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."
"I remember them all," replied Ken. "That's Gallagher on the end of
the bench; Burr is third from him; Stern's fussing over the bats, and
there's Hill, the light-headed fellow, looking this way. There's--"
"That'll do," said Worry. "There goes the gong. It's all off now.
Homans has chosen to take the field. I guess mebbe you won't show
'em how to pitch a new white ball! Get at 'em now!" Then he called
Ken back as if impelled, and whispered to him in a husky voice:
"It's been tough for you and for me. Listen! Here's where it begins
to be sweet."
Ken trotted out to the box, to the encouraging voices of the infield,
and he even caught Reddy Ray's low, thrilling call from the far outfield.
"Play!" With the ringing order, which quieted the audience, the umpire
tossed a white ball to Ken.
For a single instant Ken trembled ever so slightly in all his limbs,
and the stands seemed a revolving black-and-white band. Then the emotion
was as if it had never been. He stepped upon the slab, keen-sighted,
cool, and with his pitching game outlined in his mind.
Burr, the curly-haired leader of Herne's batting list, took his
position to the left of the plate. Ken threw him an underhand curve,
sweeping high and over the inside corner. Burr hit a lofty fly to
Homans. Hill, the bunter, was next. For him Ken shot one straight
over the plate. Hill let it go by, and it was a strike. Ken put
another in the same place, and Hill, attempting to bunt, fouled
a little fly, which Dean caught. Gallagher strode third to bat.
He used a heavy club, stood right-handed over the plate, and looked
aggressive. Ken gave the captain a long study and then swung slowly,
sending up a ball that floated like a feather. Gallagher missed it.
On the second pitch he swung heavily at a slow curve far off the
outside. For a third Ken tried the speedy drop, and the captain,
letting it go, was out on strikes.
The sides changed. Worry threw a sweater around Ken.
"The ice's broke, Peg, and you've got your control. That settles it."
Homans went up, to a wavering ripple of applause. He drew two balls and
then a strike from Murphy, and hit the next hard into short field. Frick
fumbled the ball, recovered it, and threw beautifully, but too late to
catch Homans. Raymond sacrificed, sending his captain to second. Murphy
could not locate the plate for Reddy Ray and let him get to first on
four balls. Weir came next. Homans signed he was going to run on the
first pitch. Weir, hitting with the runner, sent a double into right
field, and Homans and Ray scored. The bleachers cheered. Homans ran
down to third base to the coaching lines, and Ray went to first base.
Both began to coach the runner. Dean hit into short field, and was
thrown out, while Weir reached third on the play.
"Two out, now! Hit!" yelled Homans to Blake.
Blake hit safely over second, scoring Weir. Then Trace flied out to
left field.
"Three runs!" called Homans. "Boys, that's a start! Three more runs
and this game's ours! Now, Peg, now!"
Ken did not need that trenchant thrilling _now_. The look in Worry's
eyes had been enough. He threw speed to Halloway, and on the third ball
retired him, Raymond to McCord. Stern came second to bat. In Ken's mind
this player was recorded with a weakness on low curves. And Ken found
it with two balls pitched. Stern popped up to Blake. Frick, a new player
to Ken, let a strike go by, and missed a drop and a fast ball.
"They can't touch you, Ken," called Raymond, as he tossed aside his glove.
Faint cheers rose from scattered parts of the grand-stand, and here
and there shouts and yells. The audience appeared to stir, to become
animated, and the Herne players settled down to more sober action on
the field.
McCord made a bid for a hit, but failed because of fast work by Stern.
Ken went up, eager to get to first in any way. He let Murphy pitch,
and at last, after fouling several good ones, he earned his base on
balls. Once there, he gave Homans the sign that he would run on the
first pitch, and he got a fair start. He heard the crack of the ball
and saw it glinting between short and third. Running hard, he beat the
throw-in to third. With two runners on bases, Raymond hit to deep short.
Ken went out trying to reach home. Again Reddy Ray came up and got a
base on balls, filling the bases. The crowd began to show excitement,
and seemed to be stifling cheers in suspense. Weir hurried to bat, his
shock of hair waving at every step. He swung hard on the first ball,
and, missing it, whirled down, bothering the catcher. Homans raced home
on a half-passed ball. Then Weir went out on a fly to centre.
