and all vicious-bounding grounders. To and fro Ken ran, managing somehow
to get some portion of his anatomy in front of the ball. It had become
a demon to him now and he hated it. His tongue was hanging out, his
breast was bursting, his hands were numb, yet he held before him the
one idea to keep fiercely trying.
He lost count of the runs after eleven had been scored. He saw McCord and
Raymond trying to stem the torrent of right-field hits, but those they
knocked down gave him no time to recover. He blocked the grass-cutters
with his knees or his body and pounced upon the ball and got it away from
him as quickly as possible. Would this rapid fire of uncertain-bounding
balls never stop? Ken was in a kind of frenzy. If he only had time to
catch his breath!
Then Dreer was at bat again. He fouled the first two balls over the
grand-stand. Some one threw out a brand-new ball. Farther and farther
Ken edged into deep right. He knew what was coming. "Let him--hit it!"
he panted. "I'll try to get it! This day settles me. I'm no outfielder.
But I'll try!"
The tired pitcher threw the ball and Dreer seemed to swing and bound at
once with the ringing crack. The hit was one of his famous drives close
to the right-field foul-line.
Ken was off with all the speed left in him. He strained every nerve
and was going fast when he passed the foul-flag. The bleachers loomed
up indistinct in his sight. But he thought only of meeting the ball.
The hit was a savage liner, curving away from him. Cinders under his
flying feet were a warning that he did not heed. He was on the track.
He leaped into the air, left hand outstretched, and felt the ball
strike in his glove.
Then all was dark in a stunning, blinding crash--
VIII
EXAMINATIONS
When Ken Ward came fully to his senses he was being half carried
and half led across the diamond to the players' bench. He heard
Worry Arthurs say: "He ain't hurt much--only butted into the fence."
Ken tried manfully to entertain Worry's idea about it, but he was too
dazed and weak to stand alone. He imagined he had broken every bone in
his body.
"Did I make the catch--hang to the ball?" he asked.
"No, Peg, you didn't," replied the coach, kindly. "But you made a grand
try for it."
He felt worse over failing to hold the ball than he felt over half
killing himself against the bleachers. He spent the remainder of
that never-to-be-forgotten game sitting on the bench. But to watch
his fellow-players try to play was almost as frightful as being
back there in right field. It was no consolation for Ken to see
his successor chasing long hits, misjudging flies, failing weakly
on wicked grounders. Even Graves weakened toward the close and
spoiled his good beginning by miserable fumbles and throws. It was
complete and disgraceful rout. The varsity never let up until the
last man was out. The team could not have played harder against
Place or Herne. Arthurs called the game at the end of the sixth
inning with the score 41 to 0.
Many beaten and despondent players had dragged themselves off Grant
Field in bygone years. But none had ever been so humiliated, so crushed.
No player spoke a word or looked at another. They walked off with bowed
heads. Ken lagged behind the others; he was still stunned and lame.
Presently Arthurs came back to help him along, and did not speak until
they were clear of the campus and going down Ken's street.
"I'm glad that's over," said Worry. "I kicked against havin' the game,
but 'em fat-head directors would have it. Now we'll be let alone. There
won't be no students comin' out to the field, and I'm blamed glad."
Ken was sick and smarting with pain, and half crying.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Arthurs," he faltered, "we were--so--so--rotten!"
"See here, Peg," was the quick reply, "that cuts no ice with me. It was
sure the rottenest exhibition I ever seen in my life. But there's excuses,
and you can just gamble I'm the old boy who knows. You kids were scared
to death. What hurts me, Peg, is the throw-down we got from my old team
and from the students. We're not to blame for rules made by fat-head
directors. I was surprised at Dale. He was mean, and so were Hollis and
Hickle--all of 'em. They didn't need to disgrace us like that."
"Oh, Mr. Arthurs, what players they are!" exclaimed Ken. "I never saw
such running, such hitting. You said they'd hit to right field like
bullets, but it was worse than bullets. And Dreer!... When he came up
my heart just stopped beating."
"Peg, listen," said Worry. "Three years ago when Dreer came out on the
field he was greener than you, and hadn't half the spunk. I made him
what he is, and I made all of 'em--I made that team, and I can make
another."
