Reddy Ray, the intercollegiate champion in the sprints, is the other seasoned player of the varsity, and it is safe to say that he is the star of all the college teams. A wonderful fielder, a sure and heavy hitter, and like a flash on the bases, he alone makes Homans’ team formidable.

  Then there is Peg Ward, Worry Arthurs’ demon pitcher, of freshman bowl-fight fame. This lad has been arriving since spring, and now he has arrived. He is powerful, and has a great arm. He seems to pitch without effort, has twice the speed of Dale, and is as cool in the box as a veteran. But it is his marvellous control of the ball that puts him in a class by himself. In the fourth inning of yesterday’s game he extended himself, probably on orders from Coach Arthurs, and struck out Herne’s three best hitters on eleven pitched balls. Then he was taken out and Schoonover put in. This white-headed lad is no slouch of a pitcher, by-the-way. But it must have been a bitter pill for Herne to swallow. The proud Herne varsity have been used to knocking pitchers out of the box, instead of seeing them removed because they were too good. Also, MacNeff and Prince, of Place, who saw the game, must have had food for reflection. They did not get much of a line on young Ward, and what they saw will not give them pleasant dreams. We pick Ward to beat the heavy-hitting Place team.

  Other youngsters of Arthurs’ nine show up well, particularly Raymond and Weir, who have springs in their feet and arms like whips. Altogether Arthurs’ varsity is a strangely assorted, a wonderfully chosen group of players. We might liken them to the mechanism of a fine watch, with Ward as the mainspring, and the others with big or little parts to perform, but each dependent upon the other. Wayne’s greatest baseball team!

  Ken read it all thirstily, wonderingly, and recorded it deep in the deepest well of his memory. It seemed a hundred times as sweet for all the misery and longing and fear and toil which it had cost to gain.

  And each succeeding day grew fuller and richer with its meed of reward. All the boys of the varsity were sought by the students, Ken most of all. Everywhere he went he was greeted with a regard that made him still more bashful and ashamed. If he stepped into Carlton Club, it was to be surrounded by a frankly admiring circle of students. He could not get a moment alone in the library. Professors had a smile for him and often stopped to chat. The proudest moment of his college year was when President Halstead met him in the promenade, and before hundreds of students turned to walk a little way with him. There seemed not to be a single student of the university or any one connected with it, who did not recognize him. Bryan took him to watch the crew practise; Stevens played billiards with him at the club; Dale openly sought his society. Then the fraternities began to vie with one another for Ken. In all his life he had not imagined a fellow could be treated so well. It was an open secret that Ken Ward was extremely desired in the best fraternities. He could not have counted his friends. Through it all, by thinking of Worry and the big games coming, he managed to stay on his feet.

  One morning, when he was at the height of this enjoyable popularity, he read a baseball note that set him to thinking hard. The newspaper, commenting on the splendid results following Wayne’s new athletic rules, interpreted one rule in a way astounding to Ken. It was something to the effect that all players who had been on a team which paid any player or any expenses of any player were therefore ineligible. Interpretation of the rules had never been of any serious moment to Ken. He had never played on any but boy teams. But suddenly he remembered that during a visit to the mountains with his mother he had gone to a place called Eagle’s Nest, a summer hotel colony. It boasted of a good ball team and had a rival in the Glenwoods, a team from an adjoining resort. Ken had been in the habit of chasing flies for the players in practice. One day Eagle’s Nest journeyed over to Glenwood to play, and being short one player they took Ken to fill in. He had scarcely started in the game when the regular player appeared, thus relieving him. The incident had completely slipped Ken’s mind until recalled by the newspaper note.

  Whereupon Ken began to ponder. He scouted the idea of that innocent little thing endangering his eligibility at Wayne. But the rule, thus made clear, stood out in startlingly black-and-white relief. Eagle’s Nest supported a team by subscription among the hotel guests. Ken had ridden ten miles in a ‘bus with the team, and had worn one of the uniforms for some few minutes. Therefore, upon a technicality, perhaps, he had been on a summer nine, and had no right to play for Wayne.

  Ken went to Homans and told him the circumstance. The captain looked exceedingly grave, then getting more particulars he relaxed.

