffered his hand. Raymond eagerly grasped it. That broke the ice. 

"Kel, I haven't liked your looks at all, " said Ken, apologetically. 

"Ken, I've been going to lick you all spring. "

They went down-stairs arm in arm. 

It was with great interest and curiosity that Ken looked about the cozyand comfortable rooms. The walls were adorned with pictures of varsityteams and players, and the college colors were much in evidence. Collegemagazines and papers littered the table in the reading-room. 

"Boys, we'll be pretty snug and nice here when things get to runnin'smooth. The grub will be plain, but plenty of it. "

There were twelve in all at the table, with the coach seated at the head. The boys were hungry, and besides, as they had as yet had no chance tobecome acquainted, the conversation lagged. The newness and strangeness, however, did not hide the general air of suppressed gratification. Afterdinner Worry called them all together in the reading-room. 

"Well, boys, here we are together like one big family, and we're shutin for two months. Now, I know you've all been fightin' for places onthe team, and have had no chance to be friendly. It's always that wayin the beginnin', and I dare say there'll be some scraps among youbefore things straighten out. We'll have more to say about that later. The thing now is you're all varsity men, and I'm puttin' you on yourword of honor. Your word is good enough for me. Here's my rules, andI'm more than usually particular this year, for reasons I'll tell later. 

"You're not to break trainin'. You're not to eat anything anywhere buthere. You're to cut out cigarettes and drinks. You're to be in bed atten o'clock. And I advise, although I ain't insistin', that if you haveany leisure time you'll spend most of it here. That's all. "

For Ken the three days following passed as so many hours. He did not inthe least dread the approaching game with State University, but his mindheld scarcely anything outside of Arthurs' coaching. The practice of theplayers had been wholly different. It was as if they had been freed fromsome binding spell. Worry kept them at fielding and batting for four fullhours every afternoon. Ken, after pitching to Dean for a while, battedto the infield and so had opportunity to see the improvement. Graves wasbrilliant at third, Weir was steady and sure at short, Raymond seemedto have springs in his legs and pounced upon the ball with wonderfulquickness, and McCord fielded all his chances successfully. 

On the afternoon of the game Worry waited at the training-house untilall the players came down-stairs in uniform. 

"Boys, what's happened in the past doesn't count. We start over to-day. I'm not goin' to say much or confuse you with complex team coachin'. But I'm hopeful. I sort of think there's a nigger in the woodpile. I'lltell you to-night if I'm right. Think of how you have been roasted bythe students. Play like tigers. Put out of your mind everything buttryin'. Nothin' counts for you, boys. Errors are nothin'; mistakesare nothin'. Play the game as one man. Don't think of yourselves. Youall know when you ought to hit or bunt or run. I'm trustin' you. I won'tsay a word from the bench. And don't underrate our chances. Rememberthat I think it's possible we may have somethin' up our sleeves. That'sall from me till after the game. "

Worry walked to Grant Field with Ken. He talked as they went along, butnot on baseball. The State team was already out and practising. Worrykept Ken near him on the bench and closely watched the visitors inpractice. When the gong rang to call them in he sent his players out, with a remark to Ken to take his warming-up easily. Ken thought he hadhardly warmed up at all before the coach called him in. 

"Peg, listen!" he whispered. His gaze seemed to hypnotize Ken. "Do youhave any idea what you'll do to this bunch from State?"

"Why--no--I--"

"Listen! I tell you I know they won't be able to touch you. .. . Size upbatters in your own way. If they look as if they'd pull or chop on acurve, hand it up. If not, peg 'em a straight one over the inside corner, high. If you get in a hole with runners on bases use that fast jump ball, as hard as you can drive it, right over the pan. .. . Go in with perfectconfidence. I wouldn't say that to you, Peg, if I didn't feel it myself, honestly. I'd say for you to do your best. But I've sized up theseState fellows, and they won't be able to touch you. Remember what Isay. That's all. "

"I'll remember, " said Ken, soberly. 

When the umpire called the game there were perhaps fifty students in thebleachers and a few spectators in the grand-stand, so poor an attendancethat the State players loudly voiced their derision. 

"Hey! boys, " yelled one, "we drew a crowd last year, and look at that!"

"It's Wayne's dub team, " replied another. They ran upon the field as ifthe result of the game was a foregone conclusion. Their pitcher, a lankyindividual, handled the ball with assurance. 

Homans led off for Wayne. He stood left-handed at the plate, and heldhis bat almost in the middle. He did not swing, but poked at the firstball pitched and placed a short hit over third. Raymond, also left-handed, came next, and, letting two balls go, he bunted the third. Running fast, he slid into first base and beat the throw. Homans kept swiftly on towardthird, drew the throw, and, sliding, was also safe. It was fast work, and the Wayne players seemed to rise off the bench with the significanceof the play. Worry Arthurs looked on from under the brim of his hat, andspoke no word. Then Reddy Ray stepped up. 

"They're all left-handed!" shouted a State player. The pitcher lookedat Reddy, then motioned for his outfielders to play deeper. With thathe delivered the ball, which the umpire called a strike. Reddy stoodstill and straight while two more balls sped by, then he swung on thenext. A vicious low hit cut out over first base and skipped in greatbounds to the fence. Homans scored. Raymond turned second, going fast. But it was Ray's speed that electrified the watching players. Theyjumped up cheering. 

"Oh, see him run!" yelled Ken. 

He was on third before Raymond reached the plate. Weir lifted a highfly to left field, and when the ball dropped into the fielder's handsRay ran home on the throw-in. Three runs had been scored in a twinkling. It amazed the State team. They were not slow in bandying remarks amongthemselves. "Fast! Who's that red-head? Is this your dub team? Get inthe game, boys!" They began to think more of playing ball and less oftheir own superiority. Graves, however, and McCord following him, wentout upon plays to the infield. 

As Ken walked out toward the pitcher's box Homans put a hand on his arm, and said: "Kid, put them all over. Don't waste any. Make every batterhit. Keep your nerve. We're back of you out here. " Then Reddy Ray, inpassing, spoke with a cool, quiet faith that thrilled Ken, "Peg, we'vegot enough runs now to win. "

Ken faced the plate all in a white glow. He was far from calmness, butit was a restless, fiery hurry for the action of the game. He rememberedthe look in Worry's eyes, and every word that he had spoken rang in hisears. Receiving the ball from the umpire, he stepped upon the slab witha sudden, strange, deep tremor. It passed as quickly, and then he waseying the first batter. He drew a long breath, standing motionless, withall the significance of Worry's hope flashing before him, and then hewhirled and delivered the ball. The batter struck at it after it hadpassed him, and it cracked in Dean's mitt. 

"Speed!" called the State captain. "Quick eye, there!"

The batter growled some unintelligible reply. Then he fouled the secondball, missed the next, and was out. The succeeding State player hit aneasy fly to Homans, and the next had two strikes called upon him, andswung vainly at the third. 

Dean got a base on balls for Wayne, Trace went out trying to bunt, and Ken hit into short, forcing Dean at second. Homans lined to third, retiring the side. The best that the State players could do in theirhalf was for one man to send a weak grounder to Raymond, one to fly out, and the other to fail on strikes. Wayne went to bat again, and Raymondgot his base by being hit by a pitched ball. Reddy Ray bunted and wassafe. Weir struck out. Graves rapped a safety through short, scoringRaymond, and sending Ray to third. Then McCord fouled out to the catcher. Again, in State's inning, they failed to get on base, being unable tohit Ken effectively. 

So the game progressed, State slowly losing its aggressive playing, andWayne gaining what its opponents had lost. In the sixth Homans reachedhis base on an error, stole second, went to third on Raymond's sacrifice, and scored on Reddy's drive to right. State flashed up in their half, getting two men to first on misplays of McCord and Weir, and scored arun on a slow hit to Graves. 

With the bases full, Ken let his arm out and pitched the fast ball atthe limit of his speed. The State batters were helpless before it, butthey scored two runs on passed strikes by Dean. The little catcher hada hard time judging Ken's jump ball. That ended the run-getting forState, though they came near scoring again on more fumbling in theinfield. In the eighth Ken landed a safe fly over second, and talliedon a double by Homans. 

Before Ken knew the game was half over it had ended--Wayne 6, State 3. His players crowded around him and some one called for the Wayne yell. It was given with wild vehemence. 

From that moment until dinner was over at the training-house Kenappeared to be the centre of a humming circle. What was said anddone he never remembered. Then the coach stopped the excitement. 

"Boys, now for a heart-to-heart talk, " he said, with a smile both happyand grave. "We won to-day, as I predicted. State had a fairly strong team, but if Ward had received perfect support they would not have got a manbeyond second. That's the only personal mention I'll make. Now, listen. .. . "

He paused, with his eyes glinting brightly and his jaw quivering. 

"I expected to win, but before the game I never dreamed of ourpossibilities. I got a glimpse now of what hard work and a demonspirit to play together might make this team. I've had an inspiration. We are goin' to beat Herne and play Place to a standstill. "

Not a boy moved an eyelash as Arthurs made this statement, and the sound of a pin dropping could have been heard. 

"To do that we must pull together as no boys ever pulled togetherbefore. We must be all one heart. We must be actuated by one spirit. Listen! If you will stick together and to me, I'll make a team thatwill be a wonder. Never the hittin' team as good as last year's varsity, but a faster team, a finer machine. Think of that! Think of how we havebeen treated this year! For that we'll win all the greater glory. It'sworth all there is in you, boys. You would have the proudest record ofany team that ever played for old Wayne. 

"I love the old college, boys, and I've given it the best years of mylife. If it's anything to you, why, understand that if I fail to buildup a good team this year I shall be let go by those directors who havemade the change in athletics. I could stand that, but--I've a boy ofmy own who's preparin' for Wayne, and my heart is set on seein' himenter--and he said he never will if they let me go. So, you youngstersand me--we've much to gain. Go to your rooms now and think, think asyou never did before, until the spirit of this thing, the possibilityof it, grips you as it has me. "

XII

KEN CLASHES WITH GRAVES

Two weeks after the contest with State University four more gameswith minor colleges had been played and won by Wayne. Hour by hourthe coach had drilled the players; day by day the grilling practicetold in quickening grasp of team-play, in gradual correction oferratic fielding and wild throwing. Every game a few more studentsattended, reluctantly, in half-hearted manner. 

"We're comin' with a rush, " said Worry to Ken. "Say, but Dale and theold gang have a surprise in store for 'em! And the students--they'regoin' to drop dead pretty soon. .. . Peg, Murray tells me he's puttin'weight on you. "

"Why, yes, it's the funniest thing, " replied Ken. "To-day I weighedone hundred and sixty-four. Worry, I'm afraid I'm getting fat. "

"Fat, nothin', " snorted Worry. "It's muscle. I told Murray to put beefon you all he can. Pretty soon you'll be able to peg a ball through theback-stop. Dean's too light, Peg. He's plucky and will make a catcher, but he's too light. You're batterin' him all up. "

Worry shook his head seriously. 

"Oh, he's fine!" exclaimed Ken. "I'm not afraid any more. He digs mydrop out of the dust, and I can't get a curve away from him. He's weakonly on the jump ball, and I don't throw that often, only when I letdrive. "

"You'll be usin' that often enough against Herne and Place. I'm dependin'on that for those games. Peg, are you worryin' any, losin' any sleep, overthose games?"

"Indeed I'm not, " replied Ken, laughing. 

"Say, I wish you'd have a balloon ascension, and have it quick. It ain'tnatural, Peg, for you not to get a case of rattles. It's comin' to you, and I don't want it in any of the big games. "

"I don't want it either. But Worry, pitching is all a matter of control, you say so often. I don't believe I could get wild and lose my control ifI tried. "

"Peg, you sure have the best control of any pitcher I ever coached. It'syour success. It'll make a great pitcher out of you. All you've got tolearn is where to pitch 'em to Herne and Place. "

"How am I to learn that?"

"Listen!" Worry whispered. "I'm goin' to send you to Washington next weekto see Place and Herne play Georgetown. You'll pay your little money andsit in the grand-stand right behind the catcher. You'll have a pencil and ascore card, and you'll be enjoyin' the game. But, Peg, you'll also be usin'your head, and when you see one of 'em players pull away on a curve, or hitweak on a drop, or miss a high fast one, or slug a low ball, you will jotit down on your card. You'll watch Place's hard hitters with hawk eyes, my boy, and a pitcher's memory. And when they come along to Grant Fieldyou'll have 'em pretty well sized up. "

"That's fine, Worry, but is it fair?" queried Ken. 

"Fair? Why, of course. They all do it. We saw Place's captain in thegrand-stand here last spring. "

The coach made no secret of his pride and faith in Ken. It was this, perhaps, as much as anything, which kept Ken keyed up. For Ken wasreally pitching better ball than he knew how to pitch. He would havebroken his arm for Worry; he believed absolutely in what the coachtold him; he did not think of himself at all. 

Worry, however, had plenty of enthusiasm for his other players. Everyevening after dinner he would call them all about him and talk for anhour. Sometimes he would tell funny baseball stories; again, he told offamous Wayne-Place games, and how they had been won or lost; then at othertimes he dwelt on the merits and faults of his own team. In speaking ofthe swift development of this year's varsity he said it was as remarkableas it had been unforeseen. He claimed it would be a bewildering surpriseto Wayne students and to the big college teams. He was working towardthe perfection of a fast run-getting machine. In the five games alreadyplayed and won a good idea could be gotten of Wayne's team, individuallyand collectively. Homans was a scientific short-field hitter and remarkablysure. Raymond could not bat, but he had developed into a wonder in reachingfirst base, by bunt or base on balls, or being hit. Reddy Ray was a hardand timely batter, and when he got on base his wonderful fleetness madehim almost sure to score. Of the other players Graves batted the best;but taking the team as a whole, and comparing them with Place or Herne, it appeared that Reddy and Homans were the only great hitters, and thetwo of them, of course, could not make a great hitting team. In fielding, however, the coach said he had never seen the like. They were all fast, and Homans was perfect in judgment on fly balls, and Raymond was quickas lightning to knock down base hits, and as to the intercollegiatesprinter in left field, it was simply a breath-taking event to see himrun after a ball. Last of all was Ken Ward with his great arm. It was astrangely assorted team, Worry said, one impossible to judge at the moment, but it was one to watch. 

"Boys, we're comin' with a rush, " he went on to say. "But somethin'sholdin' us back a little. There's no lack of harmony, yet there's adrag. In spite of the spirit you've shown--and I want to say it's beengreat--the team doesn't work together as one man _all_ the time. I adviseyou all to stick closer together. Stay away from the club, and everywhereexcept lectures. We've got to be closer 'n brothers. It'll all work outright before we go up against Herne in June. That game's comin', boys, and by that time the old college will be crazy. It'll be _our_ turn then. "

Worry's talks always sank deeply into Ken's mind and set him to thinkingand revolving over and over the gist of them so that he could rememberto his profit. 

He knew that some of the boys had broken training, and he pondered if thatwas what caused the drag Worry mentioned. Ken had come to feel the lifeand fortunes of the varsity so keenly that he realized how the simplestdeviations from honor might affect the smooth running of the team. It mustbe perfectly smooth. And to make it so every player must be of one mind. 

Ken proved to himself how lack of the highest spirit on the part of oneor two of the team tended toward the lowering of the general spirit. Forhe began to worry, and almost at once it influenced his playing. He foundhimself growing watchful of his comrades and fearful of what they mightbe doing. He caught himself being ashamed of his suspicions. He would aslief have cut off his hand as break his promise to the coach. Perhaps, however, he exaggerated his feeling and sense of duty. He remembered thescene in Dale's room the night he refused to smoke and drink; how Dalehad commended his refusal. Nevertheless, he gathered from Dale's remarkto Worry that breaking training was not unusual or particularly harmful. 

"With Dale's team it might not have been so bad, " thought Ken. "But it'sdifferent with us. We've got to make up in spirit what we lack in ability. "

Weir and McCord occupied the room next to Ken's, and Graves and Trace, rooming together, were also on that floor. Ken had tried with all hismight to feel friendly toward the third-baseman. He had caught Gravescarrying cake and pie to his room and smoking cigarettes with the windowopen. One night Graves took cigarettes from his pocket and offered themto Kel, Trace, and Ken, who all happened to be in Ken's room at the time. Trace readily accepted; Kel demurred at first, but finally took one. Graves then tossed the pack to Ken. 

"No, I don't smoke. Besides, it's breaking training, " said Ken. 

"You make me sick, Ward, " retorted Graves. "You're a wet blanket. Do youthink we're going to be as sissy as that? It's hard enough to stand thegrub we get here, without giving up a little smoke. "

Ken made no reply, but he found it difficult to smother a hot riot in hisbreast. When the other boys had gone to their rooms Ken took Kel to taskabout his wrong-doing. 

"Do you think that's the right sort of thing? What would Worry say?"

"Ken, I don't care about it, not a bit, " replied Kel, flinging hiscigarette out of the window. "But Graves is always asking me to dothings--I hate to refuse. It seems so--"

"Kel, if Worry finds it out you'll lose your place on the team. "

"No!" exclaimed Raymond, staring. 

"Mark what I say. I wish you'd stop letting Graves coax you into things. "

"Ken, he's always smuggling pie and cake and candy into his room. I'vehad some of it. Trace said he'd brought in something to drink, too. "

"It's a shame, " cried Ken, in anger. "I never liked him and I've triedhard to change it. Now I'm glad I couldn't. "

"He doesn't have any use for you, " replied Kel. "He's always runningyou down to the other boys. What'd you ever do to him, Ken?"

