“Murray, here's my bunch. Look 'em over, and to-morrow start 'em in for keeps,” said Arthurs.“Well, Worry, they're not a bad-looking lot. Slim and trim. We won't have to take off any beef. Here's Reddy Ray. I let you have him this year, 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? I remember you in the freshmen games. The rest of you boys I'll have to get acquainted with. They say I'm a pretty hard fellow, but that's on the outside. Now, hustle out of your suits, and we'll give you all a good stew and a rub-down.”What the stew was soon appeared plain to Ken. He was the first player undressed, 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 the lid let your head come out the hole. There!” Then he wrapped a huge towel around Ken's neck, being careful to tuck it close and tight. With that he 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 looked about him to see the other boys being placed in like positions. Raymond had 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 enjoyment out 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 growing wetter, thicker, and hotter. The pleasant warmth and tickling changed to a burning sensation. Ken found himself bathed in a heavy sweat. Then he began to smart in different places, and he was hard put to it to keep rubbing them. The steam grew hotter; his body was afire; his breath labored in great heaves. Ken felt that he must cry out. He heard exclamations, then yells, from some of the other boxed-up players, and he glanced quickly around. Reddy Ray was smiling, and did not look at all uncomfortable. But Raymond was scarlet in the face, and he 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 a boiled lobster. The attendant put him under one of the showers and turned the water on. Raymond uttered one deep, low, “O-o-o-o!” Then McCord begged to be let out; Weir's big head, with its shock of hair, resembled that of an angry lion; little Trace screamed, and Duncan yelled.“Peg, how're you?” asked Murray, walking up to Ken. “It's always pretty hot 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 great arm, and we must take care of it.”Ken saw the other boys, except Ray, let out, and he simply could not endure the steam any longer.“I've got—enough,” he stammered.“Scotty, turn on a little more stew,” ordered Murray, cheerfully; then he 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 was being flayed alive.“Please—please—let me out!” he implored.With a laugh Murray lifted the lid, and Ken hopped out. He was as red as 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, his chest caved in, and he gasped. Scotty led him out into the room, dried him with a towel, rubbed him down, and then, resting Ken's arm on his shoulder, began to pat and beat and massage it. In a few moments Ken thought his arm was a piece of live India rubber. He had never been in such 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-night at the trainin'-house.”It was after dark when Ken got an expressman to haul his trunk to the address on Spring Street. The house was situated about the middle of a four-storied block, and within sight of Grant Field. Worry answered his 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 dinner will be ready soon.”Ken followed at the heels of the expressman up to his room. He was surprised and somewhat taken back to find Raymond sitting upon the bed.“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 he could not help retaliating. But he was also as repentant as he was quick-tempered. “Oh, I didn't mean that.... See here, Raymond, if we'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 of difference, 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 first offered 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 cozy and comfortable rooms. The walls were adorned with pictures of varsity teams and players, and the college colors were much in evidence. College magazines 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 to become acquainted, the conversation lagged. The newness and strangeness, however, did not hide the general air of suppressed gratification. After dinner Worry called them all together in the reading-room.“Well, boys, here we are together like one big family, and we're shut in for two months. Now, I know you've all been fightin' for places on the team, and have had no chance to be friendly. It's always that way in the beginnin', and I dare say there'll be some scraps among you before 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 your word of honor. Your word is good enough for me. Here's my rules, and I'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 but here. You're to cut out cigarettes and drinks. You're to be in bed at ten o'clock. And I advise, although I ain't insistin', that if you have any 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 in the least dread the approaching game with State University, but his mind held scarcely anything outside of Arthurs' coaching. The practice of the players had been wholly different. It was as if they had been freed from some binding spell. Worry kept them at fielding and batting for four full hours every afternoon. Ken, after pitching to Dean for a while, batted to the infield and so had opportunity to see the improvement. Graves was brilliant at third, Weir was steady and sure at short, Raymond seemed to have springs in his legs and pounced upon the ball with wonderful quickness, and McCord fielded all his chances successfully.On the afternoon of the game Worry waited at the training-house until all 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'll tell you to-night if I'm right. Think of how you have been roasted by the students. Play like tigers. Put out of your mind everything but tryin'. Nothin' counts for you, boys. Errors are nothin'; mistakes are nothin'. Play the game as one man. Don't think of yourselves. You all know when you ought to hit or bunt or run. I'm trustin' you. I won't say a word from the bench. And don't underrate our chances. Remember that I think it's possible we may have somethin' up our sleeves. That's all from me till after the game.”Worry walked to Grant Field with Ken. He talked as they went along, but not on baseball. The State team was already out and practising. Worry kept Ken near him on the bench and closely watched the visitors in practice. 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 had hardly warmed up at all before the coach called him in.“Peg, listen!” he whispered. His gaze seemed to hypnotize Ken. “Do you have 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 up batters in your own way. If they look as if they'd pull or chop on a curve, 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 perfect confidence. 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 these State fellows, and they won't be able to touch you. Remember what I say. That's all.”“I'll remember,” said Ken, soberly.When the umpire called the game there were perhaps fifty students in the bleachers and a few spectators in the grand-stand, so poor an attendance that 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 if the result of the game was a foregone conclusion. Their pitcher, a lanky individual, handled the ball with assurance.Homans led off for Wayne. He stood left-handed at the plate, and held his bat almost in the middle. He did not swing, but poked at the first ball 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 toward third, drew the throw, and, sliding, was also safe. It was fast work, and the Wayne players seemed to rise off the bench with the significance of the play. Worry Arthurs looked on from under the brim of his hat, and spoke no word. Then Reddy Ray stepped up.“They're all left-handed!” shouted a State player. The pitcher looked at Reddy, then motioned for his outfielders to play deeper. With that he delivered the ball, which the umpire called a strike. Reddy stood still and straight while two more balls sped by, then he swung on the next. A vicious low hit cut out over first base and skipped in great bounds to the fence. Homans scored. Raymond turned second, going fast. But it was Ray's speed that electrified the watching players. They jumped up cheering.“Oh, see him run!” yelled Ken.He was on third before Raymond reached the plate. Weir lifted a high fly to left field, and when the ball dropped into the fielder's hands Ray 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 among themselves. “Fast! Who's that red-head? Is this your dub team? Get in the game, boys!” They began to think more of playing ball and less of their own superiority. Graves, however, and McCord following him, went out 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 batter hit. Keep your nerve. We're back of you out here.” Then Reddy Ray, in passing, spoke with a cool, quiet faith that thrilled Ken, “Peg, we've got enough runs now to win.”Ken faced the plate all in a white glow. He was far from calmness, but it was a restless, fiery hurry for the action of the game. He remembered the look in Worry's eyes, and every word that he had spoken rang in his ears. Receiving the ball from the umpire, he stepped upon the slab with a sudden, strange, deep tremor. It passed as quickly, and then he was eying the first batter. He drew a long breath, standing motionless, with all the significance of Worry's hope flashing before him, and then he whirled and delivered the ball. The batter struck at it after it had passed 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 second ball, missed the next, and was out. The succeeding State player hit an easy fly to Homans, and the next had two strikes called upon him, and swung 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 their half 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 Raymond got his base by being hit by a pitched ball. Reddy Ray bunted and was safe. Weir struck out. Graves rapped a safety through short, scoring Raymond, 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 to hit Ken effectively.So the game progressed, State slowly losing its aggressive playing, and Wayne gaining what its opponents had lost. In the sixth Homans reached his 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 a run on a slow hit to Graves.With the bases full, Ken let his arm out and pitched the fast ball at the limit of his speed. The State batters were helpless before it, but they scored two runs on passed strikes by Dean. The little catcher had a hard time judging Ken's jump ball. That ended the run-getting for State, though they came near scoring again on more fumbling in the infield. In the eighth Ken landed a safe fly over second, and tallied on 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 Ken appeared to be the centre of a humming circle. What was said and done he never remembered. Then the coach stopped the excitement.