the coach. He ran up-stairs three steps to the jump, and when he reached
his room he did a war dance and ended by standing on his head. When he
had gotten rid of his exuberance he sat down at once to write to his
brother Hal about it, and also his forest-ranger friend, Dick Leslie,
with whom he had spent an adventurous time the last summer.
At Carlton Hall, next day, Ken saw a crowd of students before
the bulletin-board and, edging in, he read the following notice:
BASEBALL!
CALL FOR CANDIDATES FOR THE VARSITY BASEBALL TEAM
The Athletic Directors of the University earnestly
request every student who can play ball, or who
thinks he can, to present himself to Coach Arthurs
at the Cage on Feb. 3rd.
There will be no freshman team this year, and a
new team entirely will be chosen for the varsity.
Every student will have a chance. Applicants are
requested to familiarize themselves with the new
eligibility rules.
V
THE CAGE
Ken Ward dug down into his trunk for his old baseball suit and donned
it with strange elation. It was dirty and torn, and the shoes that went
with it were worn out, but Ken was thinking of what hard ball-playing
they represented. He put his overcoat on over his sweater, took up his
glove and sallied forth.
A thin coating of ice and snow covered the streets. Winter still
whistled in the air. To Ken in his eagerness spring seemed a long
way off. On his way across the campus he saw strings of uniformed
boys making for Grant Field, and many wearing sweaters over their
every-day clothes. The cage was situated at one end of the field
apart from the other training-quarters. When Ken got there he found
a mob of players crowding to enter the door of the big barn-like
structure. Others were hurrying away. Near the door a man was taking
up tickets like a doorkeeper of a circus, and he kept shouting:
"Get your certificates from the doctor. Every player must pass a
physical examination. Get your certificates."
Ken turned somewhat in disgust at so much red tape and he jostled into
a little fellow, almost knocking him over.
"Wull! Why don't you fall all over me?" growled this amiable individual.
"For two cents I'd hand you one."
The apology on Ken's lips seemed to halt of its own accord.
"Sorry I haven't any change in these clothes," returned Ken. He saw a
wiry chap, older than he was, but much smaller, and of most aggressive
front. He had round staring eyes, a protruding jaw, and his mouth turned
down at the corners. He wore a disreputable uniform and a small green
cap over one ear.
"Aw! don't get funny!" he replied.
Ken moved away muttering to himself: "That fellow's a grouch." Much
to his amazement, when he got to the training-house, Ken found that he
could not get inside because so many players were there ahead of him.
After waiting an hour or more he decided he could not have his physical
examination at that time, and he went back to the cage. The wide door
was still blocked with players, but at the other end of the building
Ken found an entrance. He squeezed into a crowd of students and worked
forward until stopped by a railing.
Ken was all eyes and breathless with interest. The cage was a huge,
open, airy room, lighted by many windows, and, with the exception
of the platform where he stood, it was entirely enclosed by heavy
netting. The floor was of bare ground well raked and loosened to
make it soft. This immense hall was full of a motley crowd of
aspiring ball-players.
Worry Arthurs, with his head sunk in the collar of his overcoat, and
his shoulders hunched up as if he was about to spring upon something,
paced up and down the rear end of the cage. Behind him a hundred or
more players in line slowly marched toward the slab of rubber which
marked the batting position. Ken remembered that the celebrated coach
always tried out new players at the bat first. It was his belief that
batting won games.
"Bunt one and hit one!" he yelled to the batters.
From the pitcher's box a lanky individual was trying to locate the
plate. Ken did not need a second glance to see that this fellow was
no pitcher.
"Stop posin', and pitch!" yelled Arthurs.
One by one the batters faced the plate, swung valiantly or wildly at
balls and essayed bunts. Few hit the ball out and none made a creditable
bunt. After their turn at bat they were ordered to the other end of the
cage, where they fell over one another trying to stop the balls that
were hit. Every few moments the coach would yell for one of them, any
one, to take a turn at pitching. Ken noticed that Arthurs gave a sharp
glance at each new batter, and one appeared to be sufficient. More and
more ambitious players crowded into the cage, until there were so many
that batted balls rarely missed hitting some one.
Presently Ken Ward awoke from his thrilling absorption in the scene to
note another side of it. The students around him were making game of
the players.
"What a bunch!"
"Look at that fuzzy gosling with the yellow pants!"
"Keep your shanks out of the way, Freshie!"