"Oh, it was that potato stunt of mine last fall. He's a Soph, and I hithim, I guess. "

"I think it's more than that, " went on Raymond. "Anyway, you look outfor him, because he's aching to spoil your face. "

"He is, is he?" snapped Ken. 

Ken was too angry to talk any more, and so the boys went to bed. The nextfew days Ken discovered that either out of shame or growing estrangementRaymond avoided him, and he was bitterly hurt. He had come to like thelittle second-baseman, and had hoped they would be good friends. It waseasy to see that Graves became daily bolder, and more lax in training, and his influence upon several of the boys grew stronger. And when Dean, Schoonover, and Duncan appeared to be joining the clique, Ken decided hewould have to talk to some one, so he went up to see Ray and Homans. 

The sprinter was alone, sitting by his lamp, with books and notes spreadbefore him. 

"Hello, Peg! come in. You look a little glum. What's wrong?"

Reddy Ray seemed like an elder brother to Ken, and he found himselfblurting out his trouble. Ray looked thoughtful, and after a momenthe replied in his quiet way:

"Peg, it's new to you, but it's an old story to me. The track and crewmen seldom break training, which is more than can be said of the otherathletes. It seems to me baseball fellows are the most careless. Theyreally don't have to train so conscientiously. It's only a kind of form. "

"But it's different this year, " burst out Ken. "You know what Worry said, and how he trusts us. "

"You're right, Peg, only you mustn't take it so hard. Things will workout all right. Homans and I were talking about that to-day. You see, Worry wants the boys to elect a captain soon. But perhaps he has notconfided in you youngsters. He will suggest that you elect Homans orme. Well, I won't run for the place, so it'll be Homans. He's the manto captain us, that's certain. Graves thinks, though, that he can pullthe wires and be elected captain. He's way off. Besides, Peg, he'smaking a big mistake. Worry doesn't like him, and when he finds outabout this break in training we'll have a new third-baseman. No doubtBlake will play the bag. Graves is the only drag in Worry's baseballmachine now, and he'll not last. .. . So, Peg, don't think any more aboutit. Mind you, the whole team circles round you. You're the pivot, andas sure as you're born you'll be Wayne's captain next year. That'ssomething for you to keep in mind and work for. If Graves keeps afteryou--hand him one! That's not against rules. Punch him! If Worry knewthe truth he would pat you on the back for slugging Graves. Cheer up, Peg! Even if Graves has got all the kids on his side, which I doubt, Homans and I are with you. And you can just bet that Worry Arthurs willside with us. .. . Now run along, for I must study. "

This conversation was most illuminating to Ken. He left Reddy's roomall in a quiver of warm pleasure and friendliness at the great sprinter'squiet praise and advice. To make such a friend was worth losing a hundredfriends like Graves. He dismissed the third-baseman and his scheming frommind, and believed Reddy as he had believed Arthurs. But Ken thought muchof what he divined was a glimmering of the inside workings of a collegebaseball team. He had one wild start of rapture at the idea of becomingcaptain of Wayne's varsity next year, and then he dared think no moreof that. 

The day dawned for Ken to go to Washington, and he was so perturbed athis responsibilities that he quite forgot to worry about the game Waynehad to play in his absence. Arthurs intended to pitch Schoonover in thatgame, and had no doubt as to its outcome. The coach went to the stationwith Ken, once more repeated his instructions, and saw him upon thetrain. Certainly there was no more important personage on board thatWashington Limited than Ken Ward. In fact, Ken was so full of importanceand responsibility that he quite divided his time between foolish pridein his being chosen to "size up" the great college teams and fearfulconjecture as to his ability. 

At any rate, the time flew by, the trip seemed short, and soon he wason the Georgetown field. It was lucky that he arrived early and gota seat in the middle of the grand-stand, for there was a throng inattendance when the players came on the diamond. The noisy bleachers, the merry laughter, the flashing colors, and especially the brightgowns and pretty faces of the girls gave Ken pleasurable consciousnessof what it would mean to play before such a crowd. At Wayne he hadpitched to empty seats. Remembering Worry's prophecy, however, hewas content to wait. 

From that moment his duty absorbed him. He found it exceedinglyfascinating to study the batters, and utterly forgot his responsibility. Not only did he jot down on his card his idea of the weakness andstrength of the different hitters, but he compared what he would havepitched to them with what was actually pitched. Of course, he had notest of his comparison, but he felt intuitively that he had the betterof it. Watching so closely, Ken had forced home to him Arthurs' repeatedassertion that control of the ball made a pitcher. Both pitchers in thisgame were wild. Locating the plate with them was more a matter of luckthan ability. The Herne pitcher kept wasting balls and getting himselfin the hole, and then the heavy Georgetown players would know when hehad to throw a strike, if he could, and accordingly they hit hard. They beat Herne badly. 

The next day in the game with Place it was a different story. Kenrealized he was watching a great team. They reminded him of Dale'svarsity, though they did not play that fiendish right-field-hittinggame. Ken had a numbness come over him at the idea of facing thisPlace team. It soon passed, for they had their vulnerable places. It was not so much that they hit hard on speed and curves, for theygot them where they wanted them. Keene flied out on high fast ballsover the inside corner; Starke bit on low drops; Martin was weak ona slow ball; MacNeff, the captain, could not touch speed under hischin, and he always struck at it. On the other hand, he killed a lowball. Prince was the only man who, in Ken's judgment, seemed to haveno weakness. These men represented the batting strength of Place, andKen, though he did not in the least underestimate them, had no fear. He would have liked to pitch against them right there. 

"It's all in control of the ball, " thought Ken. "Here are seventeenbases on balls in two games--four pitchers. They're wild. .. . Butsuppose I got wild, too?"

The idea made Ken shiver. 

He travelled all night, sleeping on the train, and got home to thetraining-house about nine the next morning. Worry was out, Scotty said, and the boys had all gone over to college. Ken went up-stairs and foundRaymond in bed. 

"Why, Kel, what's the matter?" asked Ken. 

"I'm sick, " replied Kel. He was pale and appeared to be in distress. 

"Oh, I'm sorry. Can't I do something? Get you some medicine? Call Murray?"

"Ken, don't call anybody, unless you want to see me disgraced. Worrygot out this morning before he noticed my absence from breakfast. I wasscared to death. "

"Scared? Disgraced?"

"Ken, I drank a little last night. It always makes me sick. You knowI've a weak stomach. "

"Kel, you didn't drink, _say_ you didn't!" implored Ken, sittingmiserably down on the bed. 

"Yes, I did. I believe I was half drunk. I can't stand anything. I'm sick, sick of myself, too, this morning. And I hate Graves. "

Ken jumped up with kindling eyes. 

"Kel, you've gone back on me--we'd started to be such friends--I triedto persuade you--"

"I know. I'm sorry, Ken. But I really liked you best. I was--you knowhow it is, Ken. If only Worry don't find it out!"

"Tell him, " said Ken, quickly. 

"What?" groaned Kel, in fright. 

"Tell him. Let me tell him for you. "

"No--no--no. He'd fire me off the team, and I couldn't stand that. "

"I'll bet Worry wouldn't do anything of the kind. Maybe he knowsmore than you think. "

"I'm afraid to tell him, Ken. I just can't tell him. "

"But you gave your word of honor not to break training. The onlything left is to confess. "

"I won't tell, Ken. It's not so much my own place on the team--thereare the other fellows. "

Ken saw that it was no use to argue with Raymond while he was so sickand discouraged, so he wisely left off talking and did his best to makehim comfortable. Raymond dropped asleep after a little, and when heawakened just before lunch-time he appeared better. 

"I won't be able to practise to-day, " he said; "but I'll go down to lunch. "

As he was dressing the boys began to come in from college and ran whistlingup the stairs. 

Graves bustled into the room with rather anxious haste. 

"How're you feeling?" he asked. 

"Pretty rocky. Graves--I told Ward about it, " said Raymond. 

Upon his hurried entrance Graves had not observed Ken. 

"What did you want to do that for?" he demanded, arrogantly. 

Raymond looked at him, but made no reply. 

"Ward, I suppose you'll squeal, " said Graves, sneeringly. "That'llabout be your speed. "

Ken rose and, not trusting himself to speak, remained silent. 

"You sissy!" cried Graves, hotly. "Will you peach on us to Arthurs?"

"No. But if you don't get out of my room I'll hand you one, "replied Ken, his voice growing thick. 

Graves's face became red as fire. 

"What? Why, you white-faced, white-haired freshman! I've been achingto punch you!"

"Well, why don't you commence?"

With the first retort Ken had felt a hot trembling go over him, and having yielded to his anger he did not care what happened. 

"Ken--Graves, " pleaded Raymond, white as a sheet. "Don't--please!"He turned from one to the other. "Don't scrap!"

"Graves, it's up to some one to call you, and I'm going to do it, "said Ken, passionately. "You've been after me all season, but Iwouldn't care for that. It's your rotten influence on Kel and theother boys that makes me wild. You are the drag in this baseballteam. You are a crack ball-player, but you don't know what collegespirit means. You're a mucker!"

"I'll lick you for that!" raved Graves, shaking his fists. 

"You can't lick me!"

"Come outdoors. I dare you to come outdoors. I dare you!"

Ken strode out of the room and started down the hall. "Come on!"he called, grimly, and ran down the stairs. Graves hesitated amoment, then followed. 

Raymond suddenly called after them:

"Give it to him, Ken! Slug him! Beat him all up!"

XIII

FRIENDSHIP

A half-hour or less afterward Ken entered the training-house. It chancedthat the boys, having come in, were at the moment passing through thehall to the dining-room, and with them was Worry Arthurs. 

"Hello! you back? What's the matter with you?" demanded the coach. 

Ken's lips were puffed and bleeding, and his chin was bloody. Sundryred and dark marks disfigured his usually clear complexion. His eyeswere blazing, and his hair rumpled down over his brow. 

"You've been in a scrap, " declared Worry. 

"I know it, " said Ken. "Let me go up and wash. "

Worry had planted himself at the foot of the stairway in front of Ken. The boys stood silent and aghast. Suddenly there came thumps upon thestairs, and Raymond appeared, jumping down three steps at a time. Hedodged under Worry's arm and plunged at Ken to hold him with both hands. 

"Ken! You're all bloody!" he exclaimed, in great excitement. "He didn'tlick you? Say he didn't! He's got to fight me, too! You're all bunged up!"

"Wait till you see him!" muttered Ken. 

"A-huh!" said Worry. "Been scrappin' with Graves! What for?"

"It's a personal matter, " replied Ken. 

"Come, no monkey-biz with me, " said the coach, sharply. "Out with it!"

There was a moment's silence. 

"Mr. Arthurs, it's my fault, " burst out Raymond, flushed and eager. "Ken was fighting on my account. "

"It wasn't anything of the kind, " retorted Ken, vehemently. 

"Yes it was, " cried Raymond, "and I'm going to tell why. "

The hall door opened to admit Graves. He was dishevelled, dirty, battered, and covered with blood. When he saw the group in the hallhe made as if to dodge out. 

"Here, come on! Take your medicine, " called Worry, tersely. 

Graves shuffled in, cast down and sheepish, a very different fellowfrom his usual vaunting self. 

"Now, Raymond, what's this all about?" demanded Worry. 

Raymond changed color, but he did not hesitate an instant. 

"Ken came in this morning and found me sick in bed. I told him I hadbeen half drunk last night--and that Graves had gotten me to drink. Then Graves came in. He and Ken had hard words. They went outdoorsto fight. "

"Would you have told me?" roared the coach in fury. "Would you havecome to me with this if I hadn't caught Peg?"

Raymond faced him without flinching. 

"At first I thought not--when Ken begged me to confess I just couldn't. But now I know I would. "

At that Worry lost his sudden heat, and then he turned to the strickenGraves. 

"Mebbe it'll surprise you, Graves, to learn that I knew a little ofwhat you've been doin'. I told Homans to go to you in a quiet way andtip off your mistake. I hoped you'd see it. But you didn't. Thenyou've been knockin' Ward all season, for no reason I could discoverbut jealousy. Now, listen! Peg Ward has done a lot for me already thisyear, and he'll do more. But even if he beats Place, it won't mean anymore to me than the beatin' he's given you. Now, you pack your thingsand get out of here. There's no position for you on this varsity. "

Without a word in reply and amid intense silence Graves went slowlyup-stairs. When he disappeared Worry sank into a chair, and looked asif he was about to collapse. Little Trace walked hesitatingly forwardwith the manner of one propelled against his will. 

"Mr. Arthurs, I--I, " he stammered--"I'm guilty, too. I broke training. I want to--"

The coach waved him back. "I don't want to hear it, not anotherword--from anybody. It's made me sick. I can't stand any more. Only I see I've got to change my rules. There won't be any rulesany more. You can all do as you like. I'd rather have you all gostale than practise deceit on me. I cut out the trainin' rules. "

"_No!_" The team rose up as one man and flung the refusal at the coach. 

"Worry, we won't stand for that, " spoke up Reddy Ray. His smooth, coolvoice was like oil on troubled waters. "I think Homans and I can answerfor the kids from now on. Graves was a disorganizer--that's the leastI'll say of him. We'll elect Homans captain of the team, and then we'llcut loose like a lot of demons. It's been a long, hard drill for you, Worry, but we're in the stretch now and going to finish fast. We'vebeen a kind of misfit team all spring. You've had a blind faith thatsomething could be made out of us. Homans has waked up to our hiddenstrength. And I go further than that. I've played ball for years. Iknow the game. I held down left field for two seasons on the greatestcollege team ever developed out West. That's new to you. Well, it givesme license to talk a little. I want to tell you that I can _feel_ what'sin this team. It's like the feeling I have when I'm running against afast man in the sprints. From now on we'll be a family of brothers withone idea. And that'll be to play Place off their feet. "

Coach Arthurs sat up as if he had been given the elixir of life. Likewise the members of the team appeared to be under the spellof a powerful stimulus. The sprinter's words struck fire fromall present. 

Homans' clear gray eyes were like live coals. "Boys! One rousing cheerfor Worry Arthurs and for Wayne!"

Lusty, strained throats let out the cheer with a deafening roar. 

It was strange and significant at that moment to see Graves, white-facedand sullen, come down the stairs and pass through the hall and out of thedoor. It was as if discord, selfishness, and wavering passed out with him. Arthurs and Homans and Ray could not have hoped for a more striking lessonto the young players. 

Dave, the colored waiter, appeared in the doorway of the dining-room. "Mr. Arthurs, I done call yo' all. Lunch is sho' gittin' cold. "

That afternoon Wayne played the strong Hornell University nine. 

Blake, new at third base for Wayne, was a revelation. He was all legsand arms. Weir accepted eight chances. Raymond, sick or not, was allover the infield, knocking down grounders, backing up every play. ToMcCord, balls in the air or at his feet were all the same. Trace caughta foul fly right off the bleachers. Homans fielded with as much speedas the old varsity's centre and with better judgment. Besides, he madefour hits and four runs. Reddy Ray drove one ball into the bleachers, and on a line-drive to left field he circled the bases in time thatMurray said was wonderful. Dean stood up valiantly to his battering, and for the first game had no passed balls. And Ken Ward whirledtirelessly in the box, and one after another he shot fast balls overthe plate. He made the Hornell players hit; he had no need to extendhimself to the use of the long swing and whip of his arm that producedthe jump ball; and he shut them out without a run, and gave them onlytwo safe hits. All through the game Worry Arthurs sat on the benchwithout giving an order or a sign. His worried look had vanished withthe crude playing of his team. 

That night the Hornell captain, a veteran player of unquestionableability, was entertained at Carlton Club by Wayne friends, and heexpressed himself forcibly: "We came over to beat Wayne's weak team. It'll be some time till we discover what happened. Young Ward has themost magnificent control and speed. He's absolutely relentless. Andthat frog-legged second-baseman--oh, say, can't he cover ground! Homansis an all-round star. Then, your red-headed Ray, the sprinter--he's amarvel. Ward, Homans, Ray--they're demons, and they're making demonsof the kids. I can't understand why Wayne students don't support theirteam. It's strange. "

What the Hornell captain said went from lip to lip throughout the club, and then it spread, like a flame in wind-blown grass, from club todormitory, and thus over all the university. 

"Boys, the college is wakin' up, " said Worry, rubbing his hands. "Yesterday's game jarred 'em. They can't believe their own ears. Why, Hornell almost beat Dale's team last spring. Now, kids, look out. We'llstand for no fussin' over us. We don't want any jollyin'. We've waitedlong for encouragement. It didn't come, and now we'll play out thestring alone. There'll be a rush to Grant Field. It cuts no ice withus. Let 'em come to see the boys they hissed and guyed early in thespring. We'll show 'em a few things. We'll make 'em speechless. We'llmake 'em so ashamed they won't know what to do. We'll repay all theirslights by beatin' Place. "

Worry was as excited as on the day he discovered that Ken was a pitcher. 

"One more word, boys, " he went on. "Keep together now. Run back here toyour rooms as quick as you get leave from college. Be civil when you areapproached by students, but don't mingle, not yet. Keep to yourselves. Your reward is comin'. It'll be great. Only wait!"

And that was the last touch of fire which moulded Worry's players intoa family of brothers. Close and warm and fine was the culmination oftheir friendship. On the field they were dominated by one impulse, almost savage in its intensity. When they were off the field thesprings of youth burst forth to flood the hours with fun. 