  “You’re safe, Peg. You’re perfectly innocent. But don’t mention it to any one else, especially Worry. He’d have a fit. What a scare you’d throw into the varsity camp! Forget the few minutes you wore that Eagle’s Nest suit.”

  For the time being this reassured Ken, but after a while his anxiety returned. Homans had said not to mention it, and that bothered Ken. He lay awake half of one night thinking about the thing. It angered him and pricked his conscience and roused him. He wanted to feel absolutely sure of his position, for his own sake first of all. So next morning he cornered Worry and blurted out the secret.

  “Peg, what’re you givin’ me!” he ejaculated.

  Ken repeated his story, somewhat more clearly and at greater length. Worry turned as white as a ghost.

  “Good gracious, Peg, you haven’t told anybody?”

  “No one but Homans.”

  Worry gave a long sigh of relief, and his face regained some of its usual florid color.

  “Well, that’s all right then... Say, didn’t I tell you once that I had a weak heart? Peg, of course you’re an amateur, or there never was one. But ’em fat-head directors! Why, I wouldn’t have ’em find that out for a million dollars. They’re idiots enough to make a shinin’ example of you right before the Place games. Keep it under your hat, see!”

  This last was in the nature of a command, and Ken had always religiously obeyed Worry. He went to his room feeling that the matter had been decided for him. Relief, however, did not long abide with him. He began to be torn between loyalty to Worry and duty to himself. He felt guiltless, but he was not sure of it, and until he was sure he could not be free in mind. Suddenly he thought of being actually barred from the varsity, and was miserable. That he could not bear. Strong temptation now assailed Ken and found him weak. A hundred times he reconciled himself to Worry’s command, to Homan’s point of view, yet every time something rose within him and rebelled. But despite the rebellion Ken almost gave in. He fought off thought of his new sweet popularity, of the glory of being Wayne’s athletic star. He fought to look the thing fairly in the face. To him it loomed up a hundredfold larger than an incident of his baseball career. And so he got strength to do the thing that would ease the voice of conscience. He went straight to the coach.

  “Worry, I’ve got to go to the directors and tell them. I — I’m sorry, but I’ve got to do it.”

  He expected a storm of rage from Worry, but never had the coach been so suave, so kindly, so magnetic. He called Homans and Raymond and Weir and others who were in the house at the moment and stated Ken’s case. His speech flowed smooth and rapid. The matter under his deft argument lost serious proportions. But it seemed to Ken that Worry did not tell the boys the whole truth, or they would not have laughed at the thing and made him out over-sensitive. And Ken was now growing too discouraged and bewildered to tell them. Moreover, he was getting stubborn. The thing was far from a joke. The cunning of the coach proved that. Worry wound the boys round his little finger.

  At this juncture Reddy Ray entered the training-house.

  More than once Ken had gone to the great sprinter with confidences and troubles, and now he began impulsively, hurriedly, incoherently, to tell the story.

  “And Reddy,” concluded Ken, “I’ve got to tell the directors. It’s something — hard for me to explain. I couldn’t pitch another game with this hanging over me. I must — tell them — and take my medicine.”

  “Sure. It’s a matter of principle,” replied Reddy, in his soft, slow voice. His keen eyes left Ken’s pale face and met the coach’s. “Worry, I’ll take Peg up to see the athletic faculty. I know Andrews, the president, and he’s the one to hear Peg’s story.”

  Worry groaned and sank into a chair crushed and beaten. Then he swore, something unusual in him. Then he began to rave at the fat-headed directors. Then he yelled that he would never coach another ball team so long as he lived.

  Ken followed Reddy out of the training-house and along the street. The fact that the sprinter did not say a word showed Ken he was understood, and he felt immeasurably grateful. They crossed the campus and entered College Hall, to climb the winding stairway. To Ken that was a long, hateful climb. Andrews, and another of the directors whom Ken knew by sight, were in the office. They greeted the visitors with cordial warmth.

  “Gentlemen,” began Reddy, “Ward thinks he has violated one of the eligibility rules.”

  There was no beating about the bush with Reddy Ray, no shading of fact, no distortion of the truth. Coolly he stated the case. But, strangely to Ken, the very truth, told by Reddy in this way, somehow lost its terrors. Ken’s shoulders seemed unburdened of a terrible weight.

  Andrews and his colleague laughed heartily.