“Boys, now for a heart-to-heart talk,” he said, with a smile both happy and 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 man beyond 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 our possibilities. I got a glimpse now of what hard work and a demon spirit 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 together before. 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 that will 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 have been treated this year! For that we'll win all the greater glory. It's worth all there is in you, boys. You would have the proudest record of any team that ever played for old Wayne.“I love the old college, boys, and I've given it the best years of my life. If it's anything to you, why, understand that if I fail to build up a good team this year I shall be let go by those directors who have made the change in athletics. I could stand that, but—I've a boy of my own who's preparin' for Wayne, and my heart is set on seein' him enter—and he said he never will if they let me go. So, you youngsters and me—we've much to gain. Go to your rooms now and think, think as you never did before, until the spirit of this thing, the possibility of it, grips you as it has me.”Ken Clashes with GravesTwo weeks after the contest with State University four more games with minor colleges had been played and won by Wayne. Hour by hour the coach had drilled the players; day by day the grilling practice told in quickening grasp of team-play, in gradual correction of erratic fielding and wild throwing. Every game a few more students attended, reluctantly, in half-hearted manner.“We're comin' with a rush,” said Worry to Ken. “Say, but Dale and the old gang have a surprise in store for 'em! And the students—they're goin' 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 weighed one hundred and sixty-four. Worry, I'm afraid I'm getting fat.”“Fat, nothin',” snorted Worry. “It's muscle. I told Murray to put beef on you all he can. Pretty soon you'll be able to peg a ball through the back-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 my drop out of the dust, and I can't get a curve away from him. He's weak only on the jump ball, and I don't throw that often, only when I let drive.”“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, over those games?”“Indeed I'm not,” replied Ken, laughing.“Say, I wish you'd have a balloon ascension, and have it quick. It ain't natural, 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 if I tried.”“Peg, you sure have the best control of any pitcher I ever coached. It's your success. It'll make a great pitcher out of you. All you've got to learn 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 week to see Place and Herne play Georgetown. You'll pay your little money and sit in the grand-stand right behind the catcher. You'll have a pencil and a score 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 hit weak on a drop, or miss a high fast one, or slug a low ball, you will jot it 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 Field you'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 the grand-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 was really pitching better ball than he knew how to pitch. He would have broken his arm for Worry; he believed absolutely in what the coach told him; he did not think of himself at all.Worry, however, had plenty of enthusiasm for his other players. Every evening after dinner he would call them all about him and talk for an hour. Sometimes he would tell funny baseball stories; again, he told of famous Wayne-Place games, and how they had been won or lost; then at other times he dwelt on the merits and faults of his own team. In speaking of the swift development of this year's varsity he said it was as remarkable as it had been unforeseen. He claimed it would be a bewildering surprise to Wayne students and to the big college teams. He was working toward the perfection of a fast run-getting machine. In the five games already played and won a good idea could be gotten of Wayne's team, individually and collectively. Homans was a scientific short-field hitter and remarkably sure. Raymond could not bat, but he had developed into a wonder in reaching first base, by bunt or base on balls, or being hit. Reddy Ray was a hard and timely batter, and when he got on base his wonderful fleetness made him 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 the two 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 quick as lightning to knock down base hits, and as to the intercollegiate sprinter in left field, it was simply a breath-taking event to see him run after a ball. Last of all was Ken Ward with his great arm. It was a strangely 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's holdin' us back a little. There's no lack of harmony, yet there's a drag. In spite of the spirit you've shown—and I want to say it's been great—the team doesn't work together as one manallthe time. I advise you all to stick closer together. Stay away from the club, and everywhere except lectures. We've got to be closer 'n brothers. It'll all work out right 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 beourturn then.”Worry's talks always sank deeply into Ken's mind and set him to thinking and revolving over and over the gist of them so that he could remember to his profit.He knew that some of the boys had broken training, and he pondered if that was what caused the drag Worry mentioned. Ken had come to feel the life and fortunes of the varsity so keenly that he realized how the simplest deviations from honor might affect the smooth running of the team. It must be 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 one or two of the team tended toward the lowering of the general spirit. For he began to worry, and almost at once it influenced his playing. He found himself growing watchful of his comrades and fearful of what they might be doing. He caught himself being ashamed of his suspicions. He would as lief have cut off his hand as break his promise to the coach. Perhaps, however, he exaggerated his feeling and sense of duty. He remembered the scene in Dale's room the night he refused to smoke and drink; how Dale had commended his refusal. Nevertheless, he gathered from Dale's remark to 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's different 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 his might to feel friendly toward the third-baseman. He had caught Graves carrying cake and pie to his room and smoking cigarettes with the window open. One night Graves took cigarettes from his pocket and offered them to 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 you think we're going to be as sissy as that? It's hard enough to stand the grub we get here, without giving up a little smoke.”Ken made no reply, but he found it difficult to smother a hot riot in his breast. When the other boys had gone to their rooms Ken took Kel to task about 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 his cigarette out of the window. “But Graves is always asking me to do things—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've had 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 tried hard to change it. Now I'm glad I couldn't.”“He doesn't have any use for you,” replied Kel. “He's always running you 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 hit him, I guess.”“I think it's more than that,” went on Raymond. “Anyway, you look out for 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 next few days Ken discovered that either out of shame or growing estrangement Raymond avoided him, and he was bitterly hurt. He had come to like the little second-baseman, and had hoped they would be good friends. It was easy 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 he would 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 spread before 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 himself blurting out his trouble. Ray looked thoughtful, and after a moment he replied in his quiet way:“Peg, it's new to you, but it's an old story to me. The track and crew men seldom break training, which is more than can be said of the other athletes. It seems to me baseball fellows are the most careless. They really 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 work out 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 not confided in you youngsters. He will suggest that you elect Homans or me. Well, I won't run for the place, so it'll be Homans. He's the man to captain us, that's certain. Graves thinks, though, that he can pull the wires and be elected captain. He's way off. Besides, Peg, he's making a big mistake. Worry doesn't like him, and when he finds out about this break in training we'll have a new third-baseman. No doubt Blake will play the bag. Graves is the only drag in Worry's baseball machine now, and he'll not last.... So, Peg, don't think any more about it. Mind you, the whole team circles round you. You're the pivot, and as sure as you're born you'll be Wayne's captain next year. That's something for you to keep in mind and work for. If Graves keeps after you—hand him one! That's not against rules. Punch him! If Worry knew the 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 will side with us.... Now run along, for I must study.”This conversation was most illuminating to Ken. He left Reddy's room all in a quiver of warm pleasure and friendliness at the great sprinter's quiet praise and advice. To make such a friend was worth losing a hundred friends like Graves. He dismissed the third-baseman and his scheming from mind, and believed Reddy as he had believed Arthurs. But Ken thought much of what he divined was a glimmering of the inside workings of a college baseball team. He had one wild start of rapture at the idea of becoming captain of Wayne's varsity next year, and then he dared think no more of that.The day dawned for Ken to go to Washington, and he was so perturbed at his responsibilities that he quite forgot to worry about the game Wayne had to play in his absence. Arthurs intended to pitch Schoonover in that game, and had no doubt as to its outcome. The coach went to the station with Ken, once more repeated his instructions, and saw him upon the train. Certainly there was no more important personage on board that Washington Limited than Ken Ward. In fact, Ken was so full of importance and responsibility that he quite divided his time between foolish pride in his being chosen to “size up” the great college teams and fearful conjecture as to his ability.At any rate, the time flew by, the trip seemed short, and soon he was on the Georgetown field. It was lucky that he arrived early and got a seat in the middle of the grand-stand, for there