In the mornings when the mail-man came there was always a wild scramblefor letters. And it developed that Weir received more than his share. He got mail every day, and his good-fortune could not escape the lynxeyes of his comrades. Nor could the size and shape of the envelope andthe neat, small handwriting fail to be noticed. Weir always stole offby himself to read his daily letter, trying to escape a merry chorus oftantalizing remarks. 

"Oh! Sugar!"

"Dreamy Eyes!"

"Gawge, the pink letter has come!"

Weir's reception of these sallies earned him the name of Puff. 

One morning, for some unaccountable reason, Weir did not get down-stairswhen the mail arrived. Duncan got the pink letter, scrutinized the writingclosely, and put the letter in his coat. Presently Weir came bustling down. 

"Who's got the mail?" he asked, quickly. 

"No letters this morning, " replied some one. 

"Is this Sunday?" asked Weir, rather stupidly. 

"Nope. I meant no letters for you. "

Weir looked blank, then stunned, then crestfallen. Duncan handed out thepink envelope. The boys roared, and Weir strode off in high dudgeon. 

That day Duncan purchased a box of pink envelopes, and being expert witha pen, he imitated the neat handwriting and addressed pink envelopes toevery boy in the training-house. Next morning no one except Weir seemedin a hurry to answer the postman's ring. He came in with the letters andhis jaw dropping. It so happened that his letter was the very last one, and when he got to it the truth flashed over him. Then the peculiarappropriateness of the nickname Puff was plainly manifest. One by onethe boys slid off their chairs to the floor, and at last Weir had tojoin in the laugh on him. 

Each of the boys in turn became the victim of some prank. Raymondbetrayed Ken's abhorrence of any kind of perfume, and straightwaythere was a stealthy colloquy. Cheap perfume of a most penetratingand paralyzing odor was liberally purchased. In Ken's absence fromhis room all the clothing that he did not have on his back wassaturated. Then the conspirators waited for him to come up thestoop, and from their hiding-place in a window of the second floorthey dropped an extra quart upon him. 

Ken vowed vengeance that would satisfy him thrice over, and he bidedhis time until he learned who had perpetrated the outrage. 

One day after practice his opportunity came. Raymond, Weir, and Trace, the guilty ones, went with Ken to the training quarters to take thesteam bath that Murray insisted upon at least once every week. It soturned out that the four were the only players there that afternoon. While the others were undressing, Ken bribed Scotty to go out on anerrand, and he let Murray into his scheme. Now, Murray not only hadacquired a strong liking for Ken, but he was exceedingly fond of a joke. 

"All I want to know, " whispered Ken, "is if I might stew them toomuch--really scald them, you know?"

"No danger, " whispered Murray. "That'll be the fun of it. You can'thurt them. But they'll think they're dying. "

He hustled Raymond, Weir, and Trace into the tanks and fastened the lids, and carefully tucked towels round their necks to keep in the steam. 

"Lots of stew to-day, " he said, turning the handles. "Hello! Where'sScotty?. .. Peg, will you watch these boys a minute while I step out?"

"You bet I will, " called Ken to the already disappearing Murray. 

The three cooped-in boys looked askance at Ken. 

"Wull, I'm not much stuck--" Raymond began glibly enough, and then, becoming conscious that he might betray an opportunity to Ken, heswallowed his tongue. 

"What'd you say?" asked Ken, pretending curiosity. Suddenly he beganto jump up and down. "Oh, my! Hullabelee! Schoodoorady! What a chance!You gave it away!"

"Look what he's doing!" yelled Trace. 

"Hyar!" added Weir. 

"Keep away from those pipes!" chimed in Raymond. 

"Boys, I've been laying for you, but I never thought I'd get a chancelike this. If Murray only stays out three minutes--just three minutes!"

"Three minutes! You idiot, you won't keep us in here that long?"asked Weir, in alarm. 

"Oh no, not at all. .. . Puff, I think you can stand a little more steam. "

Ken turned the handle on full. 

"Kel, a first-rate stewing will be good for your daily grouch. "

To the accompaniment of Raymond's threats he turned the second handle. 

"Trace, you little poll-parrot, you will throw perfume on me? Now roast!"

The heads of the imprisoned boys began to jerk and bob around, andtheir faces to take on a flush. Ken leisurely surveyed them and thendid an Indian war-dance in the middle of the room. 

"Here, let me out! Ken, you know how delicate I am, " implored Raymond. 

"I couldn't entertain the idea for a second, " replied Ken. 

"I'll lick you!" yelled Raymond. 

"My lad, you've got a brain-storm, " returned Ken, in grieved tones. "Not in the wildest flights of your nightmares have you ever saidanything so impossible as that. "

"Ken, dear Ken, dear old Peggie, " cried Trace, "you know I've got askinned place on my hip where I slid yesterday. Steam isn't good forthat, Worry says. He'll be sore. You must let me out. "

"I intend to see, Willie, that you'll be sore too, and skinned all over, "replied Ken. 

"Open this lid! At once!" roared Weir, in sudden anger. His bigeyes rolled. 

"Bah!" taunted Ken. 

Then all three began to roar at Ken at once. "Brute! Devil!Help! Help! Help! We'll fix you for this!. .. It's hotter!it's fire! Aghh! Ouch! Oh! Ah-h-h!. .. O-o-o-o!. .. Murder! MURDER-R!"

At this juncture Murray ran in. 

"What on earth! Peg, what did you do?"

"I only turned on the steam full tilt, " replied Ken, innocently. 

"Why, you shouldn't have done that, " said Murray, in pained astonishment. 

"Stop talking about it! Let me out!" shrieked Raymond. 

Ken discreetly put on his coat and ran from the room. 

XIV

THE HERNE GAME

On the morning of the first of June, the day scheduled for the openinggame with Herne, Worry Arthurs had Ken Ward closeted with Homans andReddy Ray. Worry was trying his best to be soberly calculating in regardto the outcome of the game. He was always trying to impress Ken with theuncertainty of baseball. But a much younger and less observing boy thanKen could have seen through the coach. Worry was dead sure of the result, certain that the day would see a great gathering of Wayne students, andhe could not hide his happiness. And the more he betrayed himself themore he growled at Ken. 

"Well, we ain't goin' to have that balloon-ascension to-day, are we?"he demanded. "Here we've got down to the big games, and you haven'tbeen up in the air yet. I tell you it ain't right. "

"But, Worry, I couldn't go off my head and get rattled just to pleaseyou, could I?" implored Ken. To Ken this strain of the coach's had grownto be as serious as it was funny. 

"Aw! talk sense, " said Worry. "Why, you haven't pitched to a collegecrowd yet. Wait! Wait till you see that crowd over to Place next week!Thousands of students crazier 'n Indians, and a flock of girls that'llmake you bite your tongue off. Ten thousand yellin' all at once. "

"Let them yell, " replied Ken; "I'm aching to pitch before a crowd. It has been pretty lonesome at Grant Field all season. "

"Let 'em yell, eh?" retorted Worry. "All right, my boy, it's comin' toyou. And if you lose your nut and get slammed all over the lot, don'tcome to me for sympathy. "

"I wouldn't. I can take a licking. Why, Worry, you talk as if--as if I'ddone something terrible. What's the matter with me? I've done every singlething you wanted--just as well as I could do it. What are you afraid of?"

"You're gettin' swelled on yourself, " said the coach, deliberately. 

The blood rushed to Ken's face until it was scarlet. He was so astoundedand hurt that he could not speak. Worry looked at him once, then turninghastily away, he walked to the window. 

"Peg, it ain't much wonder, " he went on, smoothly, "and I'm not holdin'it against you. But I want you to forget yourself--"

"I've never had a thought of myself, " retorted Ken, hotly. 

"I want you to go in to-day like--like an automatic machine, " wenton Worry, as if Ken had not spoken. "There'll be a crowd out, thefirst of the season. Mebbe they'll throw a fit. Anyway, it's our firstbig game. As far as the university goes, this is our trial. The studentsare up in the air; they don't know what to think. Mebbe there won't bea cheer at first. .. . But, Peg, if we beat Herne to-day they'll tear downthe bleachers. "

"Well, all I've got to say is that you can order new lumber for thebleachers--because we're going to win, " replied Ken, with a smoulderingfire in his eyes. 

"There you go again! If you're not stuck on yourself, it's too muchconfidence. You won't be so chipper about three this afternoon, mebbe. Listen! The Herne players got into town last night, and some of themtalked a little. It's just as well you didn't see the morning papers. It came to me straight that Gallagher, the captain, and Stern, thefirst-baseman, said you were pretty good for a kid freshman, but alittle too swelled to stand the gaff in a big game. They expect youto explode before the third innin'. I wasn't goin' to tell you, Peg, but you're so--"

"They said that, did they?" cried Ken. He jumped up with paling cheekand blazing eye, and the big hand he shoved under Worry's nose trembledlike a shaking leaf. "What I won't do to them will be funny! Swelled!Explode! Stand the gaff! Look here, Worry, maybe it's true, but I don'tbelieve it. .. . _I'll beat this Herne team!_ Do you get that?"

"Now you're talkin', " replied Worry, with an entire change of manner. "You saw the Herne bunch play. They can field, but how about hittin'?"

"Gallagher, Stern, Hill, and Burr are the veterans of last year's varsity, "went on Ken, rapidly, as one who knew his subject. "They can hit--if theyget what they like. "

"Now you're talkin'. How about Gallagher?"

"He hits speed. He couldn't hit a slow ball with a paddle. "

"Now you're talkin'. There's Stern, how'd you size him?"

"He's weak on a low curve, in or out, or a drop. "

"Peg, you're talkin' some now. How about Hill?"

"Hill is a bunter. A high ball in close, speedy, would tie him in a knot. "

"Come on, hurry! There's Burr. "

"Burr's the best of the lot, a good waiter and hard hitter, but heinvariably hits a high curve up in the air. "

"All right. So far so good. How about the rest of the team?"

"I'll hand them up a straight, easy ball and let them hit. I tell youI've got Herne beaten, and if Gallagher or any one else begins to guyme I'll laugh in his face. "

"Oh, you will?. .. Say, you go down to your room now, and stay there tilltime for lunch. Study or read. Don't think another minute about this game. "

Ken strode soberly out of the room. 

It was well for Ken that he did not see what happened immediately afterhis exit. Worry and Homans fell into each other's arms. 

"Say, fellows, how I hated to do it!" Worry choked with laughter andcontrition. "It was the hardest task I ever had. But, Cap, you know wehad to make Peg sore. He's too blamed good-natured. Oh, but didn't hetake fire! He'll make some of those Herne guys play low-bridge to-day. Wouldn't it be great if he gave Gallagher the laugh?"

"Worry, don't you worry about that, " said Homans. "And it wouldplease me, too, for Gallagher is about as wordy and pompous as anycaptain I've seen. "

"I think you were a little hard on Ken, " put in Reddy. His quiet voicedrew Worry and Homans from their elation. "Of course, it was necessaryto rouse Ken's fighting blood, but you didn't choose the right way. You hurt his feelings. You know, Worry, that the boy is not in theleast swelled. "

"'Course I know it, Reddy. Why, Peg's too modest. But I want him tobe dead in earnest to-day. Mind you, I'm thinkin' of Place. He'll beatHerne to a standstill. I worked on his feelin's just to get him allstirred up. You know there's always the chance of rattles in any youngplayer, especially a pitcher. If he's mad he won't be so likely to get'em. So I hurt his feelin's. I'll make it up to him, don't you fearfor that, Reddy. "

"I wish you had waited till we go over to Place next week, " replied Ray. "You can't treat him that way twice. Over there's where I would look forhis weakening. But it may be he won't ever weaken. If he ever does it'llbe because of the crowd and not the players. "

"I think so, too. A yellin' mob will be new to Peg. But, fellows, I'm only askin' one game from Herne and one, or a good close game, from Place. That'll give Wayne the best record ever made. Look atour standin' now. Why, the newspapers are havin' a fit. Since Ipicked the varsity we haven't lost a game. Think of that! Thoseearly games don't count. We've had an unbroken string of victories, Peg pitchin' twelve, and Schoonover four. And if wet grounds andother things hadn't cancelled other games we'd have won more. "

"Yes, we're in the stretch now, Worry, and running strong. We'llwin three out of these four big games, " rejoined Reddy. 

"Oh, say, that'd be too much! I couldn't stand it! Oh, say, Cap, don'tyou think Reddy, for once, is talkin' about as swift as he sprints?"

"I'm afraid to tell you, Worry, " replied Homans, earnestly. "When Ilook back at our work I can't realize it. But it's time to wake up. The students over at college are waking up. They will be out to-day. You are the one to judge whether we're a great team or not. We keepon making runs. It's runs that count. I think, honestly, Worry, thatafter to-day we'll be in the lead for championship honors. And I holdmy breath when I tell you. "

It was remarkably quiet about the training-house all that morning. Thecoach sent a light lunch to the boys in their rooms. They had orders tobe dressed, and to report in the reading-room at one-thirty. 

Raymond came down promptly on time. 

"Where's Peg?" asked Worry. 

"Why, I thought he was here, ahead of me, " replied Raymond, in surprise. 

A quick survey of the uniformed players proved the absence ofKen Ward and Reddy Ray. Worry appeared startled out of speech, and looked helplessly at Homans. Then Ray came down-stairs, batin one hand, shoes and glove in the other. He seated himself uponthe last step and leisurely proceeded to put on his shoes. 

"Reddy, did you see Peg?" asked Worry, anxiously. 

"Sure, I saw him, " replied the sprinter. 

"Well?" growled the coach. "Where is he? Sulkin' because I called him?"

"Not so you'd notice it, " answered Reddy, in his slow, careless manner. "I just woke him up. "

"What!" yelled Arthurs. 

"Peg came to my room after lunch and went to sleep. I woke him just now. He'll be down in a minute. "

Worry evidently could not reply at the moment, but he began to beam. 

"What would Gallagher say to that?" asked Captain Homans, with a smile. "Wayne's varsity pitcher asleep before a Herne game! Oh no, I guessthat's not pretty good! Worry, could you ask any more?"

"Cap, I'll never open my face to him again, " blurted out the coach. 

Ken appeared at the head of the stairs and had started down, when thedoor-bell rang. Worry opened the door to admit Murray, the trainer;Dale, the old varsity captain, and the magnificently built Stevens, guard and captain of the football team. 

"Hello! Worry, " called out Murray, cheerily. "How're the kids? Boys, you look good to me. Trim and fit, and all cool and quiet-like. Reddy, be careful of your ankles and legs to-day. After the meet next week youcan cut loose and run bases like a blue streak. "

Dale stepped forward, earnest and somewhat concerned, but with a winningfrankness. 

"Worry, will you let Stevens and me sit on the bench with the boys to-day?"

Worry's face took on the color of a thunder-cloud. "I'm not the captain, "he replied. "Ask Homans. "

"How about it, Roy?" queried Dale. 

Homans was visibly affected by surprise, pleasure, and something more. While he hesitated, perhaps not trusting himself to reply quickly, Stevens took a giant stride to the fore. 

"Homans, we've got a hunch that Wayne's going to win, " he said, ina deep-bass voice. "A few of us have been tipped off, and we got itstraight. But the students don't know it yet. So Dale and I thoughtwe'd like them to see how we feel about it--before this game. You'vehad a rotten deal from the students this year. But they'll more thanmake it up when you beat Herne. The whole college is waiting andrestless. "

Homans, recovering himself, faced the two captains courteously andgratefully, and with a certain cool dignity. 

"Thank you, fellows! It's fine of you to offer to sit with us on thebench. I thank you on behalf of the varsity. But--not to-day. All seasonwe've worked and fought without support, and now we're going to beatHerne without support. When we've done that you and Dale--all thecollege--can't come too quick to suit us. "

"I think I'd say the same thing, if I were in your place, " said Dale. "And I'll tell you right here that when I was captain I never pluggedany harder to win than I'll plug to-day. "

Then these two famous captains of championship teams turned to Homans'players and eyed them keenly, their faces working, hands clenched, their powerful frames vibrating with the feeling of the moment. Thatmoment was silent, eloquent. It linked Homans' team to the greatathletic fame of the university. It radiated the spirit to conquer, the glory of past victories, the strength of honorable defeats. ThenDale and Stevens went out, leaving behind them a charged atmosphere. 

"I ain't got a word to say, " announced Worry to the players. 

"And I've very little, " added Captain Homans. "We're all on edge, andbeing drawn down so fine we may be over-eager. Force that back. Itdoesn't matter if we make misplays. We've made many this season, butwe've won all the same. At the bat, remember to keep a sharp eye onthe base-runner, and when he signs he is going down, bunt or hit toadvance him. That's all. "

Ken Ward walked to the field between Worry Arthurs and Reddy Ray. Worry had no word to say, but he kept a tight grip on Ken's arm. 

"Peg, I've won many a sprint by not underestimating my opponent, "said Reddy, quietly. "Now you go at Herne for all you're worth fromthe start. "

When they entered the field there were more spectators in thestands than had attended all the other games together. In a farcorner the Herne players in dark-blue uniforms were practisingbatting. Upon the moment the gong called them in for their turnat field practice. The Wayne team batted and bunted a few balls, and then Homans led them to the bench. 