"Peg, keep at them!" called Reddy Ray. "We've got Murphy's measure."
It cost Ken an effort to deliberate in the box, to think before he
pitched. He had to fight his eagerness. But he wasted few balls, and
struck Mercer out. Van Sant hit to Weir, who threw wild to first,
allowing the runner to reach third. Murphy, batting next, hit one
which Ken put straight over the plate, and it went safe through second,
scoring Van Sant. The Herne rooters broke out in loud acclaim. Burr
came up, choking his bat up short. Again Ken gave him the high, wide
curve. He let it pass and the umpire called it a strike. Ken threw
another, a little outside this time. Evidently Burr was trying out
Ken's control.
"He can't put them over!" yelled Gallagher, from the coaching line.
"Here's where he goes up! Wait him out, Burr. Good eye, old man!
Here's where we explode the freshman!"
Ken glanced at Gallagher and laughed. Then he sped up another high
curve, which the umpire called a strike.
"That's the place, Peg! Put another there!" floated from Reddy in
the outfield.
Burr swung viciously, hitting a bounder toward second base. Raymond
darted over, went down with his bird-like quickness, came up with the
ball, and then he touched the bag and threw to first. It was a play
in which he excelled. The umpire called both runners out, retiring
the side. A short, sharp yell, like a bark, burst from the bleachers.
Worry was smilingly thoughtful as his boys trotted in to bat.
"Say, if you get a couple of runs this time we'll be _It_. Look at the
students. Ready to fall out of the stands.... Peg, I'm glad Herne got
a run. Now we won't think of a shut-out. That'll steady us up. And,
boys, break loose now, for the game's ours."
Dean started off with a clean single. On the first pitch he broke for
second, and had to slide to make it, as Blake missed the strike. Then
Blake went out to first. Trace walked. McCord poked a little fly over
the infield, scoring Dean. Ken fouled out. The unerring Homans again
hit safely, sending Trace in. With two out and McCord on third and
Homans on second, Raymond laid down a beautiful bunt, tallying McCord.
And when the Herne catcher tried to head Homans from making third
Raymond kept on toward second. It was a daring dash, and he dove to
the bag with a long slide, but the decision was against him.
The coach called Homans, Ward, and Ray to him and gathered them
close together.
"Boys, listen!" he said, low and tense. "MacNeff and Prince, of Place,
are in the grand-stand just behind the plate. They're up there to get
a line on Peg. We'll fool 'em, and make 'em sick in the bargain. Peg,
you let out this innin' and show up the first three hitters. Then I'll
take you out and let Schoonover finish the game. See?"
"Take me--out?" echoed Ken.
"That's it, if you make these next three hitters look like monkeys.
Don't you see? We've got the Herne game cinched. We don't need to use
our star twirler. See? That'll be a bone for Place to chew on. How
about it, Cap? What do you think, Reddy?"
"Oh, Worry, if we dared to do it!" Homans exclaimed, under his breath.
"Herne would never get over it. And it would scare Place to death....
But, Worry, Reddy, dare we risk it?"
"It's playin' into our very hands," replied Worry. His hazel eyes
were afire with inspiration.
Reddy Ray's lean jaw bulged.
"Homans, it's the trick, and we can turn it."
"What's the score--7 to 1?" muttered Homans. It was a tight place
for him, and he seemed tortured between ambition and doubt.
"That fellow Murphy hasn't got one in my groove yet," said Reddy.
"I'm due to lace one. We're good for more runs."
That decided Homans. He patted Ken on the shoulder and led him out to
the box, but he never spoke a word.
Ken felt like a wild colt just let loose. He faced Hill with a smile,
and then, taking his long, overhand swing, he delivered the jump ball.
Hill made no move. The umpire called strike. The crowd roared. Ken
duplicated the feat. Then Hill missed the third strike. Gallagher
walked up doggedly, and Ken smiled at him, too. Then using three
wicked, darting drops, Ken struck Gallagher out.
"That's twice!" called Reddy's penetrating voice from the outfield.
"Give him a paddle!"
Halloway drew two balls and then three strikes.
Ken ran for the bench amid an uproar most strange and startling to his
untried ear. The long, tardy, and stubborn students had broken their
silence.
Dale leaped out of the grand-stand to lead the cheering. The giant
Stevens came piling out of the bleachers to perform a like office.