  “You see — I — I forgot all about it,” said Ken.

  “Yes, and since he remembered he’s been worrying himself sick,” resumed Reddy. “Couldn’t rest till he’d come over here.”

  “Ward, it’s much to your credit that you should confide something there was never any chance of becoming known,” said the president of the athletic faculty. “We appreciate it. You may relieve your mind of misgivings as to your eligibility. Even if we tried I doubt if we could twist a rule to affect your standing. And you may rest assured we wouldn’t try in the case of so fine a young fellow and so splendid a pitcher for Wayne.”

  Then Andrews courteously shook hands with Ken and Reddy and bowed them out. Ken danced half-way down the stairway and slid the rest on the bannister.

  “Reddy, wasn’t he just fine?” cried Ken, all palpitating with joy.

  “Well, Peg, Andrews is a nice old thing if you approach him right,” replied Reddy, dryly. “You wouldn’t believe me, would you, if I said I had my heart in my throat when we went in?”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” replied Ken, bluntly.

  “I thought not,” said Reddy. Then the gravity that had suddenly perplexed Ken cleared from the sprinter’s face. “Peg, let’s have some fun with Worry and the boys.”

  “I’m in for anything now.”

  “We’ll go back to the training-house with long faces. When we get in you run up-stairs as if you couldn’t face any one, but be sure to sneak back to the head of the stairs to see and hear the fun. I’ll fix Worry all right. Now, don’t flunk. It’s a chance.”

  Ken could not manage to keep a straight face as they went in, so he hid it and rushed up-stairs. He bumped into Raymond, knocking him flat.

  “Running to a fire again?” growled Raymond. “Got a fire-medal, haven’t you? Always falling over people.”

  Ken tried to simulate ungovernable rage and impotent distress at once. He waved one fist and tore his hair with the other hand.

  “Get out of my way!” roared Ken. “What’ll you say when I tell you I’m barred from the varsity!”

  “Oh! Ken! No, no — don’t say it,” faltered Raymond, all sympathy in an instant.

  Ken ran into his room, closed the door and then peeped out. He saw Raymond slowly sag down-stairs as if his heart was broken. Then Ken slipped out and crawled down the hall till he could see into the reading-room. All the boys were there, with anxious faces, crowded round the coach. Worry was livid. Reddy Ray seemed the only calm person in the room and he had tragedy written all over him.

  “Out with it!” shouted Worry. “Don’t stand there like a mournful preacher. What did ’em fat-heads say?”

  Reddy threw up his hands with a significant gesture.

  “I knew it!” howled Worry, jumping up and down. “I knew it! Why did you take the kid over there? Why didn’t you let me and Homans handle this thing? You red-headed, iron-jawed, cold-blooded wind-chaser! You’ve done it now, haven’t you? I — Oh—”

  Worry began to flounder helplessly.

  “They said a few more things,” went on Reddy. “Peg is barred, Raymond is barred, I am barred. I told them about my baseball career out West. The directors said some pretty plain things about you, Worry, I’m sorry to tell. You’re a rotten coach. In fact, you ought to be a coach at an undertaker’s. Homans gets the credit for the work of the team. They claim you are too hard on the boys, too exacting, too brutal, in fact. Andrews recited a record of your taking sandwiches from us and aiding and abetting Murray in our slow starvation. The directors will favor your dismissal and urge the appointment of Professor Rhodes, who as coach will at least feed us properly.”

  Reddy stopped to catch his breath and gain time for more invention. Of all the unhappy mortals on earth Worry Arthurs looked the unhappiest. He believed every word as if it had been gospel. And that about Professor Rhodes was the last straw.

  Ken could stand the deception no longer. He marvelled at Reddy’s consummate lying and how he could ever stand that look on Worry’s face. Bounding down-stairs four steps at a jump, Ken burst like a bomb upon the sad-faced group.

  “Oh, Worry, it’s all a joke!”

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE FIRST PLACE GAME

  RAIN PREVENTED THE second Herne game, which was to have been played on the Herne grounds. It rained steadily all day Friday and Saturday, to the disappointment of Wayne’s varsity. The coach, however, admitted that he was satisfied to see the second contest with Herne go by the board.