Upon near view the grand-stand and bleachers seemed a strange sight toKen Ward. He took one long look at the black-and-white mass of studentsbehind the back-stop, at the straggling lines leading to the gates, atthe rapidly filling rows to right and left, and then he looked no more. Already an immense crowd was present. Still it was not a typical collegebaseball audience. Ken realized that at once. It was quiet, orderly, expectant, and watchful. Very few girls were there. The students as abody had warmed to curiosity and interest, but not to the extent ofbringing the girls. After that one glance Ken resolutely kept his eyesupon the ground. He was conscious of a feeling that he wanted to springup and leap at something. And he brought all his will to force back hisover-eagerness. He heard the crack of the ball, the shouts of the Herneplayers, the hum of voices in the grand-stand, and the occasional cheersof Herne rooters. There were no Wayne cheers. 

"Warm up a little, " said Worry, in his ear. 

Ken peeled off his sweater and walked out with Dean. A longmurmur ran throughout the stands. Ken heard many things saidof him, curiously, wonderingly, doubtfully, and he tried notto hear more. Then he commenced to pitch to Dean. Worry stoodnear him and kept whispering to hold in his speed and just touse his arm easily. It was difficult, for Ken felt that his armwanted to be cracked like a buggy-whip. 

"That'll do, " whispered Worry. "We're only takin' five minutes'practice. .. . Say, but there's a crowd! Are you all right, Peg--cool-likeand determined?. .. Good! Say--but Peg, you'd better look these fellowsover. "

"I remember them all, " replied Ken. "That's Gallagher on the end ofthe bench; Burr is third from him; Stern's fussing over the bats, andthere's Hill, the light-headed fellow, looking this way. There's--"

"That'll do, " said Worry. "There goes the gong. It's all off now. Homans has chosen to take the field. I guess mebbe you won't show'em how to pitch a new white ball! Get at 'em now!" Then he calledKen back as if impelled, and whispered to him in a husky voice:"It's been tough for you and for me. Listen! Here's where it beginsto be sweet. "

Ken trotted out to the box, to the encouraging voices of the infield, and he even caught Reddy Ray's low, thrilling call from the far outfield. 

"Play!" With the ringing order, which quieted the audience, the umpiretossed a white ball to Ken. 

For a single instant Ken trembled ever so slightly in all his limbs, and the stands seemed a revolving black-and-white band. Then the emotionwas as if it had never been. He stepped upon the slab, keen-sighted, cool, and with his pitching game outlined in his mind. 

Burr, the curly-haired leader of Herne's batting list, took hisposition to the left of the plate. Ken threw him an underhand curve, sweeping high and over the inside corner. Burr hit a lofty fly toHomans. Hill, the bunter, was next. For him Ken shot one straightover the plate. Hill let it go by, and it was a strike. Ken putanother in the same place, and Hill, attempting to bunt, fouleda little fly, which Dean caught. Gallagher strode third to bat. He used a heavy club, stood right-handed over the plate, and lookedaggressive. Ken gave the captain a long study and then swung slowly, sending up a ball that floated like a feather. Gallagher missed it. On the second pitch he swung heavily at a slow curve far off theoutside. For a third Ken tried the speedy drop, and the captain, letting it go, was out on strikes. 

The sides changed. Worry threw a sweater around Ken. 

"The ice's broke, Peg, and you've got your control. That settles it. "

Homans went up, to a wavering ripple of applause. He drew two balls andthen a strike from Murphy, and hit the next hard into short field. Frickfumbled the ball, recovered it, and threw beautifully, but too late tocatch Homans. Raymond sacrificed, sending his captain to second. Murphycould not locate the plate for Reddy Ray and let him get to first onfour balls. Weir came next. Homans signed he was going to run on thefirst pitch. Weir, hitting with the runner, sent a double into rightfield, and Homans and Ray scored. The bleachers cheered. Homans randown to third base to the coaching lines, and Ray went to first base. Both began to coach the runner. Dean hit into short field, and wasthrown out, while Weir reached third on the play. 

"Two out, now! Hit!" yelled Homans to Blake. 

Blake hit safely over second, scoring Weir. Then Trace flied out toleft field. 

"Three runs!" called Homans. "Boys, that's a start! Three more runsand this game's ours! Now, Peg, now!"

Ken did not need that trenchant thrilling _now_. The look in Worry'seyes had been enough. He threw speed to Halloway, and on the third ballretired him, Raymond to McCord. Stern came second to bat. In Ken's mindthis player was recorded with a weakness on low curves. And Ken foundit with two balls pitched. Stern popped up to Blake. Frick, a new playerto Ken, let a strike go by, and missed a drop and a fast ball. 

"They can't touch you, Ken, " called Raymond, as he tossed aside his glove. 

Faint cheers rose from scattered parts of the grand-stand, and hereand there shouts and yells. The audience appeared to stir, to becomeanimated, and the Herne players settled down to more sober action onthe field. 

McCord made a bid for a hit, but failed because of fast work by Stern. Ken went up, eager to get to first in any way. He let Murphy pitch, and at last, after fouling several good ones, he earned his base onballs. Once there, he gave Homans the sign that he would run on thefirst pitch, and he got a fair start. He heard the crack of the balland saw it glinting between short and third. Running hard, he beat thethrow-in to third. With two runners on bases, Raymond hit to deep short. Ken went out trying to reach home. Again Reddy Ray came up and got abase on balls, filling the bases. The crowd began to show excitement, and seemed to be stifling cheers in suspense. Weir hurried to bat, hisshock of hair waving at every step. He swung hard on the first ball, and, missing it, whirled down, bothering the catcher. Homans raced homeon a half-passed ball. Then Weir went out on a fly to centre. 

"Peg, keep at them!" called Reddy Ray. "We've got Murphy's measure. "

It cost Ken an effort to deliberate in the box, to think before hepitched. He had to fight his eagerness. But he wasted few balls, andstruck Mercer out. Van Sant hit to Weir, who threw wild to first, allowing the runner to reach third. Murphy, batting next, hit onewhich Ken put straight over the plate, and it went safe through second, scoring Van Sant. The Herne rooters broke out in loud acclaim. Burrcame up, choking his bat up short. Again Ken gave him the high, widecurve. He let it pass and the umpire called it a strike. Ken threwanother, a little outside this time. Evidently Burr was trying outKen's control. 

"He can't put them over!" yelled Gallagher, from the coaching line. "Here's where he goes up! Wait him out, Burr. Good eye, old man!Here's where we explode the freshman!"

Ken glanced at Gallagher and laughed. Then he sped up another highcurve, which the umpire called a strike. 

"That's the place, Peg! Put another there!" floated from Reddy inthe outfield. 

Burr swung viciously, hitting a bounder toward second base. Raymonddarted over, went down with his bird-like quickness, came up with theball, and then he touched the bag and threw to first. It was a playin which he excelled. The umpire called both runners out, retiringthe side. A short, sharp yell, like a bark, burst from the bleachers. 

Worry was smilingly thoughtful as his boys trotted in to bat. 

"Say, if you get a couple of runs this time we'll be _It_. Look at thestudents. Ready to fall out of the stands. .. . Peg, I'm glad Herne gota run. Now we won't think of a shut-out. That'll steady us up. And, boys, break loose now, for the game's ours. "

Dean started off with a clean single. On the first pitch he broke forsecond, and had to slide to make it, as Blake missed the strike. ThenBlake went out to first. Trace walked. McCord poked a little fly overthe infield, scoring Dean. Ken fouled out. The unerring Homans againhit safely, sending Trace in. With two out and McCord on third andHomans on second, Raymond laid down a beautiful bunt, tallying McCord. And when the Herne catcher tried to head Homans from making thirdRaymond kept on toward second. It was a daring dash, and he dove tothe bag with a long slide, but the decision was against him. 

The coach called Homans, Ward, and Ray to him and gathered themclose together. 

"Boys, listen!" he said, low and tense. "MacNeff and Prince, of Place, are in the grand-stand just behind the plate. They're up there to geta line on Peg. We'll fool 'em, and make 'em sick in the bargain. Peg, you let out this innin' and show up the first three hitters. Then I'lltake you out and let Schoonover finish the game. See?"

"Take me--out?" echoed Ken. 

"That's it, if you make these next three hitters look like monkeys. Don't you see? We've got the Herne game cinched. We don't need to useour star twirler. See? That'll be a bone for Place to chew on. Howabout it, Cap? What do you think, Reddy?"

"Oh, Worry, if we dared to do it!" Homans exclaimed, under his breath. "Herne would never get over it. And it would scare Place to death. .. . But, Worry, Reddy, dare we risk it?"

"It's playin' into our very hands, " replied Worry. His hazel eyeswere afire with inspiration. 

Reddy Ray's lean jaw bulged. 

"Homans, it's the trick, and we can turn it. "

"What's the score--7 to 1?" muttered Homans. It was a tight placefor him, and he seemed tortured between ambition and doubt. 

"That fellow Murphy hasn't got one in my groove yet, " said Reddy. "I'm due to lace one. We're good for more runs. "

That decided Homans. He patted Ken on the shoulder and led him out tothe box, but he never spoke a word. 

Ken felt like a wild colt just let loose. He faced Hill with a smile, and then, taking his long, overhand swing, he delivered the jump ball. Hill made no move. The umpire called strike. The crowd roared. Kenduplicated the feat. Then Hill missed the third strike. Gallagherwalked up doggedly, and Ken smiled at him, too. Then using threewicked, darting drops, Ken struck Gallagher out. 

"That's twice!" called Reddy's penetrating voice from the outfield. "Give him a paddle!"

Halloway drew two balls and then three strikes. 

Ken ran for the bench amid an uproar most strange and startling to hisuntried ear. The long, tardy, and stubborn students had broken theirsilence. 

Dale leaped out of the grand-stand to lead the cheering. The giantStevens came piling out of the bleachers to perform a like office. And then they were followed by Bryan, captain of the crew, andHilbrandt, captain of the track team. Four captains of Wayne teamsinspiriting and directing the cheering! Ken's bewildered ears drankin one long, thundering "_Ward! Ward! Ward!_" and then his hearingseemed drowned. The whole mass of students and spectators rose asone, and the deafening stamp of feet only equalled the roar of voices. But now the volume of sound was regular and rhythmic. It was like theapproach of a terrible army. For minutes, while the umpire held playsuspended, the Wayne supporters in hoarse and stamping tumult cameinto their own again. It was a wild burst of applause, and as it hadbeen long delayed, so now it was prolonged fiercely to the limit ofendurance. 

When those waves of sound had rolled away Ken Ward felt a differencein Grant Field, in the varsity, in himself. A different color shonefrom the sky. 

Ken saw Reddy Ray go to bat and drive the ball against the right-fieldfence. Then as the sprinter got into his wonderful stride once more thewhole audience rose in yelling, crashing clamor. And when on Weir's flyto the outfield Reddy raced in to the plate, making the throw-in lookfeeble, again the din was terrific. 

As one in a glorious dream, Ken Ward crouched upon the bench and watchedthe remainder of that game. He grasped it all as if baseball was all thatmade life worth living, and as if every moment was his last. He neverthought of himself. He was only a part of the team, and that team, every moment, grew sharper, faster, fiercer. He revelled in the game. Schoonover was hit hard, but fast play by Raymond and Weir kept Herne'sscore down. The little second-baseman was here, there, everywhere, likea glint of light. Herne made runs, but Wayne also kept adding runs. Blake caught a foul fly off the bleachers; Trace made a beautiful catch;McCord was like a tower at first base, and little Dean went through thelast stages of development that made him a star. 

Once in the eighth inning Ken became aware that Worry was punchinghim in the back and muttering:

"Look out, Peg! Listen! Murphy'll get one in Reddy's groove thistime. .. . Oh-h!"

The crack of the ball, as well as Worry's yell, told Ken what hadhappened. Besides, he could see, and as the ball lined away for thefence, and the sprinter leaped into action, Ken jumped up and screamed:

"Oh, Reddy, it's over--over! No! Run! Run! Oh-h-h!"

In the shrill, piercing strife of sound Ken's scream seemed only abreath at his ears. He held to it, almost splitting his throat, whilethe sprinter twinkled round third base and came home like a thunderbolt. 

Another inning passed, a confusion of hits, throws, runs, and playsto Ken, and then Worry was pounding him again. 

"Dig for the trainin'-house!" yelled Worry, mouth on his ear. "The students are crazy! They'll eat us alive! They're tearin'the bleachers down! Run for it, Peg!"

XV

A MATTER OF PRINCIPLE

Ken found himself running across Grant Field, pursued by a happy, roaring mob of students. They might have been Indians, judging fromthe way Ken and his fellow-players fled before them. The trainedathletes distanced their well-meaning but violent pursuers and gainedthe gate, but it was a close shave. The boys bounded up the streetinto the training-house and locked the door till the puffing Arthursarrived. They let him in and locked the door again. 

In another moment the street resounded with the rush of many feetand the yells of frantic students. Murray, the trainer, forced a waythrough the crowd and up the stoop. He closed and barred the outsidedoor, and then pounded upon the inside door for admittance. Worrylet him in. 

"They'd make a bowl-fight or a football rush look tame, " panted Murray. "Hey! Scotty--lock up tight down in the basement. For Heaven's sakedon't let that push get in on us! Lock the windows in the front. "

"Who's that poundin' on the door?" yelled Worry. He had to yell, for the swelling racket outside made ordinary conversation impossible. 

"Don't open it!" shouted Murray. "What do we care for team-captains, college professors, athletic directors, or students? They're all outthere, and they're crazy, I tell you. I never saw the like. It'd bemore than I want to get in that jam. And it'd never do for the varsity. Somebody would get crippled sure. I'm training this baseball team. "

Murray, in his zealous care of his athletes, was somewhat overshootingthe mark, for not one of the boys had the slightest desire to be trustedto the mob outside. In fact, Ken looked dazed, and Raymond scared to thepoint of trembling; Trace was pale; and all the others, except Homansand Reddy Ray, showed perturbation. Nor were the captain and sprinterdeaf to the purport of that hour; only in their faces shone a kindlingglow and flush. 

By-and-by the boys slipped to their rooms, removed their uniforms, dressed and crept down-stairs like burglars and went in to dinner. Outside the uproar, instead of abating, gathered strength as timewent by. At the dinner-table the boys had to yell in each other'sears. They had to force what they ate. No one was hungry. When Worryrose from the table they all flocked after him. 

It was growing dark outside, and a red glow, brightening uponthe windows, showed the students had lighted bonfires. 

"They're goin' to make a night of it, " yelled Worry. 

"How'll my boys be able to sleep?" shouted Murray. Both coachand trainer were as excited as any of the boys. 

"The street's packed solid. Listen!"

The tramp, tramp, tramp of thousands of feet keeping time was like theheavy tread of a marching multitude. Then the tramp died away in apiercing cheer, "_Wayne!_" nine times, clear and sustained--a long, beautiful college cheer. In the breathing spell that followed, thesteady tramp of feet went on. One by one, at intervals, the universityyells were given, the broken rattling rally, the floating melodiouscrew cheer, and the hoarse, smashing boom of football. Then againthe inspiriting "_Wayne!_" nine times. After that came shrill callsfor the varsity, for Homans, Reddy Ray, Raymond, and Peggie Ward. 

"Come up-stairs to the windows, boys!" shouted Worry. "We've gotto show ourselves. "

Worry threw up the windows in Weir's room, and the boys gingerly pokedtheir heads out. A roar greeted their appearance. The heads all poppedin as if they had been struck. 

"Homans, you'll have to make a speech, " cried the coach. 

"I will not!"

"You've got to say somethin'. We can't have this crazy gang out hereall night. "

Then Worry and Murray coaxed and led Homans to the window. The captainleaned out and said something that was unintelligible in the hubbubwithout. The crowd cheered him and called for Reddy, Ward, and Raymond. Worry grasped the second-baseman and shoved him half over the sill. Raymond would have fallen out but for the coach's strong hold. 

"Come on, Peg!" yelled Worry. 

"Not on your life!" cried Ken, in affright. He ran away from thecoach, and dived under the bed. But Reddy Ray dragged him out andto the window, and held him up in the bright bonfire glare. Then helifted a hand to silence the roaring crowd. 

"Fellows, here he is--Worry's demon, Wayne's pitcher!" called Reddy, in ringing, far-reaching voice. "Listen! Peggie didn't lose his nervewhen he faced Herne to-day, but he's lost it now. He's lost his voice, too. But he says for you to go away and save your cheers for this daytwo weeks, when we meet Place. Then, he says, you'll have somethingto cheer for!"

The crafty sprinter knew how to appeal to the students. All of voiceand strength and enthusiasm left in them went up in a mighty bawlthat rattled the windows and shook the house. They finished withnine "_Waynes!_" and a long, rousing "_Peggie Ward!_" and then theywent away. 

"By George! look here, Peg, " said Reddy, earnestly, "they gave youWayne's Nine! _Wayne's Nine!_ Do you hear? I never knew a freshmanvarsity man to get that cheer. "

"You've got to beat Place now, after tellin' 'em you'd do it, "added Worry. 

"But, Worry, I didn't say a word--it was Reddy, " replied Ken, in distress. 

"Same thing, " rejoined the coach. "Now, boys, let's quiet down andtalk over the game. I won't waste any time jollyin' you. I couldn'tpraise you enough if I spent the rest of the season tryin' to. Oneand all, by yourselves and in a bunch, you played Herne off theirfeet. I'll bet MacNeff and Prince are dizzy figurin' what'll happenSaturday week. As to the score, why, scores don't mean much to us--"

"What was the score, anyway?" asked Ken. 