And then they were followed by Bryan, captain of the crew, and
Hilbrandt, captain of the track team. Four captains of Wayne teams
inspiriting and directing the cheering! Ken's bewildered ears drank
in one long, thundering "_Ward! Ward! Ward!_" and then his hearing
seemed drowned. The whole mass of students and spectators rose as
one, and the deafening stamp of feet only equalled the roar of voices.
But now the volume of sound was regular and rhythmic. It was like the
approach of a terrible army. For minutes, while the umpire held play
suspended, the Wayne supporters in hoarse and stamping tumult came
into their own again. It was a wild burst of applause, and as it had
been long delayed, so now it was prolonged fiercely to the limit of
endurance.
When those waves of sound had rolled away Ken Ward felt a difference
in Grant Field, in the varsity, in himself. A different color shone
from the sky.
Ken saw Reddy Ray go to bat and drive the ball against the right-field
fence. Then as the sprinter got into his wonderful stride once more the
whole audience rose in yelling, crashing clamor. And when on Weir's fly
to the outfield Reddy raced in to the plate, making the throw-in look
feeble, again the din was terrific.
As one in a glorious dream, Ken Ward crouched upon the bench and watched
the remainder of that game. He grasped it all as if baseball was all that
made life worth living, and as if every moment was his last. He never
thought of himself. He was only a part of the team, and that team,
every moment, grew sharper, faster, fiercer. He revelled in the game.
Schoonover was hit hard, but fast play by Raymond and Weir kept Herne's
score down. The little second-baseman was here, there, everywhere, like
a glint of light. Herne made runs, but Wayne also kept adding runs.
Blake caught a foul fly off the bleachers; Trace made a beautiful catch;
McCord was like a tower at first base, and little Dean went through the
last stages of development that made him a star.
Once in the eighth inning Ken became aware that Worry was punching
him in the back and muttering:
"Look out, Peg! Listen! Murphy'll get one in Reddy's groove this
time.... Oh-h!"
The crack of the ball, as well as Worry's yell, told Ken what had
happened. Besides, he could see, and as the ball lined away for the
fence, and the sprinter leaped into action, Ken jumped up and screamed:
"Oh, Reddy, it's over--over! No! Run! Run! Oh-h-h!"
In the shrill, piercing strife of sound Ken's scream seemed only a
breath at his ears. He held to it, almost splitting his throat, while
the sprinter twinkled round third base and came home like a thunderbolt.
Another inning passed, a confusion of hits, throws, runs, and plays
to Ken, and then Worry was pounding him again.
"Dig for the trainin'-house!" yelled Worry, mouth on his ear.
"The students are crazy! They'll eat us alive! They're tearin'
the bleachers down! Run for it, Peg!"
XV
A MATTER OF PRINCIPLE
Ken found himself running across Grant Field, pursued by a happy,
roaring mob of students. They might have been Indians, judging from
the way Ken and his fellow-players fled before them. The trained
athletes distanced their well-meaning but violent pursuers and gained
the gate, but it was a close shave. The boys bounded up the street
into the training-house and locked the door till the puffing Arthurs
arrived. They let him in and locked the door again.
In another moment the street resounded with the rush of many feet
and the yells of frantic students. Murray, the trainer, forced a way
through the crowd and up the stoop. He closed and barred the outside
door, and then pounded upon the inside door for admittance. Worry
let him in.
"They'd make a bowl-fight or a football rush look tame," panted Murray.
"Hey! Scotty--lock up tight down in the basement. For Heaven's sake
don't let that push get in on us! Lock the windows in the front."
"Who's that poundin' on the door?" yelled Worry. He had to yell,
for the swelling racket outside made ordinary conversation impossible.
"Don't open it!" shouted Murray. "What do we care for team-captains,
college professors, athletic directors, or students? They're all out
there, and they're crazy, I tell you. I never saw the like. It'd be
more than I want to get in that jam. And it'd never do for the varsity.
Somebody would get crippled sure. I'm training this baseball team."
Murray, in his zealous care of his athletes, was somewhat overshooting
the mark, for not one of the boys had the slightest desire to be trusted
to the mob outside. In fact, Ken looked dazed, and Raymond scared to the
point of trembling; Trace was pale; and all the others, except Homans
and Reddy Ray, showed perturbation. Nor were the captain and sprinter
deaf to the purport of that hour; only in their faces shone a kindling
glow and flush.