"You are just saying that to--to encourage me," replied Ken, hopelessly.
"I can't play ball. I thought I could, but I know now. I'll never go
out on the field again."
"Peg, are you goin' to throw me down, too?"
"Mr. Arthurs! I--I--"
"Listen, Peg. Cut out the dumps. Get over 'em. You made the varsity
to-day. Understand? You earned your big W. You needn't mention it,
but I've picked you to play somewhere. You weren't a natural infielder,
and you didn't make much of a showin' in the outfield. But it's the
spirit I want. To-day was a bad day for a youngster. There's always
lots of feelin' about college athletics, but here at Wayne this year
the strain's awful. And you fought yourself and stage-fright and the
ridicule of 'em quitter students. You _tried_, Peg! I never saw a gamer
try. You didn't fail me. And after you made that desperate run and
tried to smash the bleachers with your face the students shut up their
guyin'. It made a difference, Peg. Even the varsity was a little ashamed.
Cheer up, now!"
Ken was almost speechless; he managed to mumble something, at which
the coach smiled in reply and then walked rapidly away. Ken limped
to his room and took off his baseball suit. The skin had been peeled
from his elbow, and his body showed several dark spots that Ken knew
would soon be black-and-blue bruises. His legs from his knees down
bore huge lumps so sore to the touch that Ken winced even at gentle
rubbing. But he did not mind the pain. All the darkness seemed to have
blown away from his mind.
"What a fine fellow Worry is!" said Ken. "How I'll work for him! I
must write to brother Hal and Dick Leslie, to tell them I've made
the varsity.... No, not yet; Worry said not to mention it.... And
now to plug. I'll have to take my exams before the first college
game, April 8th, and that's not long."
In the succeeding days Ken was very busy with attendance at college in
the mornings, baseball practice in the afternoons, and study at night.
If Worry had picked any more players for the varsity, Ken could not
tell who they were. Of course Graves would make the team, and Weir and
Raymond were pretty sure of places. There were sixteen players for the
other five positions, and picking them was only guesswork. It seemed
to Ken that some of the players showed streaks of fast playing at times,
and then as soon as they were opposed to one another in the practice
game they became erratic. His own progress was slow. One thing he could
do that brought warm praise from the coach--he could line the ball home
from deep outfield with wonderful speed and accuracy.
After the varsity had annihilated Worry's "kids," as they had come to
be known, the students showed no further interest. When they ceased
to appear on the field the new players were able to go at their practice
without being ridiculed. Already an improvement had been noticeable.
But rivalry was so keen for places, and the coach's choice so deep a
mystery, that the contestants played under too great a tension, and
school-boys could have done better.
It was on the first of April that Arthurs took Ken up into College Hall
to get permission for him to present himself to the different professors
for the early examinations. While Ken sat waiting in the office he heard
Arthurs talking to men he instantly took to be the heads of the Athletic
Association. They were in an adjoining room with the door open, and their
voices were very distinct, so that Ken could not help hearing.
"Gentlemen, I want my answer to-day," said the coach.
"Is there so great a hurry? Wait a little," was the rejoinder.
"I'm sorry, but this is April 1st, and I'll wait no longer. I'm ready
to send some of my boys up for early exams, and I want to know where
I stand."
"Arthurs, what is it exactly that you want? Things have been in an
awful mess, we know. State your case and we'll try to give you a
definite answer."
"I want full charge of the coachin'--the handlin' of the team, as I
always had before. I don't want any grad coaches. The directors seem
divided, one half want this, the other half that. They've cut out the
trainin' quarters. I've had no help from Murray; no baths or rub-downs
or trainin' for my candidates. Here's openin' day a week off and I
haven't picked my team. I want to take them to the trainin'-table and
have them under my eye all the time. If I can't have what I want I'll
resign. If I can I'll take the whole responsibility of the team on my
own shoulders."
"Very well, Arthurs, we'll let you go ahead and have full charge. There
has been talk this year of abolishing a private training-house and table
for this green varsity. But rather than have you resign we'll waive that.