The boys greeted this with shouts of doubtful laughter, and Worryglanced with disapproval at his star. 

"Peg, you keep me guessin' a lot. But not to know how much we beatHerne would be more 'n I could stand. On the level, now, don't youknow the score?"

"Fair and square, I don't, Worry. You never would let me think ofhow many runs we had or needed. I can count seven--yes, and one more, that was Reddy's home-run. "

"Peg, you must have been up in the air a little; 14 to 4, that's it. And we didn't take our bat in the last of the ninth. "

Then followed Worry's critical account of the game, and a discussionin which the boys went over certain plays. During the evening manyvisitors called, but did not gain admission. The next morning, however, Worry himself brought in the newspapers, which heretofore he hadforbidden the players to read, and he told them they were now freeto have any callers or to go where they liked. There was a merryscramble for the papers, and presently the reading-room was as quietas a church. 

The account that held Ken Ward in rapt perusal was the _MorningTimes-Star's_. At first the print blurred in Ken's sight. Then heread it over again. He liked the glowing praise given the team, and was shamefully conscious of the delight in his name in largeletters. A third time he read it, guiltily this time, for he didnot dream that his comrades were engrossed in like indulgence. 

 WAYNE OUTCLASSES HERNE

 ARTHURS DEVELOPS ANOTHER GREAT TEAM. PEGGIE WARD AND REDDY RAY STARS. 

 Wayne defeated Herne yesterday 14 to 4, and thereby leaped into the limelight. It was a surprise to every one, Herne most of all. Owing to the stringent eligibility rules now in force at Wayne, and the barring of the old varsity, nothing was expected of this season's team. Arthurs, the famous coach, has built a wonderful nine out of green material, and again establishes the advisability of professional coaches for the big universities. 

 With one or two exceptions Wayne's varsity is made up of players developed this year. Homans, the captain, was well known about town as an amateur player of ability. But Arthurs has made him into a great field captain and a base-getter of remarkable skill. An unofficial computing gives him the batting average of . 536. No captain or any other player of any big college team in the East ever approached such percentage as that. It is so high that it must be a mistake. 

 Reddy Ray, the intercollegiate champion in the sprints, is the other seasoned player of the varsity, and it is safe to say that he is the star of all the college teams. A wonderful fielder, a sure and heavy hitter, and like a flash on the bases, he alone makes Homans' team formidable. 

 Then there is Peg Ward, Worry Arthurs' demon pitcher, of freshman bowl-fight fame. This lad has been arriving since spring, and now he has arrived. He is powerful, and has a great arm. He seems to pitch without effort, has twice the speed of Dale, and is as cool in the box as a veteran. But it is his marvellous control of the ball that puts him in a class by himself. In the fourth inning of yesterday's game he extended himself, probably on orders from Coach Arthurs, and struck out Herne's three best hitters on eleven pitched balls. Then he was taken out and Schoonover put in. This white-headed lad is no slouch of a pitcher, by-the-way. But it must have been a bitter pill for Herne to swallow. The proud Herne varsity have been used to knocking pitchers out of the box, instead of seeing them removed because they were too good. Also, MacNeff and Prince, of Place, who saw the game, must have had food for reflection. They did not get much of a line on young Ward, and what they saw will not give them pleasant dreams. We pick Ward to beat the heavy-hitting Place team. 

 Other youngsters of Arthurs' nine show up well, particularly Raymond and Weir, who have springs in their feet and arms like whips. Altogether Arthurs' varsity is a strangely assorted, a wonderfully chosen group of players. We might liken them to the mechanism of a fine watch, with Ward as the mainspring, and the others with big or little parts to perform, but each dependent upon the other. Wayne's greatest baseball team!

Ken read it all thirstily, wonderingly, and recorded it deep in thedeepest well of his memory. It seemed a hundred times as sweet for allthe misery and longing and fear and toil which it had cost to gain. 

And each succeeding day grew fuller and richer with its meed of reward. All the boys of the varsity were sought by the students, Ken most of all. Everywhere he went he was greeted with a regard that made him still morebashful and ashamed. If he stepped into Carlton Club, it was to besurrounded by a frankly admiring circle of students. He could not geta moment alone in the library. Professors had a smile for him and oftenstopped to chat. The proudest moment of his college year was whenPresident Halstead met him in the promenade, and before hundreds ofstudents turned to walk a little way with him. There seemed not to bea single student of the university or any one connected with it, who didnot recognize him. Bryan took him to watch the crew practise; Stevensplayed billiards with him at the club; Dale openly sought his society. Then the fraternities began to vie with one another for Ken. In all hislife he had not imagined a fellow could be treated so well. It was anopen secret that Ken Ward was extremely desired in the best fraternities. He could not have counted his friends. Through it all, by thinking ofWorry and the big games coming, he managed to stay on his feet. 

One morning, when he was at the height of this enjoyable popularity, he read a baseball note that set him to thinking hard. The newspaper, commenting on the splendid results following Wayne's new athleticrules, interpreted one rule in a way astounding to Ken. It wassomething to the effect that all players who had been _on_ a teamwhich paid any player or any expenses of any player were thereforeineligible. Interpretation of the rules had never been of any seriousmoment to Ken. He had never played on any but boy teams. But suddenlyhe remembered that during a visit to the mountains with his mother hehad gone to a place called Eagle's Nest, a summer hotel colony. Itboasted of a good ball team and had a rival in the Glenwoods, a teamfrom an adjoining resort. Ken had been in the habit of chasing fliesfor the players in practice. One day Eagle's Nest journeyed over toGlenwood to play, and being short one player they took Ken to fill in. He had scarcely started in the game when the regular player appeared, thus relieving him. The incident had completely slipped Ken's minduntil recalled by the newspaper note. 

Whereupon Ken began to ponder. He scouted the idea of that innocentlittle thing endangering his eligibility at Wayne. But the rule, thus made clear, stood out in startlingly black-and-white relief. Eagle's Nest supported a team by subscription among the hotel guests. Ken had ridden ten miles in a 'bus with the team, and had worn oneof the uniforms for some few minutes. Therefore, upon a technicality, perhaps, he had been _on_ a summer nine, and had no right to play forWayne. 

Ken went to Homans and told him the circumstance. The captain lookedexceedingly grave, then getting more particulars he relaxed. 

"You're safe, Peg. You're perfectly innocent. But don't mention it toany one else, especially Worry. He'd have a fit. What a scare you'dthrow into the varsity camp! Forget the few minutes you wore thatEagle's Nest suit. "

For the time being this reassured Ken, but after a while his anxietyreturned. Homans had said not to mention it, and that bothered Ken. He lay awake half of one night thinking about the thing. It angeredhim and pricked his conscience and roused him. He wanted to feelabsolutely sure of his position, for his own sake first of all. So next morning he cornered Worry and blurted out the secret. 

"Peg, what're you givin' me!" he ejaculated. 

Ken repeated his story, somewhat more clearly and at greater length. Worry turned as white as a ghost. 

"Good gracious, Peg, you haven't told anybody?"

"No one but Homans. "

Worry gave a long sigh of relief, and his face regained some of itsusual florid color. 

"Well, that's all right then. .. . Say, didn't I tell you once that Ihad a weak heart? Peg, of course you're an amateur, or there never wasone. But 'em fat-head directors! Why, I wouldn't have 'em find thatout for a million dollars. They're idiots enough to make a shinin'example of you right before the Place games. Keep it under yourhat, see!"

This last was in the nature of a command, and Ken had alwaysreligiously obeyed Worry. He went to his room feeling that thematter had been decided for him. Relief, however, did not longabide with him. He began to be torn between loyalty to Worry andduty to himself. He felt guiltless, but he was not sure of it, and until he was sure he could not be free in mind. Suddenly hethought of being actually barred from the varsity, and was miserable. That he could not bear. Strong temptation now assailed Ken and foundhim weak. A hundred times he reconciled himself to Worry's command, to Homan's point of view, yet every time something rose within him andrebelled. But despite the rebellion Ken almost gave in. He fought offthought of his new sweet popularity, of the glory of being Wayne'sathletic star. He fought to look the thing fairly in the face. To himit loomed up a hundredfold larger than an incident of his baseballcareer. And so he got strength to do the thing that would ease thevoice of conscience. He went straight to the coach. 

"Worry, I've got to go to the directors and tell them. I--I'm sorry, but I've got to do it. "

He expected a storm of rage from Worry, but never had the coach beenso suave, so kindly, so magnetic. He called Homans and Raymond andWeir and others who were in the house at the moment and stated Ken'scase. His speech flowed smooth and rapid. The matter under his deftargument lost serious proportions. But it seemed to Ken that Worrydid not tell the boys the whole truth, or they would not have laughedat the thing and made him out over-sensitive. And Ken was now growingtoo discouraged and bewildered to tell them. Moreover, he was gettingstubborn. The thing was far from a joke. The cunning of the coachproved that. Worry wound the boys round his little finger. 

At this juncture Reddy Ray entered the training-house. 

More than once Ken had gone to the great sprinter with confidencesand troubles, and now he began impulsively, hurriedly, incoherently, to tell the story. 

"And Reddy, " concluded Ken, "I've got to tell the directors. It'ssomething--hard for me to explain. I couldn't pitch another gamewith this hanging over me. I must--tell them--and take my medicine. "

"Sure. It's a matter of principle, " replied Reddy, in his soft, slowvoice. His keen eyes left Ken's pale face and met the coach's. "Worry, I'll take Peg up to see the athletic faculty. I know Andrews, thepresident, and he's the one to hear Peg's story. "

Worry groaned and sank into a chair crushed and beaten. Then he swore, something unusual in him. Then he began to rave at the fat-headeddirectors. Then he yelled that he would never coach another ball teamso long as he lived. 

Ken followed Reddy out of the training-house and along the street. The fact that the sprinter did not say a word showed Ken he wasunderstood, and he felt immeasurably grateful. They crossed thecampus and entered College Hall, to climb the winding stairway. To Ken that was a long, hateful climb. Andrews, and another of thedirectors whom Ken knew by sight, were in the office. They greetedthe visitors with cordial warmth. 

"Gentlemen, " began Reddy, "Ward thinks he has violated one of theeligibility rules. "

There was no beating about the bush with Reddy Ray, no shading of fact, no distortion of the truth. Coolly he stated the case. But, strangelyto Ken, the very truth, told by Reddy in this way, somehow lost itsterrors. Ken's shoulders seemed unburdened of a terrible weight. 

Andrews and his colleague laughed heartily. 

"You see--I--I forgot all about it, " said Ken. 

"Yes, and since he remembered he's been worrying himself sick, "resumed Reddy. "Couldn't rest till he'd come over here. "

"Ward, it's much to your credit that you should confide somethingthere was never any chance of becoming known, " said the presidentof the athletic faculty. "We appreciate it. You may relieve yourmind of misgivings as to your eligibility. Even if we tried I doubtif we could twist a rule to affect your standing. And you may restassured we wouldn't try in the case of so fine a young fellow andso splendid a pitcher for Wayne. "

Then Andrews courteously shook hands with Ken and Reddy and bowedthem out. Ken danced half-way down the stairway and slid the reston the bannister. 

"Reddy, wasn't he just fine?" cried Ken, all palpitating with joy. 

"Well, Peg, Andrews is a nice old thing if you approach him right, "replied Reddy, dryly. "You wouldn't believe me, would you, if I saidI had my heart in my throat when we went in?"

"No, I wouldn't, " replied Ken, bluntly. 

"I thought not, " said Reddy. Then the gravity that had suddenlyperplexed Ken cleared from the sprinter's face. "Peg, let's havesome fun with Worry and the boys. "

"I'm in for anything now. "

"We'll go back to the training-house with long faces. When we get inyou run up-stairs as if you couldn't face any one, but be sure to sneakback to the head of the stairs to see and hear the fun. I'll fix Worryall right. Now, don't flunk. It's a chance. "

Ken could not manage to keep a straight face as they went in, so he hidit and rushed up-stairs. He bumped into Raymond, knocking him flat. 

"Running to a fire again?" growled Raymond. "Got a fire-medal, haven'tyou? Always falling over people. "

Ken tried to simulate ungovernable rage and impotent distress at once. He waved one fist and tore his hair with the other hand. 

"Get out of my way!" roared Ken. "What'll you say when I tell you I'mbarred from the varsity!"

"Oh! Ken! No, no--don't say it, " faltered Raymond, all sympathy inan instant. 

Ken ran into his room, closed the door and then peeped out. He sawRaymond slowly sag down-stairs as if his heart was broken. Then Kenslipped out and crawled down the hall till he could see into thereading-room. All the boys were there, with anxious faces, crowdedround the coach. Worry was livid. Reddy Ray seemed the only calmperson in the room and he had tragedy written all over him. 

"Out with it!" shouted Worry. "Don't stand there like a mournfulpreacher. What did 'em fat-heads say?"

Reddy threw up his hands with a significant gesture. 

"I knew it!" howled Worry, jumping up and down. "I knew it! Why didyou take the kid over there? Why didn't you let me and Homans handlethis thing? You red-headed, iron-jawed, cold-blooded wind-chaser!You've done it now, haven't you? I--Oh--"

Worry began to flounder helplessly. 

"They said a few more things, " went on Reddy. "Peg is barred, Raymondis barred, I am barred. I told them about my baseball career out West. The directors said some pretty plain things about you, Worry, I'm sorryto tell. You're a rotten coach. In fact, you ought to be a coach at anundertaker's. Homans gets the credit for the work of the team. Theyclaim you are too hard on the boys, too exacting, too brutal, in fact. Andrews recited a record of your taking sandwiches from us and aidingand abetting Murray in our slow starvation. The directors will favoryour dismissal and urge the appointment of Professor Rhodes, who ascoach will at least feed us properly. "

Reddy stopped to catch his breath and gain time for more invention. Ofall the unhappy mortals on earth Worry Arthurs looked the unhappiest. He believed every word as if it had been gospel. And that about ProfessorRhodes was the last straw. 

Ken could stand the deception no longer. He marvelled at Reddy'sconsummate lying and how he could ever stand that look on Worry'sface. Bounding down-stairs four steps at a jump, Ken burst like abomb upon the sad-faced group. 

"Oh, Worry, it's all a joke!"

XVI

THE FIRST PLACE GAME

Rain prevented the second Herne game, which was to have been playedon the Herne grounds. It rained steadily all day Friday and Saturday, to the disappointment of Wayne's varsity. The coach, however, admittedthat he was satisfied to see the second contest with Herne go by theboard. 

"I don't like big games away from home, " said Worry. "It's hard on newteams. Besides, we beat Herne to death over here. Mebbe we couldn't doit over there, though I ain't doubtin'. But it's Place we're after, andif we'd had that game at Herne we couldn't have kept Place from gettin'a line on us. So I'm glad it rained. "

The two Place games fell during a busy week at Wayne. Wednesday was thebeginning of the commencement exercises and only a comparatively fewstudents could make the trip to Place. But the night before the teamleft, the students, four thousand strong, went to the training-houseand filled a half-hour with college songs and cheers. 

Next morning Dale and Stevens, heading a small band of Wayne athletesand graduates, met the team at the railroad station and boarded thetrain with them. Worry and Homans welcomed them, and soon every Wayneplayer had two or more for company. Either by accident or design, Kencould not tell which, Dale and Stevens singled him out for their especialcharge. The football captain filled one seat with his huge bulk and facedKen, and Dale sat with a hand on Ken's shoulder. 

"Peg, we're backing you for all we're worth, " said Stevens. "But this isyour first big game away from home. It's really the toughest game of theseason. Place is a hard nut to crack any time. And her players on theirown backyard are scrappers who can take a lot of beating and still winout. Then there's another thing that's no small factor in their strength:They are idolized by the students, and rooting at Place is a science. Theyhave a yell that beats anything you ever heard. It'll paralyze a fellowat a critical stage. But that yell is peculiar in that it rises out ofcircumstances leading to almost certain victory. That is, Place has tomake a strong bid for a close, hard game to work up that yell. So if itcomes to-day you be ready for it. Have your ears stuffed with cotton, and don't let that yell blow you up in the air. "

Dale was even more earnest than Stevens. 

"Peg, Place beat me over here last year, beat me 6-3. They hit me harderthan I ever was hit before, I guess. You went down to Washington, Worrysaid, to look them over. Tell me what you think--how you sized them up. "

Dale listened attentively while Ken recited his impressions. 