By-and-by the boys slipped to their rooms, removed their uniforms,
dressed and crept down-stairs like burglars and went in to dinner.
Outside the uproar, instead of abating, gathered strength as time
went by. At the dinner-table the boys had to yell in each other's
ears. They had to force what they ate. No one was hungry. When Worry
rose from the table they all flocked after him.
It was growing dark outside, and a red glow, brightening upon
the windows, showed the students had lighted bonfires.
"They're goin' to make a night of it," yelled Worry.
"How'll my boys be able to sleep?" shouted Murray. Both coach
and trainer were as excited as any of the boys.
"The street's packed solid. Listen!"
The tramp, tramp, tramp of thousands of feet keeping time was like the
heavy tread of a marching multitude. Then the tramp died away in a
piercing cheer, "_Wayne!_" nine times, clear and sustained--a long,
beautiful college cheer. In the breathing spell that followed, the
steady tramp of feet went on. One by one, at intervals, the university
yells were given, the broken rattling rally, the floating melodious
crew cheer, and the hoarse, smashing boom of football. Then again
the inspiriting "_Wayne!_" nine times. After that came shrill calls
for the varsity, for Homans, Reddy Ray, Raymond, and Peggie Ward.
"Come up-stairs to the windows, boys!" shouted Worry. "We've got
to show ourselves."
Worry threw up the windows in Weir's room, and the boys gingerly poked
their heads out. A roar greeted their appearance. The heads all popped
in as if they had been struck.
"Homans, you'll have to make a speech," cried the coach.
"I will not!"
"You've got to say somethin'. We can't have this crazy gang out here
all night."
Then Worry and Murray coaxed and led Homans to the window. The captain
leaned out and said something that was unintelligible in the hubbub
without. The crowd cheered him and called for Reddy, Ward, and Raymond.
Worry grasped the second-baseman and shoved him half over the sill.
Raymond would have fallen out but for the coach's strong hold.
"Come on, Peg!" yelled Worry.
"Not on your life!" cried Ken, in affright. He ran away from the
coach, and dived under the bed. But Reddy Ray dragged him out and
to the window, and held him up in the bright bonfire glare. Then he
lifted a hand to silence the roaring crowd.
"Fellows, here he is--Worry's demon, Wayne's pitcher!" called Reddy,
in ringing, far-reaching voice. "Listen! Peggie didn't lose his nerve
when he faced Herne to-day, but he's lost it now. He's lost his voice,
too. But he says for you to go away and save your cheers for this day
two weeks, when we meet Place. Then, he says, you'll have something
to cheer for!"
The crafty sprinter knew how to appeal to the students. All of voice
and strength and enthusiasm left in them went up in a mighty bawl
that rattled the windows and shook the house. They finished with
nine "_Waynes!_" and a long, rousing "_Peggie Ward!_" and then they
went away.
"By George! look here, Peg," said Reddy, earnestly, "they gave you
Wayne's Nine! _Wayne's Nine!_ Do you hear? I never knew a freshman
varsity man to get that cheer."
"You've got to beat Place now, after tellin' 'em you'd do it,"
added Worry.
"But, Worry, I didn't say a word--it was Reddy," replied Ken,
in distress.
"Same thing," rejoined the coach. "Now, boys, let's quiet down and
talk over the game. I won't waste any time jollyin' you. I couldn't
praise you enough if I spent the rest of the season tryin' to. One
and all, by yourselves and in a bunch, you played Herne off their
feet. I'll bet MacNeff and Prince are dizzy figurin' what'll happen
Saturday week. As to the score, why, scores don't mean much to us--"
"What was the score, anyway?" asked Ken.
The boys greeted this with shouts of doubtful laughter, and Worry
glanced with disapproval at his star.
"Peg, you keep me guessin' a lot. But not to know how much we beat
Herne would be more 'n I could stand. On the level, now, don't you
know the score?"
"Fair and square, I don't, Worry. You never would let me think of
how many runs we had or needed. I can count seven--yes, and one more,
that was Reddy's home-run."
"Peg, you must have been up in the air a little; 14 to 4, that's it.
And we didn't take our bat in the last of the ninth."