was a throng in attendance when the players came on the diamond. The noisy bleachers, the merry laughter, the flashing colors, and especially the bright gowns and pretty faces of the girls gave Ken pleasurable consciousness of what it would mean to play before such a crowd. At Wayne he had pitched to empty seats. Remembering Worry's prophecy, however, he was content to wait.From that moment his duty absorbed him. He found it exceedingly fascinating to study the batters, and utterly forgot his responsibility. Not only did he jot down on his card his idea of the weakness and strength of the different hitters, but he compared what he would have pitched to them with what was actually pitched. Of course, he had no test of his comparison, but he felt intuitively that he had the better of it. Watching so closely, Ken had forced home to him Arthurs' repeated assertion that control of the ball made a pitcher. Both pitchers in this game were wild. Locating the plate with them was more a matter of luck than ability. The Herne pitcher kept wasting balls and getting himself in the hole, and then the heavy Georgetown players would know when he had 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. Ken realized he was watching a great team. They reminded him of Dale's varsity, though they did not play that fiendish right-field-hitting game. Ken had a numbness come over him at the idea of facing this Place team. It soon passed, for they had their vulnerable places. It was not so much that they hit hard on speed and curves, for they got them where they wanted them. Keene flied out on high fast balls over the inside corner; Starke bit on low drops; Martin was weak on a slow ball; MacNeff, the captain, could not touch speed under his chin, and he always struck at it. On the other hand, he killed a low ball. Prince was the only man who, in Ken's judgment, seemed to have no weakness. These men represented the batting strength of Place, and Ken, 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 seventeen bases on balls in two games—four pitchers. They're wild.... But suppose I got wild, too?”The idea made Ken shiver.He travelled all night, sleeping on the train, and got home to the training-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 found Raymond 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. Worry got out this morning before he noticed my absence from breakfast. I was scared to death.”“Scared? Disgraced?”“Ken, I drank a little last night. It always makes me sick. You know I've a weak stomach.”“Kel, you didn't drink,sayyou didn't!” implored Ken, sitting miserably 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 tried to persuade you—”“I know. I'm sorry, Ken. But I really liked you best. I was—you know how 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 knows more 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 only thing left is to confess.”“I won't tell, Ken. It's not so much my own place on the team—there are the other fellows.”Ken saw that it was no use to argue with Raymond while he was so sick and discouraged, so he wisely left off talking and did his best to make him comfortable. Raymond dropped asleep after a little, and when he awakened 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 whistling up 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'll about 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 aching to 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 I wouldn't care for that. It's your rotten influence on Kel and the other boys that makes me wild. You are the drag in this baseball team. You are a crack ball-player, but you don't know what college spirit 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 a moment, then followed.Raymond suddenly called after them:“Give it to him, Ken! Slug him! Beat him all up!”FriendshipA half-hour or less afterward Ken entered the training-house. It chanced that the boys, having come in, were at the moment passing through the hall 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. Sundry red and dark marks disfigured his usually clear complexion. His eyes were 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 the stairs, and Raymond appeared, jumping down three steps at a time. He dodged 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't lick 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 hall he 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 fellow from 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 had been half drunk last night—and that Graves had gotten me to drink. Then Graves came in. He and Ken had hard words. They went outdoors to fight.”“Would you have told me?” roared the coach in fury. “Would you have come 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 stricken Graves.“Mebbe it'll surprise you, Graves, to learn that I knew a little of what you've been doin'. I told Homans to go to you in a quiet way and tip off your mistake. I hoped you'd see it. But you didn't. Then you've been knockin' Ward all season, for no reason I could discover but jealousy. Now, listen! Peg Ward has done a lot for me already this year, and he'll do more. But even if he beats Place, it won't mean any more to me than the beatin' he's given you. Now, you pack your things and get out of here. There's no position for you on this varsity.”Without a word in reply and amid intense silence Graves went slowly up-stairs. When he disappeared Worry sank into a chair, and looked as if he was about to collapse. Little Trace walked hesitatingly forward with 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 another word—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 rules any more. You can all do as you like. I'd rather have you all go stale 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, cool voice was like oil on troubled waters. “I think Homans and I can answer for the kids from now on. Graves was a disorganizer—that's the least I'll say of him. We'll elect Homans captain of the team, and then we'll cut 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've been a kind of misfit team all spring. You've had a blind faith that something could be made out of us. Homans has waked up to our hidden strength. And I go further than that. I've played ball for years. I know the game. I held down left field for two seasons on the greatest college team ever developed out West. That's new to you. Well, it gives me license to talk a little. I want to tell you that I canfeelwhat's in this team. It's like the feeling I have when I'm running against a fast man in the sprints. From now on we'll be a family of brothers with one 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 spell of a powerful stimulus. The sprinter's words struck fire from all present.Homans' clear gray eyes were like live coals. “Boys! One rousing cheer for 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-faced and sullen, come down the stairs and pass through the hall and out of the door. 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 lesson to 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 legs and arms. Weir accepted eight chances. Raymond, sick or not, was all over the infield, knocking down grounders, backing up every play. To McCord, balls in the air or at his feet were all the same. Trace caught a foul fly right off the bleachers. Homans fielded with as much speed as the old varsity's centre and with better judgment. Besides, he made four 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 that Murray said was wonderful. Dean stood up valiantly to his battering, and for the first game had no passed balls. And Ken Ward whirled tirelessly in the box, and one after another he shot fast balls over the plate. He made the Hornell players hit; he had no need to extend himself to the use of the long swing and whip of his arm that produced the jump ball; and he shut them out without a run, and gave them only two safe hits. All through the game Worry Arthurs sat on the bench without giving an order or a sign. His worried look had vanished with the crude playing of his team.That night the Hornell captain, a veteran player of unquestionable ability, was entertained at Carlton Club by Wayne friends, and he expressed himself forcibly: “We came over to beat Wayne's weak team. It'll be some time till we discover what happened. Young Ward has the most magnificent control and speed. He's absolutely relentless. And that frog-legged second-baseman—oh, say, can't he cover ground! Homans is an all-round star. Then, your red-headed Ray, the sprinter—he's a marvel. Ward, Homans, Ray—they're demons, and they're making demons of the kids. I can't understand why Wayne students don't support their team. 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 to dormitory, 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'll stand for no fussin' over us. We don't want any jollyin'. We've waited long for encouragement. It didn't come, and now we'll play out the string alone. There'll be a rush to Grant Field. It cuts no ice with us. Let 'em come to see the boys they hissed and guyed early in the spring. We'll show 'em a few things. We'll make 'em speechless. We'll make 'em so ashamed they won't know what to do. We'll repay all their slights 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 to your rooms as quick as you get leave from college. Be civil when you are approached 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 into a family of brothers. Close and warm and fine was the culmination of their friendship. On the field they were dominated by one impulse, almost savage in its intensity. When they were off the field the springs of youth burst forth to flood the hours with fun.In the mornings when the mail-man came there was always a wild scramble for letters. And it developed that Weir received more than his share. He got mail every day, and his good-fortune could not escape the lynx eyes of his comrades. Nor could the size and shape of the envelope and the neat, small handwriting fail to be noticed. Weir always stole off by himself to read his daily letter, trying to escape a merry chorus of tantalizing 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-stairs when the mail arrived. Duncan got the pink letter, scrutinized the writing closely, 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 the pink envelope. The boys roared, and Weir strode off in high dudgeon.That day Duncan purchased a box of pink envelopes, and being expert with a pen, he imitated the neat handwriting and addressed pink envelopes to every boy in the training-house. Next morning no one except Weir seemed in a hurry to answer the postman's ring. He came in with the letters and his 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 peculiar appropriateness of the nickname Puff was plainly manifest. One by one the boys slid off their chairs to the floor, and at last Weir had to join in the laugh on him.Each of the boys in turn became the victim of some prank. Raymond betrayed Ken's abhorrence of any kind of perfume, and straightway there was a stealthy colloquy. Cheap perfume of a most penetrating and paralyzing odor was liberally purchased. In Ken's absence from his room all the clothing that he did not have on his back was saturated. Then the conspirators waited for him to come up the stoop, and from their hiding-place in a window of the second floor they dropped an extra quart upon him.Ken vowed vengeance that would satisfy him thrice over, and he bided his 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 the steam bath that Murray insisted upon at least once every week. It so turned out that the four were the only players there that afternoon. While the others were undressing, Ken bribed Scotty to go out on an errand, and he let Murray into his scheme. Now, Murray not only had acquired 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 too much—really scald them, you know?”