"You've got Prince and MacNeff figured exactly right, " replied Dale. "Prince is the football captain, by-the-way. Be careful how you runinto second base. If you ever slide into him head first--good-bye!He's a great player, and he can hit any kind of a ball. MacNeff now, just as you said, is weak on a high ball close in, and he kills a lowball. Kills is the word! He hits them a mile. But, Peg, I think you'rea little off on Keene, Starke, and Martin, the other Place cracks. They'reveterans, hard to pitch to; they make you cut the plate; they are as aptto bunt as hit, and they are fast. They keep a fellow guessing. I thinkStarke pulls a little on a curve, but the others have no weakness I everdiscovered. But, Peg, I expect you to do more with them than I did. Mycontrol was never any too good, and you can throw almost as straight asa fellow could shoot a rifle. Then your high fast ball, that one youget with the long swing, it would beat any team. Only I'm wondering, I'm asking--can you use it right along, in the face of such coachingand yelling and hitting as you'll run against to-day? I'm askingdeliberately, because I want to give you confidence. "

"Why, yes, Dale, I think I can. I'm pretty sure of it. That ball comeseasily, only a little longer swing and more snap, and honestly, Dale, I hardly ever think about the plate. I know where it is, and I couldshut my eyes and throw strikes. "

"Peg, you're a wonder, " replied Dale, warmly. "If you can do that--andhang me if I doubt it--you will make Place look like a lot of dubs. We'resure to make a few runs. Homans and Ray will hit Salisbury hard. There'sno fence on Place Field, and every ball Reddy hits past a fielder willbe a home-run. You can gamble on that. So set a fast clip when you startin, and hang. "

Some time later, when Ken had changed seats and was talking to Raymond, he heard Worry say to somebody:

"Well, if Peg don't explode to-day he never will. I almost wish he would. He'd be better for it, afterward. "

This surprised Ken, annoyed him, and straightway he became thoughtful. Why this persistent harping on the chance of his getting excited fromone cause or another, losing his control and thereby the game? Ken hadnot felt in the least nervous about the game. He would get so, presently, if his advisers did not stop hinting. Then Worry's wish that he might"explode" was puzzling. A little shade of gloom crept over the brighthorizon of Ken's hopes. Almost unconsciously vague doubts of himselffastened upon him. For the first time he found himself looking forwardto a baseball game with less eagerness than uncertainty. Stubbornly hefought off the mood. 

Place was situated in an old college town famed for its ancient treesand quaint churches and inns. The Wayne varsity, arriving late, put ontheir uniforms at the St. George, a tavern that seemed never to havebeen in any way acquainted with a college baseball team. It was veryquiet and apparently deserted. For that matter the town itself appeareddeserted. The boys dressed hurriedly, in silence, with frowning browsand compressed lips. Worry Arthurs remained down-stairs while theydressed. Homans looked the team over and then said:

"Boys, come on! To-day's our hardest game. "

It was only a short walk along the shady street to the outskirts ofthe town and the athletic field. The huge stands blocked the viewfrom the back and side. Homans led the team under the bleachers, through a narrow walled-in aisle, to the side entrance, and theregave the word for the varsity to run out upon the field. A heartyroar of applause greeted their appearance. 

Ken saw a beautiful green field, level as a floor, with a greathalf-circle of stands and bleachers at one end. One glance wassufficient to make Ken's breathing an effort. He saw a glitteringmass, a broad, moving band of color. Everywhere waved Place flags, bright gold and blue. White faces gleamed like daisies on a goldenslope. In the bleachers close to the first base massed a shirt-sleevedcrowd of students, row on row of them, thousands in number. Kenexperienced a little chill as he attached the famous Place yell tothat significant placing of rooters. A soft breeze blew across thefield, and it carried low laughter and voices of girls, a merry hum, and subdued murmur, and an occasional clear shout. The whole fieldseemed keenly alive. 

From the bench Ken turned curious, eager eyes upon the practisingPlace men. Never had he regarded players with as sharp an interest, curiosity being mingled with admiration, and confidence with doubt. MacNeff, the captain, at first base, veteran of three years, was atall, powerful fellow, bold and decisive in action. Prince, Place'sstar on both gridiron and diamond, played at second base. He was veryshort, broad and heavy, and looked as if he would have made three oflittle Raymond. Martin, at short-stop, was of slim, muscular build. Keene and Starke, in centre and left, were big men. Salisbury lookedall of six feet, and every inch a pitcher. He also played end on thefootball varsity. Ken had to indulge in a laugh at the contrast inheight and weight of Wayne when compared to Place. The laugh was goodfor him, because it seemed to loosen something hard and tight withinhis breast. Besides, Worry saw him laugh and looked pleased, and thatpleased Ken. 

"Husky lot of stiffs, eh, Peg?" said Worry, reading Ken's thought. "But, say! this ain't no football game. We'll make these heavyweightslook like ice-wagons. I never was much on beefy ball-players. Aha!there goes the gong. Place's takin' the field. That suits me. .. . Peg, listen! The game's on. I've only one word to say to you. _Try to keepsolid on your feet!_"

A short cheer, electrifying in its force, pealed out like a blast. 

Then Homans stepped to the plate amid generous hand-clapping. The Placeadherents had their favorites, but they always showed a sportsmanlikeappreciation of opponents. Salisbury wound up, took an enormous stride, and pitched the ball. He had speed. Homans seldom hit on the firstpitch, and this was a strike. But he rapped the next like a bullet atGriffith, the third-baseman. Griffith blocked the ball, and, quicklyreaching it, he used a snap underhand throw to first, catching Homansby a narrow margin. It was a fine play and the crowd let out anotherblast. 

Raymond, coming up, began his old trick of trying to work thepitcher for a base. He was small and he crouched down until a wagin the bleachers yelled that this was no kindergarten game. Raymondwas exceedingly hard to pitch to. He was always edging over the plate, trying to get hit. If anybody touched him in practice he would roarlike a mad bull, but in a game he would cheerfully have stoppedcannon-balls. He got in front of Salisbury's third pitch, and, dropping his bat, started for first base. The umpire called himback. Thereupon Raymond fouled balls and went through contortionsat the plate till he was out on strikes. 

When Reddy Ray took his position at bat audible remarks passed likea wave through the audience. Then a long, hearty cheer greeted thegreat sprinter. When roar once again subsided into waiting suspensea strong-lunged Wayne rooter yelled, "_Watch him run!_"

The outfielders edged out deeper and deeper. MacNeff called low toSalisbury: "Don't let this fellow walk! Keep them high and make himhit!" It was evident that Place had gotten a line on one Wayne player. 

Salisbury delivered the ball and Reddy whirled with his level swing. There was a sharp crack. 

Up started the crowd with sudden explosive: "Oh!"

Straight as a bee-line the ball sped to Keene in deep centre, andReddy was out. 

Wayne players went running out and Place players came trotting in. Ken, however, at Worry's order, walked slowly and leisurely to the pitcher'sbox. He received an ovation from the audience that completely surprisedhim and which stirred him to warm gratefulness. Then, receiving the ball, he drew one quick breath, and faced the stern issue of the day. 

As always, he had his pitching plan clearly defined in mind, and nolittle part of it was cool deliberation, study of the batter to thepoint of irritating him, and then boldness of action. He had learnedthat he was not afraid to put the ball over the plate, and the knowledgehad made him bold, and boldness increased his effectiveness. 

For Keene, first batter up, Ken pitched his fast ball with all hispower. Like a glancing streak it shot over. A low whistling ran throughthe bleachers. For the second pitch Ken took the same long motion, ending in the sudden swing, but this time he threw a slow, wide, tantalizing curve that floated and waved and circled around acrossthe plate. It also was a strike. Keene had not offered to hit either. In those two balls, perfectly controlled, Ken deliberately showed thePlace team the wide extremes of his pitching game. 

"Keene, he don't waste any. Hit!" ordered MacNeff from the bench. The next ball, a high curve, Keene hit on the fly to Homans. 

The flaxen-haired Prince trotted up with little, short steps. Ken didnot need the wild outburst from the crowd to appreciate this sturdyhero of many gridiron and diamond battles. He was so enormously wide, almost as wide as he was long, that he would have been funny to Ken butfor the reputation that went with the great shoulders and stumpy legs. 

"Ward, give me a good one, " said Prince, in a low, pleasant voice. He handled his heavy bat as if it had been light as a yardstick. 

It was with more boldness than intention of gratifying Prince thatKen complied, using the same kind of ball he had tried first on Keene. Prince missed it. The next, a low curve, he cracked hard to the leftof Raymond. The second-baseman darted over, fielded the ball cleanly, and threw Prince out. 

Then the long, rangy MacNeff, home-run hitter for Place, faced Ken. His position at bat bothered Ken, for he stood almost on the plate. Remembering MacNeff's weakness, Ken lost no time putting a swiftin-shoot under his chin. The Place captain lunged round at it, grunting with his swing. If he had hit the ball it would have beenwith the handle of his bat. So Ken, knowing his control, and surethat he could pitch high shoots all day over the incomer of the plate, had no more fear of the Place slugger. And it took only three morepitches to strike him out. 

From that on the game see-sawed inning by inning, Ken outpitchingSalisbury, but neither team scored. At intervals cheers marked thegood plays of both teams, and time and again the work of the pitchersearned applause. The crowd seemed to be holding back, and while theywaited for the unexpected the short, sharp innings slipped by. 

Trace for Wayne led off in the seventh with a safe fly over short. Ken, attempting to sacrifice, rolled a little bunt down the third-base lineand beat the throw. With no one out and the head of the batting list up, the Wayne players awoke to possibilities. The same fiery intensity thathad characterized their play all season now manifested itself. They wereall on their feet, and Weir and McCord on the coaching lines were yellinghoarsely at Salisbury, tearing up the grass with their spikes, dashingto and fro, shouting advice to the runners. 

"Here's where we score! Oh! you pitcher! We're due to trim you now!Steady, boys, play it safe, play it safe!--don't let them double you!"

Up by the bench Homans was selecting a bat. 

"Worry, I'd better dump one, " he whispered. 

"That's the trick, " replied the coach. "Advance them at any cost. There's Reddy to follow. "

The reliable Salisbury rolled the ball in his hands, feinted to throwto the bases, and showed his steadiness under fire. He put one squareover for Homans and followed it upon the run. Homans made a perfectbunt, but instead of going along either base line, it went straightinto the pitcher's hands. Salisbury whirled and threw to Prince, whocovered the bag, and forced Trace. One out and still two runners onbases. The crowd uttered a yell and then quickly quieted down. Raymondbent low over the plate and watched Salisbury's slightest move. Hebunted the first ball, and it went foul over the third-base line. He twisted the second toward first base, and it, too, rolled foul. And still he bent low as if to bunt again. The infield slowly edgedin closer. But Raymond straightened up on Salisbury's next pitch andlined the ball out. Prince leaped into the air and caught the ball inhis gloved hand. Homans dove back into first base; likewise Ken intosecond, just making it in the nick of time, for Martin was on the runto complete a possible double play. A shout at once hoarse and shrillwent up, and heavy clattering thunder rolled along the floor of thebleachers. Two out and still two men on bases. 

If there was a calm person on Place Field at that moment it was ReddyRay, but his eyes glinted like sparks as he glanced at the coach. 

"Worry, I'll lace one this time, " he said, and strode for the plate. 

Weir and McCord were shrieking: "Oh, look who's up! Oh-h! Oh-h!Play it safe, boys!"

"_Watch him run!_"

That came from the same deep-chested individual who had before hintedof the sprinter's fleetness, and this time the Wayne players recognizedthe voice of Murray. How hopeful and thrilling the suggestion was, coming from him!

The Place infield trotted to deep short-field; the outfielders movedout and swung around far to the right. Salisbury settled down in thebox and appeared to put on extra effort as he delivered the ball. Itwas wide. The next also went off the outside of the plate. It lookedas if Salisbury meant to pass Reddy to first. Then those on the benchsaw a glance and a nod pass between Reddy Ray and Coach Arthurs. AgainSalisbury pitched somewhat to the outside of the plate, but this timeReddy stepped forward and swung. 

_Crack!_

Swift as an arrow and close to the ground the ball shot to left field. Starke leaped frantically to head it off, and as it took a wicked boundhe dove forward head first, hands outstretched, and knocked it down. But the ball rolled a few yards, and Starke had to recover from hismagnificent effort. 

No one on the field saw Ward and Homans running for the plate. All eyeswere on the gray, flitting shadow of a sprinter. One voice only, andthat was Murray's, boomed out in the silence. When Reddy turned secondbase Starke reached the ball and threw for third. It was a beautifulrace between ball and runner for the bag. As Reddy stretched into theair in a long slide the ball struck and shot off the ground with aglancing bound. They reached the base at the same time. But Griffith, trying to block the runner, went spinning down, and the ball rolledtoward the bleachers. Reddy was up and racing plateward so quicklythat it seemed he had not been momentarily checked. The few Waynerooters went wild. 

"Three runs!" yelled the delirious coaches. Weir was so overcome thathe did not know it was his turn at bat. When called in he hurried tothe plate and drove a line fly to centre that Keene caught only aftera hard run. 

Ken Ward rose from the bench to go out on the diamond. The voices ofhis comrades sounded far away, as voices in a dream. 

"Three to the good now, Ward! It's yours!" said Captain Homans. 

"Only nine more batters! Peg, keep your feet leaded!" called Reddy Ray. 

"It's the seventh, and Place hasn't made a safe hit! Oh, Ken!"came from Raymond. 

So all the boys vented their hope and trust in their pitcher. 

There was a mist before Ken's eyes that he could not rub away. The fieldblurred at times. For five innings after the first he had fought someunaccountable thing. He had kept his speed, his control, his memory ofbatters, and he had pitched magnificently. But something had hoveredover him, and had grown more tangible as the game progressed. There wasa shadow always before his sight. 

In the last of the seventh, with Keene at bat, Ken faced the plate witha strange unsteadiness and a shrinking for which he hated himself. Whatwas wrong with him? Had he been taken suddenly ill? Anger came to hisrescue, and he flung himself into his pitching with fierce ardor. Hequivered with a savage hope when Keene swung ineffectually at the highin-shoot. He pitched another and another, and struck out the batter. But now it meant little to see him slam down his bat in a rage. ForKen had a foreboding that he could not do it again. When Prince cameup Ken found he was having difficulty in keeping the ball where hewanted it. Prince batted a hot grounder to Blake, who fumbled. MacNeffhad three balls and one strike called upon him before he hit hard oversecond base. But Raymond pounced upon the ball like a tiger, dashedover the bag and threw to first, getting both runners. 

"Wull, Ken, make them hit to me, " growled Raymond. 

Ken sat down upon the bench far from the coach. He shunned Worry in thatmoment. The warm praise of his fellow-players was meaningless to him. Something was terribly wrong. He knew he shrank from going into the boxagain, yet dared not admit it to himself. He tried to think clearly, andfound his mind in a whirl. When the Wayne batters went out in one, two, three order, and it was time for Ken to pitch again, he felt ice form inhis veins. 

"Only six more hitters!" called Reddy's warning voice. It meant cheerand praise from Reddy, but to Ken it seemed a knell. 

"Am I weakening?" muttered Ken. "Am I going up in the air? _What_ iswrong with me?"

He was nervous now and could not stand still and he felt himselftrembling. The ball was wet from the sweat in his hands; his hairhung damp over his brow and he continually blew it out of his eyes. With all his spirit he crushed back the almost overwhelming desireto hurry, hurry, hurry. Once more, in a kind of passion, he foughtoff the dreaded unknown weakness. 

With two balls pitched to Starke he realized that he had lost controlof his curve. He was not frightened for the loss of his curve, but hewent stiff with fear that he might lose control of his fast ball, hisbest and last resort. Grimly he swung and let drive. Starke lined theball to left. The crowd lifted itself with a solid roar, and when Homanscaught the hit near the foul flag, subsided with a long groan. Ken sethis teeth. He knew he was not right, but did any one else know it? Hewas getting magnificent support and luck was still with him. 

"Over the pan, Peg! Don't waste one!" floated from Reddy, warningly. 

Then Ken felt sure that Reddy had seen or divined his panic. How soonwould the Place players find it out? With his throat swelling and hismouth dry and his whole body in a ferment Ken pitched to Martin. Theshort-stop hit to Weir, who made a superb stop and throw. Two out!

From all about Ken on the diamond came the low encouraging calls ofhis comrades. Horton, a burly left-hander, stepped forward, swinginga wagon-tongue. Ken could no longer steady himself and he pitchedhurriedly. One ball, two balls, one strike, three balls--how the biglooming Horton stood waiting over the plate! Almost in despair Kenthrew again, and Horton smote the ball with a solid rap. It was a lowbounder. Raymond pitched forward full length toward first base and theball struck in his glove with a crack, and stuck there. Raymond got upand tossed it to McCord. A thunder of applause greeted this star playof the game. 

The relief was so great that Ken fairly tottered as he went in to thebench. Worry did not look at him. He scarcely heard what the boys said;he felt them patting him on the back. Then to his amaze, and slowlymounting certainty of disaster, the side was out, and it was again histurn to pitch. 

"Only three more, Peg! The tail end of the batting list. _Hang on!_"said Reddy, as he trotted out. 

Ken's old speed and control momentarily came back to him. Yet he felthe pitched rather by instinct than intent. He struck Griffith out. 

"Only two more, Peg!" called Reddy. 

The great audience sat in depressed, straining silence. Long since thefew Wayne rooters had lost their vocal powers. 

Conroy hit a high fly to McCord. 

"Oh, Peg, _only one more!_" came the thrilling cry. No other Wayneplayer could speak a word then. 

With Salisbury up, Ken had a momentary flash of his old spirit and hesent a straight ball over the plate, meaning it to be hit. Salisburydid hit it, and safely, through short. The long silent, long waitingcrowd opened up with yells and stamping feet. 

A horrible, cold, deadly sickness seized upon Ken as he faced the fleet, sure-hitting Keene. He lost his speed, he lost his control. Before heknew what had happened he had given Keene a base on balls. Two on basesand two out!

The Place players began to leap and fling up their arms and scream. Whenout of their midst Prince ran to the plate a piercing, ear-splittingsound pealed up from the stands. As in a haze Ken saw the long lines ofwhite-sleeved students become violently agitated and move up and downto strange, crashing yells. 