"Couldn't hit a balloon!"
Whenever a batter hit a ball into the crowd of dodging players down
the cage these students howled with glee. Ken discovered that he was
standing near Captain Dale and other members of the barred varsity.
"Say, Dale, how do the candidates shape up?" asked a student.
"This is a disgrace to Wayne," declared Dale, bitterly. "I never saw
such a mob of spindle-legged kids in my life. Look at them! Scared to
death! That fellow never swung at a ball before--that one never heard
of a bunt--they throw like girls--Oh! this is sickening, fellows. I see
where Worry goes to his grave this year and old Wayne gets humbled by
one-horse colleges."
Ken took one surprised glance at the captain he had admired so much
and then he slipped farther over in the crowd. Perhaps Dale had spoken
truth, yet somehow it jarred upon Ken's sensitive nature. The thing
that affected Ken most was the earnestness of the uniformed boys trying
their best to do well before the great coach. Some were timid, uncertain;
others were rash and over-zealous. Many a ball cracked off a player's
knee or wrist, and more than once Ken saw a bloody finger. It was cold
in the cage. Even an ordinarily hit ball must have stung the hands,
and the way a hard grounder cracked was enough to excite sympathy among
those scornful spectators, if nothing more. But they yelled in delight
at every fumble, at everything that happened. Ken kept whispering to
himself: "I can't see the fun in it. I can't!"
Arthurs dispensed with the bunting and ordered one hit each for
the batters. "Step up and hit!" he ordered, hoarsely. "Don't be
afraid--never mind that crowd--step into the ball and swing natural....
Next! Hurry, boys!"
Suddenly a deep-chested student yelled out with a voice that drowned
every other sound.
"Hard luck, Worry! No use! You'll never find a hitter among those misfits!"
The coach actually leaped up in his anger and his face went from crimson
to white. Ken thought it was likely that he recognized the voice.
"You knocker! You knocker!" he cried. "That's a fine college spirit,
ain't it? You're a fine lot of students, I don't think. Now shut up,
every one of you, or I'll fire you out of the cage.... And right here
at the start you knockers take this from me--I'll find more than one
hitter among those kids!"
A little silence fell while the coach faced that antagonistic crowd
of spectators. Ken was amazed the second time, and now because of the
intensity of feeling that seemed to hang in the air. Ken felt a warm
rush go over him, and that moment added greatly to his already strong
liking for Worry Arthurs.
Then the coach turned to his work, the batting began again, and the
crack of the ball, the rush of feet, the sharp cries of the players
mingled once more with the laughter and caustic wit of the unsympathetic
audience.
Ken Ward went back to his room without having removed his overcoat.
He was thoughtful that night and rebellious against the attitude of
the student body. A morning paper announced the fact that over three
hundred candidates had presented themselves to Coach Arthurs. It went
on to say that the baseball material represented was not worth considering
and that old Wayne's varsity team must be ranked with those of the
fifth-rate colleges. This, following Ken's experience at the cage on
the first day, made him angry and then depressed. The glamour of the
thing seemed to fade away. Ken lost the glow, the exhilaration of his
first feelings. Everybody took a hopeless view of Wayne's baseball
prospects. Ken Ward, however, was not one to stay discouraged long,
and when he came out of his gloom it was with his fighting spirit
roused. Once and for all he made up his mind to work heart and soul
for his college, to be loyal to Arthurs, to hope and believe in the
future of the new varsity, whether or not he was lucky enough to win
a place upon it.
Next day, going early to the training-quarters, he took his place
in a squad waiting for the physical examination. It was a wearisome
experience. At length Ken's turn came with two other players, one of
whom he recognized as the sour-complexioned fellow of the day before.
"Wull, you're pretty fresh," he said to Ken as they went in. He had a
most exasperating manner.
"Say, I don't like you a whole lot," retorted Ken.
Then a colored attendant ushered them into a large room in which were
several men. The boys were stripped to the waist.
"Come here, Murray," said the doctor. "There's some use in looking
these boys over, particularly this husky youngster."
A tall man in a white sweater towered over Ken. It was the famous
trainer. He ran his hands over Ken's smooth skin and felt of the
muscles.
"Can you run?" he asked.
"Yes," replied Ken.
"Are you fast?"
"Yes."
Further inquiries brought from Ken his name, age, weight, that he had
never been ill, had never used tobacco or intoxicating drinks.