  “I don’t like big games away from home,” said Worry. “It’s hard on new teams. Besides, we beat Herne to death over here. Mebbe we couldn’t do it over there, though I ain’t doubtin’. But it’s Place we’re after, and if we’d had that game at Herne we couldn’t have kept Place from gettin’ a line on us. So I’m glad it rained.”

  The two Place games fell during a busy week at Wayne. Wednesday was the beginning of the commencement exercises and only a comparatively few students could make the trip to Place. But the night before the team left, the students, four thousand strong, went to the training-house and filled a half-hour with college songs and cheers.

  Next morning Dale and Stevens, heading a small band of Wayne athletes and graduates, met the team at the railroad station and boarded the train with them. Worry and Homans welcomed them, and soon every Wayne player had two or more for company. Either by accident or design, Ken could not tell which, Dale and Stevens singled him out for their especial charge. The football captain filled one seat with his huge bulk and faced Ken, and Dale sat with a hand on Ken’s shoulder.

  “Peg, we’re backing you for all we’re worth,” said Stevens. “But this is your first big game away from home. It’s really the toughest game of the season. Place is a hard nut to crack any time. And her players on their own backyard are scrappers who can take a lot of beating and still win out. Then there’s another thing that’s no small factor in their strength: They are idolized by the students, and rooting at Place is a science. They have a yell that beats anything you ever heard. It’ll paralyze a fellow at a critical stage. But that yell is peculiar in that it rises out of circumstances leading to almost certain victory. That is, Place has to make a strong bid for a close, hard game to work up that yell. So if it comes to-day you be ready for it. Have your ears stuffed with cotton, and don’t let that yell blow you up in the air.”

  Dale was even more earnest than Stevens.

  “Peg, Place beat me over here last year, beat me 6-3. They hit me harder than I ever was hit before, I guess. You went down to Washington, Worry said, to look them over. Tell me what you think — how you sized them up.”

  Dale listened attentively while Ken recited his impressions.

  “You’ve got Prince and MacNeff figured exactly right,” replied Dale. “Prince is the football captain, by-the-way. Be careful how you run into second base. If you ever slide into him head first — good-bye! He’s a great player, and he can hit any kind of a ball. MacNeff now, just as you said, is weak on a high ball close in, and he kills a low ball. Kills is the word! He hits them a mile. But, Peg, I think you’re a little off on Keene, Starke, and Martin, the other Place cracks. They’re veterans, hard to pitch to; they make you cut the plate; they are as apt to bunt as hit, and they are fast. They keep a fellow guessing. I think Starke pulls a little on a curve, but the others have no weakness I ever discovered. But, Peg, I expect you to do more with them than I did. My control was never any too good, and you can throw almost as straight as a fellow could shoot a rifle. Then your high fast ball, that one you get with the long swing, it would beat any team. Only I’m wondering, I’m asking — can you use it right along, in the face of such coaching and yelling and hitting as you’ll run against to-day? I’m asking deliberately, because I want to give you confidence.”

  “Why, yes, Dale, I think I can. I’m pretty sure of it. That ball comes easily, only a little longer swing and more snap, and honestly, Dale, I hardly ever think about the plate. I know where it is, and I could shut my eyes and throw strikes.”

  “Peg, you’re a wonder,” replied Dale, warmly. “If you can do that — and hang me if I doubt it — you will make Place look like a lot of dubs. We’re sure to make a few runs. Homans and Ray will hit Salisbury hard. There’s no fence on Place Field, and every ball Reddy hits past a fielder will be a home-run. You can gamble on that. So set a fast clip when you start in, and hang.”

  Some time later, when Ken had changed seats and was talking to Raymond, he heard Worry say to somebody:

  “Well, if Peg don’t explode to-day he never will. I almost wish he would. He’d be better for it, afterward.”

  This surprised Ken, annoyed him, and straightway he became thoughtful. Why this persistent harping on the chance of his getting excited from one cause or another, losing his control and thereby the game? Ken had not felt in the least nervous about the game. He would get so, presently, if his advisers did not stop hinting. Then Worry’s wish that he might “explode” was puzzling. A little shade of gloom crept over the bright horizon of Ken’s hopes. Almost unconsciously vague doubts of himself fastened upon him. For the first time he found himself looking forward to a baseball game with less eagerness than uncertainty. Stubbornly he fought off the mood.

 

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