Then Ken Ward knew. That was the famed Place cheer for victory at thelast stand. It was the trumpet-call of Ken's ordeal. His mind was asfull of flashes of thought as there were streaks and blurs before hiseyes. He understood Worry now. He knew now what was wrong with him, whathad been coming all through that terrible game. The whole line of standsand bleachers wavered before him, and the bright colors blended in onemottled band. 

Still it was in him to fight to the last gasp. The pain in his breast, and the nausea in his stomach, and the whirling fury in his mind did notmake him give up, though they robbed him of strength. The balls he threwto Prince were wide of the plate and had nothing of his old speed. Prince, also, took his base on balls. 

Bases full and two out!

MacNeff, the captain, fronted the plate, and shook his big bat at Ken. Of all the Place hitters Ken feared him the least. He had struck MacNeffout twice, and deep down in his heart stirred a last desperate rally. He had only to keep the ball high and in close to win this game. Oh!for the control that had been his pride!

The field and stands seemed to swim round Ken and all he saw with hishalf-blinded eyes was the white plate, the batter, and Dean and theumpire. Then he took his swing and delivered the ball. 

It went true. MacNeff missed it. 

Ken pitched again. The umpire held up one finger of each hand. One ball and one strike. Two more rapid pitches, one high and onewide. Two strikes and two balls. 

Ken felt his head bursting and there were glints of red before his eyes. He bit his tongue to keep it from lolling out. He was almost done. Thatceaseless, infernal din had benumbed his being. With a wrenching of hisshoulder Ken flung up another ball. MacNeff leaned over it, then let itgo by. 

Three and two!

It was torture for Ken. He had the game in his hands, yet could notgrasp it. He braced himself for the pitch and gave it all he had leftin him. 

"_Too low!_" he moaned. MacNeff killed low balls. 

The big captain leaped forward with a terrific swing and hit the ball. It lined over short, then began to rise, shot over Homans, and soaredfar beyond, to drop and roll and roll. 

Through darkening sight Ken Ward saw runner after runner score, and sawHomans pick up the ball as MacNeff crossed the plate with the winningrun. In Ken's ears seemed a sound of the end of the world. 

He thought himself the centre of a flying wheel. It was the boyscrowding around him. He saw their lips move but caught no words. Then choking and tottering, upheld by Reddy Ray's strong arm, theyoung pitcher walked off the field. 

XVII

KEN'S DAY

The slow return to the tavern, dressing and going to the station, theride home, the arrival at the training-house, the close-pressing, silentcompanionship of Reddy Ray, Worry, and Raymond--these were dim detailsof that day of calamity. Ken Ward's mind was dead--locked on that fatalmoment when he pitched a low ball to MacNeff. His friends left him inthe darkness of his room, knowing instinctively that it was best forhim to be alone. 

Ken undressed and crawled wearily into bed and stretched out as if heknew and was glad he would never move his limbs again. The silence andthe darkness seemed to hide him from himself. His mind was a whirlingriot of fire, and in it was a lurid picture of that moment with MacNeffat bat. Over and over and over he lived it in helpless misery. His earswere muffled with that huge tide of sound. Again and again and again hepitched the last ball, to feel his heart stop beating, to see the bigcaptain lunge at the ball, to watch it line and rise and soar. 

But gradually exhaustion subdued his mental strife, and he wandered inmind and drifted into sleep. When he woke it was with a cold, unhappyshrinking from the day. His clock told the noon hour; he had sleptlong. Outside the June sunlight turned the maple leaves to gold. Wasit possible, Ken wondered dully, for the sun ever to shine again? ThenScotty came bustling in. 

"Mr. Wau-rd, won't ye be hovin' breakfast?" he asked, anxiously. 

"Scotty, I'll never eat again, " replied Ken. 

There were quick steps upon the stairs and Worry burst in, rustlinga newspaper. 

"Hello, old man!" he called, cheerily. "Say! Look at this!"

He thrust the paper before Ken's eyes and pointed to a column:

 Place Beat Wayne by a Lucky Drive. Young Ward Pitched the Greatest Game Ever Pitched on Place Field and Lost It in the Ninth, with Two Men Out and Three and Two on MacNeff

Ken's dull, gloom-steeped mind underwent a change, but he could notspeak. He sat up in bed, clutching the paper, and gazing from it tothe coach. Raymond came in, followed by Homans, and, last, Reddy Ray, who sat down upon the bed. They were all smiling, and that seemedhorrible to Ken. 

"But, Worry--Reddy--I--I lost the game--threw it away!" faltered Ken. 

"Oh no, Peg. You pitched a grand game. Only in the stretch you got oneball too low, " said Reddy. 

"Peg, you started to go up early in the game, " added Worry, with a smile, as if the fact was amusing. "You made your first balloon-ascension inthe seventh. And in the ninth you exploded. I never seen a better caseof up-in-the-air. But, Peg, in spite of it you pitched a wonderful game. You had me guessin'. I couldn't take you out of the box. Darn me if Ididn't think you'd shut Place out in spite of your rattles!"

"Then--after all--it's not so terrible?" Ken asked, breathlessly. 

"Why, boy, it's all right. We can lose a game, and to lose one likethat--it's as good as winnin'. Say! I'm a liar if I didn't see 'emPlace hitters turnin' gray-headed! Listen! That game over there wastough on all the kids, you most of all, of course. But you all stoodthe gaff. You've fought out a grillin' big game away from home. That'sover. You'll never go through that again. But it was the makin' ofyou. .. . Here, look this over! Mebbe it'll cheer you up. "

He took something from Raymond and tossed it upon the bed. It lookedlike a round, red, woolly bundle. Ken unfolded it, to disclose abeautiful sweater, with a great white "W" in the centre. 

"The boys all got 'em this mornin', " added Worry. 

It was then that the tragedy of the Place game lost its hold on Ken, and retreated until it stood only dimly in outline. 

"I'll--I'll be down to lunch, " said Ken, irrelevantly. 

His smiling friends took the hint and left the room. 

Ken hugged the sweater while reading the _Times-Star's_ account of thegame. Whoever the writer was, Ken loved him. Then he hid his face inthe pillow, and though he denied to himself that he was crying, when hearose it was certain that the pillow was wet. 

An hour later Ken presented himself at lunch, once more his old amiableself. The boys freely discussed baseball--in fact, for weeks they hadbreathed and dreamed baseball--but Ken noted, for the first time, wheresuperiority was now added to the old confidence. The Wayne varsity hadfound itself. It outclassed Herne; it was faster than Place; it stoodin line for championship honors. 

"Peg, you needn't put on your uniform to-day, " said the coach. "You rest up. But go over to Murray and have your arm rubbed. Is it sore or stiff?"

"Not at all. I could work again to-day, " replied Ken. 

That afternoon, alone in his room, he worked out his pitching planfor Saturday's game. It did not differ materially from former plans. But for a working basis he had self-acquired knowledge of the Placehitters. It had been purchased at dear cost. He feared none of themexcept Prince. He decided to use a high curve ball over the plateand let Prince hit, trusting to luck and the players behind him. Kenremembered how the Place men had rapped hard balls at Raymond. Mostof them were right-field hitters. Ken decided to ask Homans to playReddy Ray in right field. Also he would arrange a sign with Reddy andRaymond and McCord so they would know when he intended to pitch speedon the outside corner of the plate. For both his curve and fast ballso pitched were invariably hit toward right field. When it came toMacNeff, Ken knew from the hot rankling deep down in him that he wouldfoil that hitter. He intended to make the others hit, pitching themalways, to the best of his judgment and skill, those balls they wereleast likely to hit safely, yet which would cut the corners of theplate if let go. No bases on balls this game, that he vowed grimly. And if he got in a pinch he would fall back upon his last resort, thefast jump ball; and now that he had gone through his baptism of firehe knew he was not likely to lose his control. So after outlining hisplan he believed beyond reasonable doubt that he could win the game. 

The evening of that day he confided his plan to Reddy Ray and had thegratification of hearing it warmly commended. While Ken was with Reddythe coach sent word up to all rooms that the boys were to "cut" baseballtalk. They were to occupy their minds with reading, study, or games. 

"It's pretty slow, " said Reddy. "Peg, let's have some fun with somebody. "

"I'm in. What'll we do?"

"Can't you think? You're always leaving schemes to me. Use your brains, boy. "

Ken pondered a moment and then leaped up in great glee. 

"Reddy, I've got something out of sight, " he cried. 

"Spring it, then. "

"Well, it's this: Kel Raymond is perfectly crazy about his new sweater. He moons over it and he carries it around everywhere. Now it happensthat Kel is a deep sleeper. He's hard to wake up. I've always had toshake him and kick him to wake him every morning. I'm sure we could gethim in that sweater without waking him. So to-morrow morning you comedown early, before seven, and help me put the sweater on Kel. We'llhave Worry and the boys posted and we'll call them in to see Kel, andthen we'll wake him and swear he slept in his sweater. "

"Peg, you've a diabolical bent of mind. That'll be great. I'll be onthe job bright and early. "

Ken knew he could rely on the chattering of the sparrows in thewoodbine round his window. They always woke him, and this morningwas no exception. It was after six and a soft, balmy breeze blew in. Ken got up noiselessly and dressed. Raymond snored in blissfulignorance of the conspiracy. Presently a gentle tapping upon thedoor told Ken that Reddy was in the hall. Ken let him in and theyheld a whispered consultation. 

"Let's see, " said Reddy, picking up the sweater. "It's going to be anall-fired hard job. This sweater's tight. We'll wake him. "

"Not on your life!" exclaimed Ken. "Not if we're quick. Now you rollup the sweater so--and stretch it on your hands--so--and when I liftKel up you slip it over his head. It'll be like pie. "

The operation was deftly though breathlessly performed, and all itbrought from Raymond was a sleepy: "Aw--lemme sleep, " and then hewas gone again. 

Ken and Reddy called all the boys, most of whom were in their pajamas, and Worry and Scotty and Murray, and got them all up-stairs in Raymond'sroom. Raymond lay in bed very innocently asleep, and no one would havesuspected that he had not slept in his sweater. 

"Well, I'll be dog-goned!" ejaculated Worry, laughing till he cried. Murray was hugely delighted. These men were as much boys as the boysthey trained. 

The roar of laughter awakened Raymond, and he came out of sleep verylanguid and drowsy. 

"Aw, Ken, lemme sleep s'more. "

He opened his eyes and, seeing the room full of boys and men, he lookedbewildered, then suspicious. 

"Wull, what do all you guys want?"

"We only came in to see you asleep in your new varsity sweater, "replied Ken, with charming candor. 

At this Raymond discovered the sweater and he leaped out of bed. 

"It's a lie! I never slept in it! Somebody jobbed me!I'll lick him!. .. It's a lie, I say!"

He began to hop up and down in a black fury. The upper half of himwas swathed in the red sweater; beneath that flapped the end of hisshort nightgown; and out of that stuck his thin legs, all knottedand spotted with honorable bruises won in fielding hard-batted balls. He made so ludicrous a sight that his visitors roared with laughter. Raymond threw books, shoes, everything he could lay his hands upon, and drove them out in confusion. 

Saturday seemed a long time in arriving, but at last it came. Allmorning the boys kept close under cover of the training-house. Someone sent them a package of placards. These were round, in the shapeof baseballs. They were in the college colors, the background of whichwas a bright red, and across this had been printed in white the words:"_Peg Ward's Day!_"

"What do you think of that?" cried the boys, with glistening eyes. But Ken was silent. 

Worry came in for lunch and reported that the whole west end of thecity had been placarded. 

"The students have had millions of 'em cards printed, " said Worry. "They're everywhere. Murray told me there was a hundred studentstackin' 'em up on the stands and bleachers. They've got 'em onsticks of wood for pennants for the girls. .. . 'Peg Ward's Day!'Well, I guess!"

At two-thirty o'clock the varsity ran upon the field, to the welcomingthough somewhat discordant music of the university band. What the musiclacked in harmony it made up in volume, and as noise appeared to be theorder of the day, it was most appropriate. However, a great boomingcheer from the crowded stands drowned the band. 

It was a bright summer day, with the warm air swimming in the thick, golden light of June, with white clouds sailing across the blue sky. Grant Field resembled a beautiful crater with short, sloping sidesof white and gold and great splashes of red and dots of black allencircling a round lake of emerald. Flashes of gray darted acrossthe green, and these were the Place players in practice. Everywherewaved and twinkled and gleamed the red-and-white Wayne placards. Andthe front of the stands bore wide-reaching bands of these colored cards. The grand-stand, with its pretty girls and gowns, and waving pennants, and dark-coated students, resembled a huge mosaic of many colors, moving and flashing in the sunlight. One stand set apart for the Placesupporters was a solid mass of blue and gold. And opposite to it, invivid contrast, was a long circle of bleachers, where five thousandred-placarded, red-ribboned Wayne students sat waiting to tear theair into shreds with cheers. Dale and Stevens and Bryan, wearing theirvarsity sweaters, strode to and fro on the cinder-path, and each carrieda megaphone. Cheers seemed to lurk in the very atmosphere. A soft, happy, subdued roar swept around the field. Fun and good-nature and fair-playand love of college pervaded that hum of many voices. Yet underneath itall lay a suppressed spirit, a hidden energy, waiting for the battle. 

When Wayne had finished a brief, snappy practice, Kern, a NationalLeague umpire, called the game, with Place at bat. Ken Ward walked tothe pitcher's slab amid a prolonged outburst, and ten thousand red cardsbearing his name flashed like mirrors against the sunlight. Then thecrashing Place yell replied in defiance. 

Ken surveyed his fellow-players, from whom came low, inspiriting words;then, facing the batter, Keene, he eyed him in cool speculation, andswung into supple action. 

The game started with a rush. Keene dumped the ball down the third-baseline. Blake, anticipating the play, came rapidly in, and bending whilein motion picked up the ball and made a perfect snap-throw to McCord, beating Keene by a foot. Prince drove a hot grass-cutter through theinfield, and the Place stand let out shrill, exultant yells. MacNeffswung powerfully on the first ball, which streaked like a flitting wingclose under his chin. Prince, with a good lead, had darted for second. It was wonderful how his little, short legs carried him so swiftly. Andhis slide was what might have been expected of a famous football player. He hit the ground and shot into the bag just as Raymond got Dean'sunerring throw too late. Again the Place rooters howled. MacNeffwatched his second strike go by. The third pitch, remorselessly trueto that fatal place, retired him on strikes; and a roll of thunderpealed from under the Wayne bleachers. Starke struck at the first ballgiven him. The Place waiters were not waiting on Ken to-day; evidentlythe word had gone out to hit. Ken's beautiful, speedy ball, breast high, was certainly a temptation. Starke lifted a long, lofty fly far beyondHomans, who ran and ran, and turned to get it gracefully at his breast. 

Worry Arthurs sat stern and intent upon the Wayne bench. "Get that hitback and go them a run better!" was his sharp order. 

The big, loose-jointed Salisbury, digging his foot into the dirt, settled down and swung laboriously. Homans waited. The pitch was astrike, and so was the next. But strikes were small matters for thepatient Homans. He drew three balls after that, and then on the nexthe hit one of his short, punky safeties through the left side of theinfield. The Wayne crowd accepted it with vigor of hands and feet. Raymond trotted up, aggressive and crafty. He intended to bunt, andthe Place infield knew it and drew in closer. Raymond fouled one, thenanother, making two strikes. But he dumped the next and raced for thebase. Salisbury, big and slow as he was, got the ball and threw Raymondout. Homans over-ran second, intending to go on, but, halted by Weir'shoarse coaching, he ran back. 

When Reddy Ray stepped out it was to meet a rousing cheer, and then thethousands of feet went crash! crash! crash! Reddy fouled the first ballover the grand-stand. Umpire Kern threw out a new one, gleaming white. The next two pitches were wide; the following one Reddy met with theshort poke he used when hitting to left field. The ball went overMartin's head, scoring Homans with the first run of the game. Thatallowed the confident Wayne crowd to get up and yell long and loud. Weir fouled out upon the first ball pitched, and Blake, following him, forced Reddy out at second on an infield hit. 

Place tied the score in the second inning on Weir's fumble of Martin'sdifficult grounder, a sacrifice by Horton, and Griffith's safe fly backof second. 

With the score tied, the teams blanked inning after inning until thefifth. Wayne found Salisbury easy to bat, but a Place player was alwaysin front of the hit. And Place found Peg Ward unsolvable when hits meantruns. Ken kept up his tireless, swift cannonading over the plate, makinghis opponents hit, and when they got a runner on base he extended himselfwith the fast raise ball. In the first of the fifth, with two out, Princemet one of Ken's straight ones hard and fair and drove the ball intothe bleachers for a home-run. That solid blue-and-gold square of Placesupporters suddenly became an insane tossing, screeching mêlée. 

The great hit also seemed to unleash the fiery spirit which had waitedits chance. The Wayne players came in for their turn like angry bees. Trace got a base on balls. Dean sacrificed. Ken also essayed to buntand fouled himself out on strikes. Again Homans hit safely, but thecrafty Keene, playing close, held Trace at third. 

"We want the score!" Crash! crash! crash! went the bleachers. 

With Raymond up and two out, the chance appeared slim, for he was notstrong at batting. But he was great at trying, and this time, as luckwould have it, he hit clean through second. Trace scored, and Homans, taking desperate risk, tried to reach home on the hit and failed. Itwas fast, exciting work, and the crowd waxed hotter and hotter. 