"Ward, eh? 'Peg' Ward," said Murray, smiling. "Worry Arthurs has the
call on you--else, my boy, I'd whisper football in your ear. Mebbe I
will, anyhow, if you keep up in your studies. That'll do for you."
Ken's companions also won praise from the trainer. They gave their
names as Raymond and Weir. The former weighed only one hundred and
twenty-two, but he was a knot of muscles. The other stood only five
feet, but he was very broad and heavy, his remarkably compact build
giving an impression of great strength. Both replied in the negative
to the inquiries as to use of tobacco or spirits.
"Boys, that's what we like to hear," said the doctor. "You three ought
to pull together."
Ken wondered what the doctor would have said if he had seen the way
these three boys glared at each other in the dressing-room. And he
wondered, too, what was the reason for such open hostility. The answer
came to him in the thought that perhaps they were both trying for the
position he wanted on the varsity. Most likely they had the same idea
about him. That was the secret of little Raymond's pugnacious front and
Weir's pompous air; and Ken realized that the same reason accounted for
his own attitude toward them. He wanted very much to tell Raymond that
he was a little grouch and Weir that he looked like a puffed-up toad.
All the same Ken was not blind to Weir's handsome appearance. The
sturdy youngster had an immense head, a great shock of bright brown
hair, flashing gray eyes, and a clear bronze skin.
"They'll both make the team, I'll bet," thought Ken. "They look it.
I hope I don't have to buck against them." Then as they walked toward
the cage Ken forced himself to ask genially: "Raymond, what're you
trying for? And you, Weir?"
"Wull, if it's any of your fresh business, I'm not _trying_ for any
place. I'm going to play infield. You can carry my bat," replied Raymond,
sarcastically.
"Much obliged," retorted Ken, "I'm not going to substitute. I've a
corner on that varsity infield myself."
Weir glanced at them with undisguised disdain. "You can save yourselves
useless work by not trying for my position. I intend to play infield."
"Wull, puff-up, now, puff-up!" growled Raymond.
Thus the three self-appointed stars of the varsity bandied words
among themselves as they crossed the field. At the cage door they
became separated to mingle with the pushing crowd of excited boys
in uniforms.
By dint of much squeezing and shoulder-work Ken got inside the cage.
He joined the squad in the upper end and got in line for the batting.
Worry Arthurs paced wildly to and fro yelling for the boys to hit. A
dense crowd of students thronged the platform and laughed, jeered, and
stormed at the players. The cage was in such an uproar that Arthurs
could scarcely be heard. Watching from the line Ken saw Weir come to
bat and stand aggressively and hit the ball hard. It scattered the flock
of fielders. Then Raymond came along, and, batting left-handed, did
likewise. Arthurs stepped forward and said something to both. After
Ken's turn at bat the coach said to him: "Get out of here. Go run round
the track. Do it every day. Don't come back until Monday."
As Ken hurried out he saw and felt the distinction with which he was
regarded by the many players whom he crowded among in passing. When
he reached the track he saw Weir, Raymond, and half a dozen other
fellows going round at a jog-trot. Weir was in the lead, setting the
pace. Ken fell in behind.
The track was the famous quarter-mile track upon which Murray trained
his sprinters. When Ken felt the spring of the cinder-path in his feet,
the sensation of buoyancy, the eager wildfire pride that flamed over
him, he wanted to break into headlong flight. The first turn around the
track was delight; the second pleasure in his easy stride; the third
brought a realization of distance. When Ken had trotted a mile he was
not tired, he still ran easily, but he began to appreciate that his
legs were not wings. The end of the second mile found him sweating
freely and panting.
Two miles were enough for the first day. Ken knew it and he began to
wonder why the others, especially Weir, did not know it. But Weir jogged
on, his head up, his hair flying, as if he had not yet completed his
first quarter. The other players stretched out behind him. Ken saw
Raymond's funny little green cap bobbing up and down, and it made him
angry. Why could not the grouch get a decent cap, anyway?
At the end of the third mile Ken began to labor. His feet began to
feel weighted, his legs to ache, his side to hurt. He was wringing wet;
his skin burned; his breath whistled. But he kept doggedly on. It had
become a contest now. Ken felt instinctively that every runner would
not admit he had less staying power than the others. Ken declared to
himself that he could be as bull-headed as any of them. Still to see
Weir jogging on steady and strong put a kind of despair on Ken. For
every lap of the fourth mile a runner dropped out, and at the half of
the fifth only Weir, Raymond, and Ken kept to the track.