“No danger,” whispered Murray. “That'll be the fun of it. You can't hurt 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's Scotty?... 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, he swallowed his tongue.“What'd you say?” asked Ken, pretending curiosity. Suddenly he began to 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 chance like 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, and their faces to take on a flush. Ken leisurely surveyed them and then did 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 said anything so impossible as that.”“Ken, dear Ken, dear old Peggie,” cried Trace, “you know I've got a skinned place on my hip where I slid yesterday. Steam isn't good for that, 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 big eyes 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.The Herne GameOn the morning of the first of June, the day scheduled for the opening game with Herne, Worry Arthurs had Ken Ward closeted with Homans and Reddy Ray. Worry was trying his best to be soberly calculating in regard to the outcome of the game. He was always trying to impress Ken with the uncertainty of baseball. But a much younger and less observing boy than Ken 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, and he could not hide his happiness. And the more he betrayed himself the more 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't been 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 please you, could I?” implored Ken. To Ken this strain of the coach's had grown to be as serious as it was funny.“Aw! talk sense,” said Worry. “Why, you haven't pitched to a college crowd 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'll make 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' to you. And if you lose your nut and get slammed all over the lot, don't come to me for sympathy.”“I wouldn't. I can take a licking. Why, Worry, you talk as if—as if I'd done something terrible. What's the matter with me? I've done every single thing 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 astounded and hurt that he could not speak. Worry looked at him once, then turning hastily 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,” went on Worry, as if Ken had not spoken. “There'll be a crowd out, the first of the season. Mebbe they'll throw a fit. Anyway, it's our first big game. As far as the university goes, this is our trial. The students are up in the air; they don't know what to think. Mebbe there won't be a cheer at first.... But, Peg, if we beat Herne to-day they'll tear down the bleachers.”“Well, all I've got to say is that you can order new lumber for the bleachers—because we're going to win,” replied Ken, with a smouldering fire in his eyes.“There you go again! If you're not stuck on yourself, it's too much confidence. You won't be so chipper about three this afternoon, mebbe. Listen! The Herne players got into town last night, and some of them talked 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, the first-baseman, said you were pretty good for a kid freshman, but a little too swelled to stand the gaff in a big game. They expect you to 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 cheek and blazing eye, and the big hand he shoved under Worry's nose trembled like 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't believe 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 they get 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 he invariably 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 you I've got Herne beaten, and if Gallagher or any one else begins to guy me I'll laugh in his face.”“Oh, you will?... Say, you go down to your room now, and stay there till time 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 after his exit. Worry and Homans fell into each other's arms.“Say, fellows, how I hated to do it!” Worry choked with laughter and contrition. “It was the hardest task I ever had. But, Cap, you know we had to make Peg sore. He's too blamed good-natured. Oh, but didn't he take 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 would please me, too, for Gallagher is about as wordy and pompous as any captain I've seen.”“I think you were a little hard on Ken,” put in Reddy. His quiet voice drew Worry and Homans from their elation. “Of course, it was necessary to 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 the least swelled.”“'Course I know it, Reddy. Why, Peg's too modest. But I want him to be dead in earnest to-day. Mind you, I'm thinkin' of Place. He'll beat Herne to a standstill. I worked on his feelin's just to get him all stirred up. You know there's always the chance of rattles in any young player, 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 fear for 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 for his weakening. But it may be he won't ever weaken. If he ever does it'll be 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 at our standin' now. Why, the newspapers are havin' a fit. Since I picked the varsity we haven't lost a game. Think of that! Those early games don't count. We've had an unbroken string of victories, Peg pitchin' twelve, and Schoonover four. And if wet grounds and other things hadn't cancelled other games we'd have won more.”“Yes, we're in the stretch now, Worry, and running strong. We'll win 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't you think Reddy, for once, is talkin' about as swift as he sprints?”“I'm afraid to tell you, Worry,” replied Homans, earnestly. “When I look 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 keep on making runs. It's runs that count. I think, honestly, Worry, that after to-day we'll be in the lead for championship honors. And I hold my breath when I tell you.”It was remarkably quiet about the training-house all that morning. The coach sent a light lunch to the boys in their rooms. They had orders to be 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 of Ken Ward and Reddy Ray. Worry appeared startled out of speech, and looked helplessly at Homans. Then Ray came down-stairs, bat in one hand, shoes and glove in the other. He seated himself upon the 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 guess that'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 the door-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 you can cut loose and run bases like a blue streak.”Dale stepped forward, earnest and somewhat concerned, but with a winning frankness.“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, in a deep-bass voice. “A few of us have been tipped off, and we got it straight. But the students don't know it yet. So Dale and I thought we'd like them to see how we feel about it—before this game. You've had a rotten deal from the students this year. But they'll more than make it up when you beat Herne. The whole college is waiting and restless.”Homans, recovering himself, faced the two captains courteously and gratefully, and with a certain cool dignity.“Thank you, fellows! It's fine of you to offer to sit with us on the bench. I thank you on behalf of the varsity. But—not to-day. All season we've worked and fought without support, and now we're going to beat Herne without support. When we've done that you and Dale—all the college—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 plugged any 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. That moment was silent, eloquent. It linked Homans' team to the great athletic fame of the university. It radiated the spirit to conquer, the glory of past victories, the strength of honorable defeats. Then Dale 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, and being drawn down so fine we may be over-eager. Force that back. It doesn't matter if we make misplays. We've made many this season, but we've won all the same. At the bat, remember to keep a sharp eye on the base-runner, and when he signs he is going down, bunt or hit to advance 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 from the start.”When they entered the field there were more spectators in the stands than had attended all the other games together. In a far corner the Herne players in dark-blue uniforms were practising batting. Upon the moment the gong called them in for their turn at 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 to Ken Ward. He took one long look at the black-and-white mass of students behind the back-stop, at the straggling lines leading to the gates, at the 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 college baseball audience. Ken realized that at once. It was quiet, orderly, expectant, and watchful. Very few girls were there. The students as a body had warmed to curiosity and interest, but not to the extent of bringing the girls. After that one glance Ken resolutely kept his eyes upon the ground. He was conscious of a feeling that he wanted to spring up and leap at something. And he brought all his will to force back his over-eagerness. He heard the crack of the ball, the shouts of the Herne players, the hum of voices in the grand-stand, and the occasional cheers of 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 long murmur ran throughout the stands. Ken heard many things said of him, curiously, wonderingly, doubtfully, and he tried not to hear more. Then he commenced to pitch to Dean. Worry stood near him and kept whispering to hold in his speed and just to use his arm easily. It was difficult, for Ken felt that his arm wanted 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-like and determined?... Good! Say—but Peg, you'd better look these fellows over.”
“Murray, here's my bunch. Look 'em over, and to-morrow start 'em in for keeps,” said Arthurs.