For Place the lumbering Horton hit a twisting grounder to McCord, whobatted it down with his mitt, jumped for it, turned and fell on the base, but too late to get his man. Griffith swung on Ken's straight ball and, quite by accident, blocked a little bunt out of reach of both Dean andKen. It was a safe hit. Conroy stepped into Ken's fast ball, which tickedhis shirt, and the umpire sent him down to first amid the vociferousobjections of the Wayne rooters. 

Three runners on bases and no one out. How the Place students bawledand beat their seats and kicked the floor!

Ken took a longer moment of deliberation. He showed no sign that thecritical situation unnerved him. But his supple shoulders knit closer, and his long arm whipped harder as he delivered the ball. 

Salisbury, a poor batter, apparently shut his eyes and swung withall his might. All present heard the ringing crack of the bat, butfew saw the ball. Raymond leaped lengthwise to the left and flashedout his glove. There was another crack, of different sound. ThenRaymond bounded over second base, kicking the bag, and with fiendishquickness sped the ball to first. Kern, the umpire, waved both armswide. Then to the gasping audience the play became clear. Raymondhad caught Salisbury's line hit in one hand, enabling him to make atriple play. A mighty shout shook the stands. Then strong, rhythmic, lusty cheers held the field in thrall for the moment, while the teamschanged sides. 

In Wayne's half of the sixth both Weir and McCord hit safely, but sharp fielding by Place held them on base. 

Again the formidable head of Place's batting order was up. Keene linedto right field, a superb hit that looked good for a triple, but it hadnot the speed to get beyond the fleet sprinter. 

Ken eyed the curly-haired Prince as if he was saying to himself:"I'm putting them over to-day. Hit if you can!"

Prince appeared to jump up and chop Ken's first pitch. The ballstruck on fair ground and bounded very high, and was a safe hit. Prince took a long lead off first base, and three times slid backto the bag when Ken tried to catch him. The fast football manintended to steal; Ken saw it, Dean saw it; everybody saw it. Whereupon Ken delivered a swift ball outside of the plate. AsPrince went down little Dean caught the pitch and got the ballaway quick as lightning. Raymond caught it directly in the base-line, and then, from the impact of the sliding Prince, he went hurtlingdown. Runner, baseman, and ball disappeared in a cloud of dust. Kern ran nimbly down the field and waved Prince off. 

But Raymond did not get up. The umpire called time. Worry Arthursran out, and he and Weir carried Raymond to the bench, where theybathed his head and wiped the blood from his face. 

Presently Raymond opened his eyes. 

"Wull, what struck me?" he asked. 

"Oh, nothin'. There was a trolley loose in the field, " replied Worry. "Can you get up? Why did you try to block that football rusher?"

Raymond shook his head. 

"Did I tag the big fat devil?" he queried, earnestly. "Is he out?"

"You got him a mile, " replied Worry. 

After a few moments Raymond was able to stand upon his feet, but hewas so shaky that Worry sent Schoonover to second. 

Then the cheering leaders before the bleachers bellowed through theirmegaphones, and the students, rising to their feet, pealed out nineringing "_Waynes!_" and added a roaring "Raymond!" to the end. 

With two out, Kern called play. 

Once again MacNeff was at bat. He had not made a foul in his two timesup. He was at Ken's mercy, and the Wayne rooters were equally merciless. 

"Ho! the slugging captain comes!"

"Get him a board!"

"Fluke hitter!"

"Mac, that was a lucky stab of yours Wednesday! Hit one _now_!"

No spectator of that game missed Ken's fierce impetuosity when hefaced MacNeff. He was as keen strung as a wire when he stood erectin the box, and when he got into motion he whirled far around, swungback bent, like a spring, and seemed to throw his whole body with theball. One--two--three strikes that waved up in their velocity, andMacNeff for the third time went out. 

Clatter and smash came from the bleachers, long stamping of feet, whistle and bang, for voices had become weak. 

A hit, an error, a double play, another hit, a steal, and a forcedout--these told Wayne's dogged, unsuccessful trial for the winning run. 

But Worry Arthurs had curtly said to his pitcher: "Peg, cut loose!"and man after man for Place failed to do anything with his terrificspeed. It was as if Ken had reserved himself wholly for the finish. 

In the last of the eighth Dean hit one that caromed off Griffith's shin, and by hard running the little catcher made second. Ken sent him to thirdon a fielder's choice. It was then the run seemed forthcoming. Salisburytoiled in the box to coax the wary Homans. The Wayne captain waited untilhe got a ball to his liking. Martin trapped the hit and shot the ballhome to catch Dean. It was another close decision, as Dean slid with theball, but the umpire decided against the runner. 

"Peg, lam them over now!" called Reddy Ray. 

It was the first of the ninth, with the weak end of Place's hittingstrength to face Ken. Griffith, Conroy, Salisbury went down beforehim as grass before a scythe. To every hitter Ken seemed to bringmore effort, more relentless purpose to baffle them, more wonderfulspeed and control of his fast ball. 

Through the stands and bleachers the word went freely that the gamewould go to ten innings, eleven innings, twelve innings, with thechances against the tiring Salisbury. 

But on the Wayne bench there was a different order of conviction. Worrysparkled like flint. Homans, for once not phlegmatic, faced the coachingline at third. Raymond leaned pale and still against the bench. Ken wasradiant. 

Reddy Ray bent over the row of bats and singled out his own. His strong, freckled hands clenched the bat and whipped it through the air. His eyeswere on fire when he looked at the stricken Raymond. 

"Kel, something may happen yet before I get up to the plate, " he said. "But if it doesn't--"

Then he strode out, knocked the dirt from his spikes, and stepped intoposition. Something about Reddy at that moment, or something potent inthe unforeseen play to come, quieted the huge crowd. 

Salisbury might have sensed it. He fussed with the ball and took a longwhile to pitch. Reddy's lithe form whirled around and seemed to get intorunning motion with the crack of the ball. Martin made a beautiful pick-upof the sharply bounding ball, but he might as well have saved himself theexertion. The championship sprinter beat the throw by yards. 

Suddenly the whole Wayne contingent arose in a body, a tribute to whatthey expected of Reddy, and rent Grant Field with one tremendous outburst. 

As it ceased a hoarse voice of stentorian volume rose and swelled onthe air. 

"_Wayne wins!_ WATCH HIM RUN!"

It came from Murray, who loved his great sprinter. 

Thrice Salisbury threw to MacNeff to hold Reddy close to first base, but he only wasted his strength. Then he turned toward the batter, and he had scarcely twitched a muscle in the beginning of his swing, when the keen sprinter was gone like a flash. His running gave theimpression of something demon-like forced by the wind. He had coveredthe ground and was standing on the bag when Prince caught Conroy's throw. 

Pandemonium broke out in the stands and bleachers, and a piercing, continuous scream. The sprinter could not be stopped. That was plain. He crouched low, watching Salisbury. Again and again the pitcher triedto keep Reddy near second base, but as soon as Martin or Prince returnedthe ball Reddy took his lead off the bag. He meant to run on the firstpitch; he was on his toes. And the audience went wild, and the Placevarsity showed a hurried, nervous strain. They yelled to Salisbury, but neither he nor any one else could have heard a thunderbolt inthat moment. 

Again Salisbury toed the rubber, and he hesitated, with his face turnedtoward second. But he had to pitch the ball, and as his elbow trembledthe sprinter shot out of his tracks with the start that had made himfamous. His red hair streaked in the wind like a waving flame. Hisbeautiful stride swallowed distance. Then he sailed low and slid intothe base as the ball struck Griffith's hands. 

Reddy was on third now, with no one out, with two balls upon Weir andno strikes. In the fury of sound runner and batter exchanged a glancethat was a sign. 

The sprinter crouched low, watching Salisbury. For the third time, as the pitcher vibrated with the nervous force preceding his delivery, Reddy got his start. He was actually running before the ball leftSalisbury's hand. Almost it seemed that with his marvellous fleetnesshe was beating the ball to the plate. But as the watchers choked inagony of suspense Weir bunted the ball, and Reddy Ray flashed acrossthe plate with the winning run. 

Then all that seemed cheering, din, and stamping roar deadened in anearth-shaking sound like an avalanche. 

The students piled out of the bleachers in streams and pouredon the field. An irresistible, hungry, clamoring flood, theysubmerged the players. 

Up went Ken upon sturdy shoulders, and up went Reddy Ray andKel and Homans and Dean--all the team, and last the red-facedWorry Arthurs. Then began the triumphant march about Grant Fieldand to the training-house. 

It was a Wayne day, a day for the varsity, for Homans and Raymond, and for the great sprinter, but most of all it was Peg Ward's day. 

XVIII

BREAKING TRAINING

The Wayne varsity was a much-handled, storm-tossed team before itfinally escaped the clutches of the students. Every player had aringing in his ears and a swelling in his heart. When the baseballuniforms came off they were carefully packed in the bottoms of trunks, and twelve varsity sweaters received as tender care as if they werethe flimsy finery dear to the boys' sisters. 

At six the players were assembled in the big reading-room, and therewas a babel of exultant conversation. Worry suddenly came in, shoutingto persons without, who manifestly wanted to enter. "Nothin' doin' yet!I'll turn the boys over to you in one hour!" Then he banged the doorand locked it. 

Worry was a sight to behold. His collar was unbuttoned, and his necktiedisarranged. He had no hat. His hair was damp and rumpled, and his redface worked spasmodically. 

"Where's Peg?" he yelled, and his little bright eyes blinked at hisplayers. It was plain that Worry could not see very well then. Someone pushed Ken out, and Worry fell on his neck. He hugged him closeand hard. Then he dived at Reddy and mauled him. Next he fell all overlittle crippled Raymond, who sat propped up in an arm-chair. For onceRaymond never murmured for being jumped on. Upon every player, and eventhe substitutes, Worry expressed his joy in violent manner, and then hefell down himself, perspiring, beaming, utterly exhausted. This man wasnot the cold, caustic coach of the cage-days, nor the stern, hard rulerfrom the bench, nor the smooth worker on his players' feelings. This wasWorry Arthurs with his varsity at the close of a championship season. No one but the boys who had fought at his bidding for Wayne ever sawhim like that. 

"Oh, Peg, it was glorious! This game gives us the record and thechampionship. Say, Peg, this was the great game for you to win. For you made Place hit, and then when they got runners on basesyou shut down on 'em. You made MacNeff look like a dub. You gavethat home-run to Prince. "

"I sure was after MacNeff's scalp, " replied Ken. "And I put the ballover for Prince to hit. What else could I do? Why, that little chunkycuss has an eye, and he can sting the ball--he's almost as good as Reddy. But, Worry, you mustn't give me the credit. Reddy won the game, you know. "

"You talk like a kid, " replied Reddy, for once not cool and easy. "I cut loose and ran some; but, Peg, you and Raymond won the game. "

"Wull, you make me sick, " retorted Raymond, threatening to get up. "There wasn't anything to this day but Peg Ward. "

Ken replied with more heat than dignity, and quick as a flash he andReddy and Raymond were involved in a wordy war, trying to place thecredit for winning the game. They dragged some of the other boys intothe fierce argument. 

Worry laughed and laughed; then, as this loyal bunch of playersthreatened to come to blows, he got angry. 

"_Shut up!_" he roared. "I never seen such a lot of hot-headed kids. Shut up, and let me tell you who won this Place game. It'll go downon record as a famous game, so you'll do well to have it straight. Listen! The Wayne varsity won this game. Homans, your captain, won it, because he directed the team and followed orders. He hit and run some, too. Reddy Ray won this game by bein' a blue streak of chain lightnin'on the bases. Raymond won it by makin' a hit when we all expectedhim to fall dead. He won it twice, the second time with the greatestfieldin' play ever pulled off on Grant Field. Dean won the game bygoin' up and hangin' onto Peg's jump ball. McCord won it by diggin'low throws out of the dirt. Weir was around when it happened, wasn'the--and Blake and Trace? Then there was Peg himself. He won the gamea _little_. Say! he had Place trimmed when he stepped on the slab inthe first innin'. So you all won the big Wayne-Place game. "

Then Worry advanced impressively to the table, put his hand in hisbreast pocket and brought forth a paper. 

"You've won this for me, boys, " he said, spreading the paper out. 

"What is it?" they asked, wonderingly. 

"Nothin' of much importance to you boys as compared with winnin'the game, but some to Worry Arthurs. " He paused with a little choke. "It's a five-year contract to coach Wayne's baseball teams. "

A thundering cheer attested to the importance of that documentto the boys. 

"Oh, Worry, but I'm glad!" cried Ken. "Then your son Harry will bein college next year--will be on the team?"

"Say, he'll have to go some to make next year's varsity, with onlytwo or three vacancies to fill. Now, fellows, I want to know things. Sit down now and listen. "

They all took seats, leaving the coach standing at the table. 

"Homans, is there any hope of your comin' back to college next year?"

"None, I'm sorry to say, " replied the captain. "Father intends to putme in charge of his business. "

"Reddy, how about a post-graduate course for you? You need that P. G. "

"Worry, come to think of it, I really believe my college educationwould not be complete without that P. G. , " replied Reddy, with theold cool speech, and a merry twinkle in his eye. 

At this the boys howled like Indians, and Worry himself did alittle war-dance. 

"Raymond, you'll come back?" went on the coach. 

The second-baseman appeared highly insulted. "Come back? Wull, whatdo you take me for? I'd like to see the guy who can beat me out ofmy place next season. "

This brought another hearty cheer. 

Further questioning made clear that all the varsity except Homans, Blake, and McCord would surely return to college. 

"Fine! Fine! Fine!" exclaimed Worry. 

Then he began to question each player as to what he intended todo through the summer months, and asked him to promise not to playball on any summer nines. 

"Peg, you're the one I'm scared about, " said Worry, earnestly. "Thesecrack teams at the seashore and in the mountains will be hot after you. They've got coin too, Peg, and they'll spend it to get you. "

"All I've got to say is they'll waste their breath talking to me, "replied Ken, with a short laugh. 

"What are you goin' to do all summer?" asked Worry, curiously. "Where will you be?"

"I expect to go to Arizona. "

"Arizona? What in the deuce are you goin' way out there for?"

Ken paused, and then when about to reply Raymond burst out. 

"Worry, he says it's forestry, but he only took up that fool subjectbecause he likes to chase around in the woods. He's nutty about treesand bears and mustangs. He was in Arizona last summer. You ought tohear some of the stories he's told me. Why, if they're true he's gotFrank Nelson and Jim Hawkins skinned to a frazzle. "

"For instance?" asked Worry, very much surprised and interested. 

"Why stories about how he was chased and captured by outlaws, andlassoed bears, and had scraps with Mexicans, and was in wild cavesand forest fires, and lots about a Texas ranger who always carriedtwo big guns. I've had the nightmare ever since we've been in thetraining-house. Oh, Ken can tell stories all right. He's as muchimagination as he's got speed with a ball. And say, Worry, he's gotthe nerve to tell me that this summer he expects to help an old hunterlasso mountain-lions out there in Arizona. What do you think of that?"

"It's straight goods!" protested Ken, solemnly facing thebright-eyed boys. 

"We want to go along!" yelled everybody. 

"Say, Peg, I ain't stuck on that idee, not a little bit, "replied the coach, dubiously. 

"Worry has begun to worry about next season. He's afraid Peg willget that arm chewed off, " put in Reddy. 

"Well, if I've got to choose between lettin' Peg chase mountain-lionsand seein' him chased by 'em fat-head directors, I'll take my chanceswith the lions. "

Then all in a moment Worry became serious. 

"Boys, it's time to break trainin'. I ain't got much to say. You're thebest team I ever developed. Let it go at that. In a few minutes you arefree to go out to the banquets and receptions, to all that's waitin' foryou. And it will be great. To-morrow you will be sayin' good-bye to meand to each other and scatterin' to your homes. But let's not forgeteach other and how we plugged this year. Sure, it was only baseball, but, after all, I think good, hard play, on the square and against longodds, will do as much for you as your studies. Let the old baseballcoach assure you of that. "

He paused, paced a few steps to and fro, hands behind his back, thoughtful and somewhat sad. 

The members of the varsity sat pale and still, faces straight beforethem, eyes shining with memory of that long up-hill struggle, andglistening, too, with the thought that the time had come for parting. 

"Homans, will you please see to the election of the new captain?"said Worry. 

Homans stepped out briskly and placed a hat, twelve folded slips ofpaper, and a pencil upon the table. 

"Fellows, you will follow me in our regular batting order, " directedHomans. "Each man is to write his name on one side of a slip of paperand his choice for captain on the other side. Drop the paper in the hat. "

Homans seated himself at the table and quickly cast his vote. Raymondhobbled up next. Reddy Ray followed him. And so, in silence, and witha certain grave dignity of manner that had yet a suggestion of pleasure, the members of the varsity voted. 

When they had resumed their seats Homans turned the slips out of thehat and unfolded them. 

"These votes will be given to the athletic directors and kept on record, "he said. "But we will never see but one side of them. That is Wayne'srule in electing captains, so the players will not know how each voted. But this is an occasion I am happy to see when we shall all know whovoted for who. It shall be a little secret of which we will never speak. "

He paused while he arranged the slips neatly together. 

"There are here twelve votes. Eleven have been cast for one player--onefor another player! Will you all please step forward and look?"

In an intense stillness the varsity surrounded the table. There wasa sudden sharp gasp from one of them. 

With a frank, glad smile Homans held out his hand. 

"CAPTAIN WARD!"

THE END