You can rest assured from now on you will not be interfered with. Give
us the best team you can under the circumstances. There has been much
dissension among the directors and faculty because of our new eligibility
rules. It has stirred everybody up, and the students are sore. Then
there has been talk of not having a professional coach this year, but
we overruled that in last night's meeting. We're going to see what you
can do. I may add, Arthurs, if you shape up a varsity this year that makes
any kind of a showing against Place and Herne you will win the eternal
gratitude of the directors who have fostered this change in athletics.
Otherwise I'm afraid the balance of opinion will favor the idea of
dispensing with professional coaches in the future."
Ken saw that Arthurs was white in the face when he left the room. They
went out together, and Worry handed Ken a card that read for him to take
his examinations at once.
"Are you up on 'em?" asked the coach, anxiously.
"I--I think so," replied Ken.
"Well, Peg, good luck to you! Go at 'em like you went at Dreer's hit."
Much to his amazement it was for Ken to discover that, now the time had
come for him to face his examinations, he was not at all sanguine. He
began to worry. He forgot about the text-books he had mastered in his
room during the long winter when he feared to venture out because of
the sophomores. It was not very long till he had worked himself into a
state somewhat akin to his trepidation in the varsity ball game. Then
he decided to go up at once and have it done with. His whole freshman
year had been one long agony. What a relief to have it ended!
Ken passed four examinations in one morning, passed them swimmingly,
smilingly, splendidly, and left College Hall in an ecstasy. Things
were working out fine. But he had another examination, and it was in
a subject he had voluntarily included in his course. Whatever on earth
he had done it for he could not now tell. The old doctor who held the
chair in that department had thirty years before earned the name of Crab.
And slowly in the succeeding years he had grown crabbier, crustier, so
student rumor had it. Ken had rather liked the dry old fellow, and had
been much absorbed in his complex lectures, but he had never been near
him, and now the prospect changed color. Foolishly Ken asked a sophomore
in what light old Crab might regard a student who was ambitious to pass
his exams early. The picture painted by that sophomore would have made
a flaming-mouthed dragon appear tame. Nerving himself to the ordeal, Ken
took his card and presented himself one evening at the doctor's house.
A maid ushered him into the presence of a venerable old man who did not
look at all, even in Ken's distorted sight, like a crab or a dragon. His
ponderous brow seemed as if it had all the thought in the world behind
it. He looked over huge spectacles at Ken's card and then spoke in a dry,
quavering voice.
"Um-m. Sit down, Mr. Ward."
Ken found his breath and strangely lost his fear and trembling. The doctor
dryly asked him why he thought he knew more than the other students, who
were satisfied to wait months longer before examination. Ken hastened to
explain that it was no desire of his; that, although he had studied hard
and had not missed many lectures, he knew he was unprepared. Then he went
on to tell about the baseball situation and why he had been sent up.
"Um-m." The professor held a glass paperweight up before Ken and asked
a question about it. Next he held out a ruler and asked something about
that, and also a bottle of ink. Following this he put a few queries
about specific gravity, atomic weight, and the like. Then he sat
thrumming his desk and appeared far away in thought. After a while
he turned to Ken with a smile that made his withered, parchment-like
face vastly different.
"Where do you play?" he asked.
"S-sir?" stammered Ken.
"In baseball, I mean. What place do you play? Catch? Thrower? I don't
know the names much."
Ken replied eagerly, and then it seemed he was telling this stern old
man all about baseball. He wanted to know what fouls were, and how to
steal bases, and he was nonplussed by such terms as "hit-and-run." Ken
discoursed eloquently on his favorite sport, and it was like a kind of
dream to be there. Strange things were always happening to him.
"I've never seen a game," said the professor. "I used to play myself
long ago, when we had a yarn ball and pitched underhand. I'll have to
come out to the field some day. President Halstead, why, he likes
baseball, he's a--a--what do you call it?"
"A fan--a rooter?" replied Ken, smiling.
"Um-m. I guess that's it. Well, Mr. Ward, I'm glad to meet you. You may
go now."
Ken got up blushing like a girl. "But, Doctor, you were to--I was to be
examined."
"I've examined you," he drawled, with a dry chuckle, and he looked over
his huge spectacles at Ken. "I'll give you a passing mark. But, Mr. Ward,
you know a heap more about baseball than you know about physics."