“Well, Worry, they're not a bad-looking lot. Slim and trim. We won't have to take off any beef. Here's Reddy Ray. I let you have him this year, 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? I remember you in the freshmen games. The rest of you boys I'll have to get acquainted with. They say I'm a pretty hard fellow, but that's on the outside. Now, hustle out of your suits, and we'll give you all a good stew and a rub-down.”
What the stew was soon appeared plain to Ken. He was the first player undressed, 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 the lid let your head come out the hole. There!” Then he wrapped a huge towel around Ken's neck, being careful to tuck it close and tight. With that he 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 looked about him to see the other boys being placed in like positions. Raymond had 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 enjoyment out 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 growing wetter, thicker, and hotter. The pleasant warmth and tickling changed to a burning sensation. Ken found himself bathed in a heavy sweat. Then he began to smart in different places, and he was hard put to it to keep rubbing them. The steam grew hotter; his body was afire; his breath labored in great heaves. Ken felt that he must cry out. He heard exclamations, then yells, from some of the other boxed-up players, and he glanced quickly around. Reddy Ray was smiling, and did not look at all uncomfortable. But Raymond was scarlet in the face, and he 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 a boiled lobster. The attendant put him under one of the showers and turned the water on. Raymond uttered one deep, low, “O-o-o-o!” Then McCord begged to be let out; Weir's big head, with its shock of hair, resembled that of an angry lion; little Trace screamed, and Duncan yelled.
“Peg, how're you?” asked Murray, walking up to Ken. “It's always pretty hot 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 great arm, and we must take care of it.”
Ken saw the other boys, except Ray, let out, and he simply could not endure the steam any longer.
“I've got—enough,” he stammered.
“Scotty, turn on a little more stew,” ordered Murray, cheerfully; then he 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 was being flayed alive.
“Please—please—let me out!” he implored.
With a laugh Murray lifted the lid, and Ken hopped out. He was as red as 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, his chest caved in, and he gasped. Scotty led him out into the room, dried him with a towel, rubbed him down, and then, resting Ken's arm on his shoulder, began to pat and beat and massage it. In a few moments Ken thought his arm was a piece of live India rubber. He had never been in such 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-night at the trainin'-house.”
It was after dark when Ken got an expressman to haul his trunk to the address on Spring Street. The house was situated about the middle of a four-storied block, and within sight of Grant Field. Worry answered his 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 dinner will be ready soon.”
Ken followed at the heels of the expressman up to his room. He was surprised and somewhat taken back to find Raymond sitting upon the bed.
“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 he could not help retaliating. But he was also as repentant as he was quick-tempered. “Oh, I didn't mean that.... See here, Raymond, if we'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 of difference, 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 first offered 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 cozy and comfortable rooms. The walls were adorned with pictures of varsity teams and players, and the college colors were much in evidence. College magazines 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 to become acquainted, the conversation lagged. The newness and strangeness, however, did not hide the general air of suppressed gratification. After dinner Worry called them all together in the reading-room.
“Well, boys, here we are together like one big family, and we're shut in for two months. Now, I know you've all been fightin' for places on the team, and have had no chance to be friendly. It's always that way in the beginnin', and I dare say there'll be some scraps among you before 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 your word of honor. Your word is good enough for me. Here's my rules, and I'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 but here. You're to cut out cigarettes and drinks. You're to be in bed at ten o'clock. And I advise, although I ain't insistin', that if you have any 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 in the least dread the approaching game with State University, but his mind held scarcely anything outside of Arthurs' coaching. The practice of the players had been wholly different. It was as if they had been freed from some binding spell. Worry kept them at fielding and batting for four full hours every afternoon. Ken, after pitching to Dean for a while, batted to the infield and so had opportunity to see the improvement. Graves was brilliant at third, Weir was steady and sure at short, Raymond seemed to have springs in his legs and pounced upon the ball with wonderful quickness, and McCord fielded all his chances successfully.
On the afternoon of the game Worry waited at the training-house until all 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'll tell you to-night if I'm right. Think of how you have been roasted by the students. Play like tigers. Put out of your mind everything but tryin'. Nothin' counts for you, boys. Errors are nothin'; mistakes are nothin'. Play the game as one man. Don't think of yourselves. You all know when you ought to hit or bunt or run. I'm trustin' you. I won't say a word from the bench. And don't underrate our chances. Remember that I think it's possible we may have somethin' up our sleeves. That's all from me till after the game.”
Worry walked to Grant Field with Ken. He talked as they went along, but not on baseball. The State team was already out and practising. Worry kept Ken near him on the bench and closely watched the visitors in practice. 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 had hardly warmed up at all before the coach called him in.
“Peg, listen!” he whispered. His gaze seemed to hypnotize Ken. “Do you have 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 up batters in your own way. If they look as if they'd pull or chop on a curve, 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 perfect confidence. 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 these State fellows, and they won't be able to touch you. Remember what I say. That's all.”
“I'll remember,” said Ken, soberly.
When the umpire called the game there were perhaps fifty students in the bleachers and a few spectators in the grand-stand, so poor an attendance that 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 if the result of the game was a foregone conclusion. Their pitcher, a lanky individual, handled the ball with assurance.
Homans led off for Wayne. He stood left-handed at the plate, and held his bat almost in the middle. He did not swing, but poked at the first ball 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 toward third, drew the throw, and, sliding, was also safe. It was fast work, and the Wayne players seemed to rise off the bench with the significance of the play. Worry Arthurs looked on from under the brim of his hat, and spoke no word. Then Reddy Ray stepped up.
“They're all left-handed!” shouted a State player. The pitcher looked at Reddy, then motioned for his outfielders to play deeper. With that he delivered the ball, which the umpire called a strike. Reddy stood still and straight while two more balls sped by, then he swung on the next. A vicious low hit cut out over first base and skipped in great bounds to the fence. Homans scored. Raymond turned second, going fast. But it was Ray's speed that electrified the watching players. They jumped up cheering.
“Oh, see him run!” yelled Ken.
He was on third before Raymond reached the plate. Weir lifted a high fly to left field, and when the ball dropped into the fielder's hands Ray 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 among themselves. “Fast! Who's that red-head? Is this your dub team? Get in the game, boys!” They began to think more of playing ball and less of their own superiority. Graves, however, and McCord following him, went out 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 batter hit. Keep your nerve. We're back of you out here.” Then Reddy Ray, in passing, spoke with a cool, quiet faith that thrilled Ken, “Peg, we've got enough runs now to win.”
Ken faced the plate all in a white glow. He was far from calmness, but it was a restless, fiery hurry for the action of the game. He remembered the look in Worry's eyes, and every word that he had spoken rang in his ears. Receiving the ball from the umpire, he stepped upon the slab with a sudden, strange, deep tremor. It passed as quickly, and then he was eying the first batter. He drew a long breath, standing motionless, with all the significance of Worry's hope flashing before him, and then he whirled and delivered the ball. The batter struck at it after it had passed 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 second ball, missed the next, and was out. The succeeding State player hit an easy fly to Homans, and the next had two strikes called upon him, and swung 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 their half 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 Raymond got his base by being hit by a pitched ball. Reddy Ray bunted and was safe. Weir struck out. Graves rapped a safety through short, scoring Raymond, 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 to hit Ken effectively.
So the game progressed, State slowly losing its aggressive playing, and Wayne gaining what its opponents had lost. In the sixth Homans reached his 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 a run on a slow hit to Graves.
With the bases full, Ken let his arm out and pitched the fast ball at the limit of his speed. The State batters were helpless before it, but they scored two runs on passed strikes by Dean. The little catcher had a hard time judging Ken's jump ball. That ended the run-getting for State, though they came near scoring again on more fumbling in the infield. In the eighth Ken landed a safe fly over second, and tallied on 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 Ken appeared to be the centre of a humming circle. What was said and done he never remembered. Then the coach stopped the excitement.