Ken hung on gasping at every stride. He was afraid his heart would burst.
The pain in his side was as keen as a knife thrust. His feet were lead.
Every rod he felt must be his last, yet spurred on desperately, and
he managed to keep at the heels of the others. It might kill him,
but he would not stop until he dropped. Raymond was wagging along
ready to fall any moment, and Weir was trotting slowly with head down.
On the last lap of the fifth mile they all stopped as by one accord.
Raymond fell on the grass; Ken staggered to a bench, and Weir leaned
hard against the fence. They were all blowing like porpoises and
regarded each other as mortal enemies. Weir gazed grandly at the
other two; Raymond glowered savagely at him and then at Ken; and
Ken in turn gave them withering glances. Without a word the three
contestants for a place on the varsity then went their several ways.
VI
OUT ON THE FIELD
When Ken presented himself at the cage on the following Monday it was
to find that Arthurs had weeded out all but fifty of the candidates.
Every afternoon for a week the coach put these players through batting
and sliding practice, then ordered them out to run around the track.
On the next Monday only twenty-five players were left, and as the number
narrowed down the work grew more strenuous, the rivalry keener, and the
tempers of the boys more irascible.
Ken discovered it was work and not by any means pleasant work. He
fortified himself by the thought that the pleasure and glory, the
real play, was all to come as a reward. Worry Arthurs drove them
relentlessly. Nothing suited him; not a player knew how to hold a
bat, to stand at the plate, to slide right, or to block a ground ball.
"Don't hit with your left hand on top--unless you're left-handed.
Don't grip the end of the bat. There! Hold steady now, step out and
into the ball, and swing clean and level. If you're afraid of bein'
hit by the ball, get out of here!"
It was plain to Ken that not the least of Arthurs' troubles was the
incessant gibing of the students on the platform. There was always a
crowd watching the practice, noisy, scornful, abusive. They would never
recover from the shock of having that seasoned champion varsity barred
out of athletics. Every once in a while one of them would yell out:
"Wait, Worry! oh! Worry, wait till the old varsity plays your yanigans!"
And every time the coach's face would burn. But he had ceased to talk
back to the students. Besides, the athletic directors were always
present. They mingled with the candidates and talked baseball to them
and talked to Arthurs. Some of them might have played ball once, but
they did not talk like it. Their advice and interference served only
to make the coach's task harder.
Another Monday found only twenty players in the squad. That day Arthurs
tried out catchers, pitchers, and infielders. He had them all throwing,
running, fielding, working like Trojans. They would jump at his yell,
dive after the ball, fall over it, throw it anywhere but in the right
direction, run wild, and fight among themselves. The ever-flowing
ridicule from the audience was anything but a stimulus. So much of
it coming from the varsity and their adherents kept continually in the
minds of the candidates their lack of skill, their unworthiness to
represent the great university in such a popular sport as baseball. So
that even if there were latent ability in any of the candidates no one
but the coach could see it. And often he could not conceal his disgust
and hopelessness.
"Battin' practice!" he ordered, sharply. "Two hits and a bunt to-day.
Get a start on the bunt and dig for first. Hustle now!"
He placed one player to pitch to the hitters, another to catch, and as
soon as the hitters had their turn they took to fielding. Two turns for
each at bat left the coach more than dissatisfied.
"You're all afraid of the ball," he yelled. "This ain't no dodgin' game.
Duck your nut if the ball's goin' to hit you, but stop lookin' for it.
Forget it. Another turn now. I'm goin' to umpire. Let's see if you know
the difference between a ball and a strike."
He changed the catcher and, ordering Ken to the pitcher's box, he
stepped over behind him. "Peg," he said, speaking low, "you're not
tryin' for pitcher, I know, but you've got speed and control and I
want you to peg 'em a few. Mind now, easy with your arm. By that
I mean hold in, don't whip it. And you peg 'em as near where I say
as you can; see?"
As the players, one after another, faced the box, the coach kept saying
to Ken: "Drive that fellow away from the plate... give this one a low
ball... now straight over the pan. Say, Peg, you've got a nice ball
there... put a fast one under this fellow's chin."
"Another turn, now, boys!" he yelled. "I tell you--_stand up to the
plate!_" Then he whispered to Ken. "Hit every one of 'em! Peg 'em now,
any place."