As Ken went out he trod upon air. What a splendid old fellow! The sophomore
had lied. For that matter, when had a sophomore ever been known to tell
the truth? But, he suddenly exclaimed, he himself was no longer a freshman.
He pondered happily on the rosy lining to his old cloud of gloom. How
different things appeared after a little time. That old doctor's smile
would linger long in Ken's memory. He felt deep remorse that he had ever
misjudged him. He hurried on to Worry Arthurs' house to tell him the good
news. And as he walked his mind was full with the wonder of it all--his
lonely, wretched freshman days, now forever past; the slow change from
hatred; the dawning of some strange feeling for the college and his
teachers; and, last, the freedom, the delight, the quickening stir in
the present.
IX
PRESIDENT HALSTEAD ON COLLEGE SPIRIT
Wayne's opening game was not at all what Ken had dreamed it would be.
The opposing team from Hudson School was as ill-assorted an aggregation
as Ken had ever seen. They brought with them a small but noisy company
of cheering supporters who, to the shame of Ken and his fellows, had
the bleachers all to themselves. If any Wayne students were present
they either cheered for Hudson or remained silent.
Hudson won, 9 to 2. It was a game that made Arthurs sag a little lower
on the bench. Graves got Wayne's two tallies. Raymond at second played
about all the game from the fielding standpoint. Ken distinguished
himself by trying wildly and accomplishing nothing. When he went to
his room that night he had switched back to his former spirits, and
was disgusted with Wayne's ball team, himself most of all.
That was on a Wednesday. The next day rain prevented practice, and on
Friday the boys were out on the field again. Arthurs shifted the players
around, trying resignedly to discover certain positions that might fit
certain players. It seemed to Ken that all the candidates, except one
or two, were good at fielding and throwing, but when they came to play
a game they immediately went into a trance.
Travers College was scheduled for Saturday. They had always turned out
a good minor team, but had never been known to beat Wayne. They shut
Arthurs' team out without a run. A handful of Wayne students sat in the
bleachers mocking their own team. Arthurs used the two pitchers he had
been trying hard to develop, and when they did locate the plate they
were hit hard. Ken played or essayed to play right field for a while,
but he ran around like a chicken with its head off, as a Travers player
expressed it, and then Arthurs told him that he had better grace the
bench the rest of the game. Ashamed as Ken was to be put out, he was
yet more ashamed to feel that he was glad of it. Hardest of all to bear
was the arrogant air put on by the Travers College players. Wayne had
indeed been relegated to the fifth rank of college baseball teams.
On Monday announcements were made in all the lecture-rooms and departments
of the university, and bulletins were posted to the effect, that President
Halstead wished to address the undergraduates in the Wayne auditorium
on Tuesday at five o'clock.
Rumor flew about the campus and Carlton Club, everywhere, that the
president's subject would be "College Spirit," and it was believed he
would have something to say about the present condition of athletics.
Ken Ward hurried to the hall as soon as he got through his practice. He
found the immense auditorium packed from pit to dome, and he squeezed
into a seat on the steps.
The students, as always, were exchanging volleys of paper-balls,
matching wits, singing songs, and passing time merrily. When
President Halstead entered, with two of his associates, he was
greeted by a thunder of tongues, hands, and heels of the standing
students. He was the best-beloved member of the university faculty,
a distinguished, scholarly looking man, well-stricken in years.
He opened his address by declaring the need of college spirit in college
life. He defined it as the vital thing, the heart of a great educational
institution, and he went on to speak of its dangers, its fluctuations.
Then he made direct reference to athletics in its relation to both
college spirit and college life.
"Sport is too much with us. Of late years I have observed a great increase
in the number of athletic students, and a great decrease in scholarship.
The fame of the half-back and the short-stop and the stroke-oar has grown
out of proportion to their real worth. The freshman is dazzled by it. The
great majority of college men cannot shine in sport, which is the best
thing that could be. The student's ideal, instead of being the highest
scholarship, the best attainment for his career, is apt to be influenced
by the honors and friendships that are heaped upon the great athlete.