“Boys, now for a heart-to-heart talk,” he said, with a smile both happy and 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 man beyond 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 our possibilities. I got a glimpse now of what hard work and a demon spirit 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 together before. 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 that will 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 have been treated this year! For that we'll win all the greater glory. It's worth all there is in you, boys. You would have the proudest record of any team that ever played for old Wayne.
“I love the old college, boys, and I've given it the best years of my life. If it's anything to you, why, understand that if I fail to build up a good team this year I shall be let go by those directors who have made the change in athletics. I could stand that, but—I've a boy of my own who's preparin' for Wayne, and my heart is set on seein' him enter—and he said he never will if they let me go. So, you youngsters and me—we've much to gain. Go to your rooms now and think, think as you never did before, until the spirit of this thing, the possibility of it, grips you as it has me.”
Ken Clashes with Graves
Two weeks after the contest with State University four more games with minor colleges had been played and won by Wayne. Hour by hour the coach had drilled the players; day by day the grilling practice told in quickening grasp of team-play, in gradual correction of erratic fielding and wild throwing. Every game a few more students attended, reluctantly, in half-hearted manner.
“We're comin' with a rush,” said Worry to Ken. “Say, but Dale and the old gang have a surprise in store for 'em! And the students—they're goin' 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 weighed one hundred and sixty-four. Worry, I'm afraid I'm getting fat.”
“Fat, nothin',” snorted Worry. “It's muscle. I told Murray to put beef on you all he can. Pretty soon you'll be able to peg a ball through the back-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 my drop out of the dust, and I can't get a curve away from him. He's weak only on the jump ball, and I don't throw that often, only when I let drive.”
“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, over those games?”
“Indeed I'm not,” replied Ken, laughing.
“Say, I wish you'd have a balloon ascension, and have it quick. It ain't natural, 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 if I tried.”
“Peg, you sure have the best control of any pitcher I ever coached. It's your success. It'll make a great pitcher out of you. All you've got to learn 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 week to see Place and Herne play Georgetown. You'll pay your little money and sit in the grand-stand right behind the catcher. You'll have a pencil and a score 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 hit weak on a drop, or miss a high fast one, or slug a low ball, you will jot it 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 Field you'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 the grand-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 was really pitching better ball than he knew how to pitch. He would have broken his arm for Worry; he believed absolutely in what the coach told him; he did not think of himself at all.
Worry, however, had plenty of enthusiasm for his other players. Every evening after dinner he would call them all about him and talk for an hour. Sometimes he would tell funny baseball stories; again, he told of famous Wayne-Place games, and how they had been won or lost; then at other times he dwelt on the merits and faults of his own team. In speaking of the swift development of this year's varsity he said it was as remarkable as it had been unforeseen. He claimed it would be a bewildering surprise to Wayne students and to the big college teams. He was working toward the perfection of a fast run-getting machine. In the five games already played and won a good idea could be gotten of Wayne's team, individually and collectively. Homans was a scientific short-field hitter and remarkably sure. Raymond could not bat, but he had developed into a wonder in reaching first base, by bunt or base on balls, or being hit. Reddy Ray was a hard and timely batter, and when he got on base his wonderful fleetness made him 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 the two 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 quick as lightning to knock down base hits, and as to the intercollegiate sprinter in left field, it was simply a breath-taking event to see him run after a ball. Last of all was Ken Ward with his great arm. It was a strangely 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's holdin' us back a little. There's no lack of harmony, yet there's a drag. In spite of the spirit you've shown—and I want to say it's been great—the team doesn't work together as one manallthe time. I advise you all to stick closer together. Stay away from the club, and everywhere except lectures. We've got to be closer 'n brothers. It'll all work out right 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 beourturn then.”
Worry's talks always sank deeply into Ken's mind and set him to thinking and revolving over and over the gist of them so that he could remember to his profit.
He knew that some of the boys had broken training, and he pondered if that was what caused the drag Worry mentioned. Ken had come to feel the life and fortunes of the varsity so keenly that he realized how the simplest deviations from honor might affect the smooth running of the team. It must be 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 one or two of the team tended toward the lowering of the general spirit. For he began to worry, and almost at once it influenced his playing. He found himself growing watchful of his comrades and fearful of what they might be doing. He caught himself being ashamed of his suspicions. He would as lief have cut off his hand as break his promise to the coach. Perhaps, however, he exaggerated his feeling and sense of duty. He remembered the scene in Dale's room the night he refused to smoke and drink; how Dale had commended his refusal. Nevertheless, he gathered from Dale's remark to 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's different 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 his might to feel friendly toward the third-baseman. He had caught Graves carrying cake and pie to his room and smoking cigarettes with the window open. One night Graves took cigarettes from his pocket and offered them to 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 you think we're going to be as sissy as that? It's hard enough to stand the grub we get here, without giving up a little smoke.”
Ken made no reply, but he found it difficult to smother a hot riot in his breast. When the other boys had gone to their rooms Ken took Kel to task about 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 his cigarette out of the window. “But Graves is always asking me to do things—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've had 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 tried hard to change it. Now I'm glad I couldn't.”
“He doesn't have any use for you,” replied Kel. “He's always running you 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 hit him, I guess.”
“I think it's more than that,” went on Raymond. “Anyway, you look out for 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 next few days Ken discovered that either out of shame or growing estrangement Raymond avoided him, and he was bitterly hurt. He had come to like the little second-baseman, and had hoped they would be good friends. It was easy 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 he would 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 spread before 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 himself blurting out his trouble. Ray looked thoughtful, and after a moment he replied in his quiet way:
“Peg, it's new to you, but it's an old story to me. The track and crew men seldom break training, which is more than can be said of the other athletes. It seems to me baseball fellows are the most careless. They really 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 work out 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 not confided in you youngsters. He will suggest that you elect Homans or me. Well, I won't run for the place, so it'll be Homans. He's the man to captain us, that's certain. Graves thinks, though, that he can pull the wires and be elected captain. He's way off. Besides, Peg, he's making a big mistake. Worry doesn't like him, and when he finds out about this break in training we'll have a new third-baseman. No doubt Blake will play the bag. Graves is the only drag in Worry's baseball machine now, and he'll not last.... So, Peg, don't think any more about it. Mind you, the whole team circles round you. You're the pivot, and as sure as you're born you'll be Wayne's captain next year. That's something for you to keep in mind and work for. If Graves keeps after you—hand him one! That's not against rules. Punch him! If Worry knew the 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 will side with us.... Now run along, for I must study.”
This conversation was most illuminating to Ken. He left Reddy's room all in a quiver of warm pleasure and friendliness at the great sprinter's quiet praise and advice. To make such a friend was worth losing a hundred friends like Graves. He dismissed the third-baseman and his scheming from mind, and believed Reddy as he had believed Arthurs. But Ken thought much of what he divined was a glimmering of the inside workings of a college baseball team. He had one wild start of rapture at the idea of becoming captain of Wayne's varsity next year, and then he dared think no more of that.
The day dawned for Ken to go to Washington, and he was so perturbed at his responsibilities that he quite forgot to worry about the game Wayne had to play in his absence. Arthurs intended to pitch Schoonover in that game, and had no doubt as to its outcome. The coach went to the station with Ken, once more repeated his instructions, and saw him upon the train. Certainly there was no more important personage on board that Washington Limited than Ken Ward. In fact, Ken was so full of importance and responsibility that he quite divided his time between foolish pride in his being chosen to “size up” the great college teams and fearful conjecture as to his ability.