"Hit them?" asked Ken, amazed.
"That's what I said."
"But--Mr. Arthurs--"
"See here, Peg. Don't talk back to me. Do as I say. We'll peg a little
nerve into this bunch. Now I'll go back of the plate and make a bluff."
Arthurs went near to the catcher's position. Then he said: "Now,
fellows, Ward's pretty wild and I've told him to speed up a few.
Stand right up and step into 'em."
The first batter was Weir. Ken swung easily and let drive. Straight as
a string the ball sped for the batter. Like a flash he dropped flat in
the dust and the ball just grazed him. It was a narrow escape. Weir
jumped up, his face flaring, his hair on end, and he gazed hard at Ken
before picking up the bat.
"Batter up!" ordered the coach. "Do you think this's a tea-party?"
Weir managed by quick contortions to get through his time at bat
without being hit. Three players following him were not so lucky.
"Didn't I say he was wild?" yelled the coach. "Batter up, now!"
The next was little Raymond. He came forward cautiously, eying Ken
with disapproval. Ken could not resist putting on a little more steam,
and the wind of the first ball whipped off Raymond's green cap. Raymond
looked scared and edged away from the plate, and as the second ball
came up he stepped wide with his left foot.
"Step into the ball," said the coach. "Don't pull away. Step in or
you'll never hit."
The third ball cracked low down on Raymond's leg.
"Oh!--Oh!--Oh!" he howled, beginning to hop and hobble about the cage.
"Next batter!" called out Arthurs.
And so it went on until the most promising player in the cage came to
bat. This was Graves, a light-haired fellow, tall, built like a wedge.
He had more confidence than any player in the squad and showed up well
in all departments of the game. Moreover, he was talky, aggressive,
and more inclined to be heard and felt. He stepped up and swung his
bat at Ken.
"You wild freshman! If you hit me!" he cried.
Ken Ward had not fallen in love with any of his rivals for places on
the team, but he especially did not like Graves. He did not stop to
consider the reason of it at the moment, still he remembered several
tricks Graves had played, and he was not altogether sorry for the
coach's order. Swinging a little harder, Ken threw straight at Graves.
"_Wham!_" The ball struck him fair on the hip. Limping away from
the plate he shook his fist at Ken.
"Batter up!" yelled Arthurs. "A little more speed now, Peg. You see it
ain't nothin' to get hit. Why, that's in the game. It don't hurt much.
I never cared when I used to get hit. Batter up!"
Ken sent up a very fast ball, on the outside of the plate. The batter
swung wide, and the ball, tipping the bat, glanced to one side and
struck Arthurs in the stomach with a deep sound.
Arthurs' round face went red; he gurgled and gasped for breath; he was
sinking to his knees when the yelling and crowing of the students on
the platform straightened him up. He walked about a few minutes, then
ordered sliding practice.
The sliding-board was brought out. It was almost four feet wide and
twenty long and covered with carpet.
"Run hard, boys, and don't let up just before you slide. Keep your
speed and dive. Now at it!"
A line of players formed down the cage. The first one dashed forward
and plunged at the board, hitting it with a bang. The carpet was
slippery and he slid off and rolled in the dust. The second player
leaped forward and, sliding too soon, barely reached the board. One
by one the others followed.
"Run fast now!" yelled the coach. "Don't flinch.... Go down hard
and slide... light on your hands... keep your heads up... slide!"
This feature of cage-work caused merriment among the onlookers. That
sliding-board was a wonderful and treacherous thing. Most players slid
off it as swift as a rocket. Arthurs kept them running so fast and so
close together that at times one would shoot off the board just as the
next would strike it. They sprawled on the ground, rolled over, and
rooted in the dust. One skinned his nose on the carpet; another slid
the length of the board on his ear. All the time they kept running and
sliding, the coach shouted to them, and the audience roared with laughter.
But it was no fun for the sliders. Raymond made a beautiful slide, and
Graves was good, but all the others were ludicrous.
It was a happy day for Ken, and for all the candidates, when the coach
ordered them out on the field. This was early in March. The sun was
bright, the frost all out of the ground, and a breath of spring was in
the air. How different it was from the cold, gloomy cage! Then the mocking
students, although more in evidence than before, were confined to the
stands and bleachers, and could not so easily be heard. But the presence
of the regular varsity team, practising at the far end of Grant Field,
had its effect on the untried players.