This is false to university life. You are here to prepare yourselves
for the battle with the world, and I want to state that that battle is
becoming more and more intellectual. The student who slights his studies
for athletic glory may find himself, when that glory is long past,
distanced in the race for success by a student who had not trained to
run the hundred in ten seconds.
"But, gentlemen, to keep well up in your studies and _then_ go in for
athletics--that is entirely another question. It is not likely that
any student who keeps to the front in any of the university courses
will have too much time for football or baseball. I am, as you all
know, heartily in favor of all branches of college sport. And that
brings me to the point I want to make to-day. Baseball is my favorite
game, and I have always been proud of Wayne's teams. The new eligibility
rules, with which you are all familiar, were brought to me, and after
thoroughly going over the situation I approved of them. Certainly it is
obvious to you all that a university ball-player making himself famous
here, and then playing during the summer months at a resort, is laying
himself open to suspicion. I have no doubt that many players are innocent
of the taint of professionalism, but unfortunately they have become
members of these summer teams after being first requested, then warned,
not to do so.
"Wayne's varsity players of last year have been barred by the directors.
They made their choice, and so should abide by it. They have had their
day, and so should welcome the opportunity of younger players. But I
am constrained to acknowledge that neither they nor the great body of
undergraduates welcomed the change. This, more than anything, proves to
me the evil of championship teams. The football men, the baseball men,
the crew men, and all the student supporters want to win _all_ the games
_all_ the time. I would like to ask you young gentlemen if you can take
a beating? If you cannot, I would like to add that you are not yet fitted
to go out into life. A good beating, occasionally, is a wholesome thing.
"Well, to come to the point now: I find, after studying the situation,
that the old varsity players and undergraduates of this university have
been lacking in--let us be generous and say, college spirit. I do not
need to go into detail; suffice it to say that I know. I will admit,
however, that I attended the game between the old varsity and the new
candidates. I sat unobserved in a corner, and a more unhappy time I
never spent in this university. I confess that my sympathies were with
the inexperienced, undeveloped boys who were trying to learn to play
ball. _Put yourselves in their places._ Say you are mostly freshmen,
and you make yourselves candidates for the team because you love the
game, and because you would love to bring honor to your college. You
go out and try. You meet, the first day, an implacable team of skilled
veterans who show their scorn of your poor ability, their hatred of
your opportunity, and ride roughshod--I should say, run with spiked
shoes--over you. You hear the roar of four thousand students applauding
these hero veterans. You hear your classmates, your fellow-students in
Wayne, howl with ridicule at your weak attempts to compete with better,
stronger players.... Gentlemen, how would you feel?
"I said before that college spirit fluctuates. If I did not know students
well I would be deeply grieved at the spirit shown that day. I know that
the tide will turn.... And, gentlemen, would not you and the old varsity
be rather in an embarrassing position if--if these raw recruits should
happen to develop into a team strong enough to cope with Place and Herne?
Stranger things have happened. I am rather strong for the new players,
not because of their playing, which is poor indeed, but for the way they
_tried_ under peculiarly adverse conditions.
"That young fellow Ward--what torture that inning of successive hard
hits to his territory! I was near him in that end of the bleachers,
and I watched him closely. Every attempt he made was a failure--that
is, failure from the point of view of properly fielding the ball. But,
gentlemen, that day was not a failure for young Ward. It was a grand
success. Some one said his playing was the poorest exhibition ever seen
on Grant Field. That may be. I want to say that to my mind it was also
the most splendid effort ever made on Grant Field. For it was made against
defeat, fear, ridicule. It was elimination of self. It was made for his
coach, his fellow-players, his college--that is to say, for the students
who shamed themselves by scorn for his trial.
"Young men of Wayne, give us a little more of such college spirit!"
X
NEW PLAYERS
When practice time rolled around for Ken next day, he went upon the
field once more with his hopes renewed and bright.
"I certainly do die hard," he laughed to himself. "But I can never go
down and out now--never!"
Something seemed to ring in Ken's ears like peals of bells. In spite of
his awkwardness Coach Arthurs had made him a varsity man; in spite of his
unpreparedness old Crab had given him a passing mark; in spite of his
unworthiness President Halstead had made him famous.