At any rate, the time flew by, the trip seemed short, and soon he was on the Georgetown field. It was lucky that he arrived early and got a seat in the middle of the grand-stand, for there was a throng in attendance when the players came on the diamond. The noisy bleachers, the merry laughter, the flashing colors, and especially the bright gowns and pretty faces of the girls gave Ken pleasurable consciousness of what it would mean to play before such a crowd. At Wayne he had pitched to empty seats. Remembering Worry's prophecy, however, he was content to wait.
From that moment his duty absorbed him. He found it exceedingly fascinating to study the batters, and utterly forgot his responsibility. Not only did he jot down on his card his idea of the weakness and strength of the different hitters, but he compared what he would have pitched to them with what was actually pitched. Of course, he had no test of his comparison, but he felt intuitively that he had the better of it. Watching so closely, Ken had forced home to him Arthurs' repeated assertion that control of the ball made a pitcher. Both pitchers in this game were wild. Locating the plate with them was more a matter of luck than ability. The Herne pitcher kept wasting balls and getting himself in the hole, and then the heavy Georgetown players would know when he had 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. Ken realized he was watching a great team. They reminded him of Dale's varsity, though they did not play that fiendish right-field-hitting game. Ken had a numbness come over him at the idea of facing this Place team. It soon passed, for they had their vulnerable places. It was not so much that they hit hard on speed and curves, for they got them where they wanted them. Keene flied out on high fast balls over the inside corner; Starke bit on low drops; Martin was weak on a slow ball; MacNeff, the captain, could not touch speed under his chin, and he always struck at it. On the other hand, he killed a low ball. Prince was the only man who, in Ken's judgment, seemed to have no weakness. These men represented the batting strength of Place, and Ken, 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 seventeen bases on balls in two games—four pitchers. They're wild.... But suppose I got wild, too?”
The idea made Ken shiver.
He travelled all night, sleeping on the train, and got home to the training-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 found Raymond 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. Worry got out this morning before he noticed my absence from breakfast. I was scared to death.”
“Scared? Disgraced?”
“Ken, I drank a little last night. It always makes me sick. You know I've a weak stomach.”
“Kel, you didn't drink,sayyou didn't!” implored Ken, sitting miserably 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 tried to persuade you—”
“I know. I'm sorry, Ken. But I really liked you best. I was—you know how 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 knows more 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 only thing left is to confess.”
“I won't tell, Ken. It's not so much my own place on the team—there are the other fellows.”
Ken saw that it was no use to argue with Raymond while he was so sick and discouraged, so he wisely left off talking and did his best to make him comfortable. Raymond dropped asleep after a little, and when he awakened 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 whistling up 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'll about 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 aching to 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 I wouldn't care for that. It's your rotten influence on Kel and the other boys that makes me wild. You are the drag in this baseball team. You are a crack ball-player, but you don't know what college spirit 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 a moment, then followed.
Raymond suddenly called after them:
“Give it to him, Ken! Slug him! Beat him all up!”
Friendship
A half-hour or less afterward Ken entered the training-house. It chanced that the boys, having come in, were at the moment passing through the hall 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. Sundry red and dark marks disfigured his usually clear complexion. His eyes were 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 the stairs, and Raymond appeared, jumping down three steps at a time. He dodged 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't lick 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 hall he 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 fellow from 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 had been half drunk last night—and that Graves had gotten me to drink. Then Graves came in. He and Ken had hard words. They went outdoors to fight.”
“Would you have told me?” roared the coach in fury. “Would you have come 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 stricken Graves.
“Mebbe it'll surprise you, Graves, to learn that I knew a little of what you've been doin'. I told Homans to go to you in a quiet way and tip off your mistake. I hoped you'd see it. But you didn't. Then you've been knockin' Ward all season, for no reason I could discover but jealousy. Now, listen! Peg Ward has done a lot for me already this year, and he'll do more. But even if he beats Place, it won't mean any more to me than the beatin' he's given you. Now, you pack your things and get out of here. There's no position for you on this varsity.”
Without a word in reply and amid intense silence Graves went slowly up-stairs. When he disappeared Worry sank into a chair, and looked as if he was about to collapse. Little Trace walked hesitatingly forward with 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 another word—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 rules any more. You can all do as you like. I'd rather have you all go stale 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, cool voice was like oil on troubled waters. “I think Homans and I can answer for the kids from now on. Graves was a disorganizer—that's the least I'll say of him. We'll elect Homans captain of the team, and then we'll cut 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've been a kind of misfit team all spring. You've had a blind faith that something could be made out of us. Homans has waked up to our hidden strength. And I go further than that. I've played ball for years. I know the game. I held down left field for two seasons on the greatest college team ever developed out West. That's new to you. Well, it gives me license to talk a little. I want to tell you that I canfeelwhat's in this team. It's like the feeling I have when I'm running against a fast man in the sprints. From now on we'll be a family of brothers with one 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 spell of a powerful stimulus. The sprinter's words struck fire from all present.
Homans' clear gray eyes were like live coals. “Boys! One rousing cheer for 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-faced and sullen, come down the stairs and pass through the hall and out of the door. 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 lesson to 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 legs and arms. Weir accepted eight chances. Raymond, sick or not, was all over the infield, knocking down grounders, backing up every play. To McCord, balls in the air or at his feet were all the same. Trace caught a foul fly right off the bleachers. Homans fielded with as much speed as the old varsity's centre and with better judgment. Besides, he made four 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 that Murray said was wonderful. Dean stood up valiantly to his battering, and for the first game had no passed balls. And Ken Ward whirled tirelessly in the box, and one after another he shot fast balls over the plate. He made the Hornell players hit; he had no need to extend himself to the use of the long swing and whip of his arm that produced the jump ball; and he shut them out without a run, and gave them only two safe hits. All through the game Worry Arthurs sat on the bench without giving an order or a sign. His worried look had vanished with the crude playing of his team.
That night the Hornell captain, a veteran player of unquestionable ability, was entertained at Carlton Club by Wayne friends, and he expressed himself forcibly: “We came over to beat Wayne's weak team. It'll be some time till we discover what happened. Young Ward has the most magnificent control and speed. He's absolutely relentless. And that frog-legged second-baseman—oh, say, can't he cover ground! Homans is an all-round star. Then, your red-headed Ray, the sprinter—he's a marvel. Ward, Homans, Ray—they're demons, and they're making demons of the kids. I can't understand why Wayne students don't support their team. 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 to dormitory, 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'll stand for no fussin' over us. We don't want any jollyin'. We've waited long for encouragement. It didn't come, and now we'll play out the string alone. There'll be a rush to Grant Field. It cuts no ice with us. Let 'em come to see the boys they hissed and guyed early in the spring. We'll show 'em a few things. We'll make 'em speechless. We'll make 'em so ashamed they won't know what to do. We'll repay all their slights 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 to your rooms as quick as you get leave from college. Be civil when you are approached 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 into a family of brothers. Close and warm and fine was the culmination of their friendship. On the field they were dominated by one impulse, almost savage in its intensity. When they were off the field the springs of youth burst forth to flood the hours with fun.
In the mornings when the mail-man came there was always a wild scramble for letters. And it developed that Weir received more than his share. He got mail every day, and his good-fortune could not escape the lynx eyes of his comrades. Nor could the size and shape of the envelope and the neat, small handwriting fail to be noticed. Weir always stole off by himself to read his daily letter, trying to escape a merry chorus of tantalizing 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-stairs when the mail arrived. Duncan got the pink letter, scrutinized the writing closely, 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 the pink envelope. The boys roared, and Weir strode off in high dudgeon.
That day Duncan purchased a box of pink envelopes, and being expert with a pen, he imitated the neat handwriting and addressed pink envelopes to every boy in the training-house. Next morning no one except Weir seemed in a hurry to answer the postman's ring. He came in with the letters and his 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 peculiar appropriateness of the nickname Puff was plainly manifest. One by one the boys slid off their chairs to the floor, and at last Weir had to join in the laugh on him.
Each of the boys in turn became the victim of some prank. Raymond betrayed Ken's abhorrence of any kind of perfume, and straightway there was a stealthy colloquy. Cheap perfume of a most penetrating and paralyzing odor was liberally purchased. In Ken's absence from his room all the clothing that he did not have on his back was saturated. Then the conspirators waited for him to come up the stoop, and from their hiding-place in a window of the second floor they dropped an extra quart upon him.
Ken vowed vengeance that would satisfy him thrice over, and he bided his 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 the steam bath that Murray insisted upon at least once every week. It so turned out that the four were the only players there that afternoon. While the others were undressing, Ken bribed Scotty to go out on an errand, and he let Murray into his scheme. Now, Murray not only had acquired 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 too much—really scald them, you know?”
“No danger,” whispered Murray. “That'll be the fun of it. You can't hurt 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's Scotty?... 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, he swallowed his tongue.
“What'd you say?” asked Ken, pretending curiosity. Suddenly he began to 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 chance like 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, and their faces to take on a flush. Ken leisurely surveyed them and then did 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 said anything so impossible as that.”
“Ken, dear Ken, dear old Peggie,” cried Trace, “you know I've got a skinned place on my hip where I slid yesterday. Steam isn't good for that, 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 big eyes 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.
The Herne Game
On the morning of the first of June, the day scheduled for the opening game with Herne, Worry Arthurs had Ken Ward closeted with Homans and Reddy Ray. Worry was trying his best to be soberly calculating in regard to the outcome of the game. He was always trying to impress Ken with the uncertainty of baseball. But a much younger and less observing boy than Ken 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, and he could not hide his happiness. And the more he betrayed himself the more 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't been 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 please you, could I?” implored Ken. To Ken this strain of the coach's had grown to be as serious as it was funny.
“Aw! talk sense,” said Worry. “Why, you haven't pitched to a college crowd 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'll make 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' to you. And if you lose your nut and get slammed all over the lot, don't come to me for sympathy.”
“I wouldn't. I can take a licking. Why, Worry, you talk as if—as if I'd done something terrible. What's the matter with me? I've done every single thing 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 astounded and hurt that he could not speak. Worry looked at him once, then turning hastily 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,” went on Worry, as if Ken had not spoken. “There'll be a crowd out, the first of the season. Mebbe they'll throw a fit. Anyway, it's our first big game. As far as the university goes, this is our trial. The students are up in the air; they don't know what to think. Mebbe there won't be a cheer at first.... But, Peg, if we beat Herne to-day they'll tear down the bleachers.”
“Well, all I've got to say is that you can order new lumber for the bleachers—because we're going to win,” replied Ken, with a smouldering fire in his eyes.
“There you go again! If you're not stuck on yourself, it's too much confidence. You won't be so chipper about three this afternoon, mebbe. Listen! The Herne players got into town last night, and some of them talked 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, the first-baseman, said you were pretty good for a kid freshman, but a little too swelled to stand the gaff in a big game. They expect you to 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 cheek and blazing eye, and the big hand he shoved under Worry's nose trembled like 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't believe 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 they get 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 he invariably 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 you I've got Herne beaten, and if Gallagher or any one else begins to guy me I'll laugh in his face.”
“Oh, you will?... Say, you go down to your room now, and stay there till time 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 after his exit. Worry and Homans fell into each other's arms.
“Say, fellows, how I hated to do it!” Worry choked with laughter and contrition. “It was the hardest task I ever had. But, Cap, you know we had to make Peg sore. He's too blamed good-natured. Oh, but didn't he take 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 would please me, too, for Gallagher is about as wordy and pompous as any captain I've seen.”
“I think you were a little hard on Ken,” put in Reddy. His quiet voice drew Worry and Homans from their elation. “Of course, it was necessary to 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 the least swelled.”
“'Course I know it, Reddy. Why, Peg's too modest. But I want him to be dead in earnest to-day. Mind you, I'm thinkin' of Place. He'll beat Herne to a standstill. I worked on his feelin's just to get him all stirred up. You know there's always the chance of rattles in any young player, 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 fear for 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 for his weakening. But it may be he won't ever weaken. If he ever does it'll be 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 at our standin' now. Why, the newspapers are havin' a fit. Since I picked the varsity we haven't lost a game. Think of that! Those early games don't count. We've had an unbroken string of victories, Peg pitchin' twelve, and Schoonover four. And if wet grounds and other things hadn't cancelled other games we'd have won more.”
“Yes, we're in the stretch now, Worry, and running strong. We'll win 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't you think Reddy, for once, is talkin' about as swift as he sprints?”
“I'm afraid to tell you, Worry,” replied Homans, earnestly. “When I look 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 keep on making runs. It's runs that count. I think, honestly, Worry, that after to-day we'll be in the lead for championship honors. And I hold my breath when I tell you.”
It was remarkably quiet about the training-house all that morning. The coach sent a light lunch to the boys in their rooms. They had orders to be 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 of Ken Ward and Reddy Ray. Worry appeared startled out of speech, and looked helplessly at Homans. Then Ray came down-stairs, bat in one hand, shoes and glove in the other. He seated himself upon the 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 guess that'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 the door-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 you can cut loose and run bases like a blue streak.”
Dale stepped forward, earnest and somewhat concerned, but with a winning frankness.
“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, in a deep-bass voice. “A few of us have been tipped off, and we got it straight. But the students don't know it yet. So Dale and I thought we'd like them to see how we feel about it—before this game. You've had a rotten deal from the students this year. But they'll more than make it up when you beat Herne. The whole college is waiting and restless.”
Homans, recovering himself, faced the two captains courteously and gratefully, and with a certain cool dignity.
“Thank you, fellows! It's fine of you to offer to sit with us on the bench. I thank you on behalf of the varsity. But—not to-day. All season we've worked and fought without support, and now we're going to beat Herne without support. When we've done that you and Dale—all the college—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 plugged any 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. That moment was silent, eloquent. It linked Homans' team to the great athletic fame of the university. It radiated the spirit to conquer, the glory of past victories, the strength of honorable defeats. Then Dale 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, and being drawn down so fine we may be over-eager. Force that back. It doesn't matter if we make misplays. We've made many this season, but we've won all the same. At the bat, remember to keep a sharp eye on the base-runner, and when he signs he is going down, bunt or hit to advance 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 from the start.”
When they entered the field there were more spectators in the stands than had attended all the other games together. In a far corner the Herne players in dark-blue uniforms were practising batting. Upon the moment the gong called them in for their turn at 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 to Ken Ward. He took one long look at the black-and-white mass of students behind the back-stop, at the straggling lines leading to the gates, at the 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 college baseball audience. Ken realized that at once. It was quiet, orderly, expectant, and watchful. Very few girls were there. The students as a body had warmed to curiosity and interest, but not to the extent of bringing the girls. After that one glance Ken resolutely kept his eyes upon the ground. He was conscious of a feeling that he wanted to spring up and leap at something. And he brought all his will to force back his over-eagerness. He heard the crack of the ball, the shouts of the Herne players, the hum of voices in the grand-stand, and the occasional cheers of 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 long murmur ran throughout the stands. Ken heard many things said of him, curiously, wonderingly, doubtfully, and he tried not to hear more. Then he commenced to pitch to Dean. Worry stood near him and kept whispering to hold in his speed and just to use his arm easily. It was difficult, for Ken felt that his arm wanted 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-like and determined?... Good! Say—but Peg, you'd better look these fellows over.”