the job bright and early."
Ken knew he could rely on the chattering of the sparrows in the
woodbine round his window. They always woke him, and this morning
was no exception. It was after six and a soft, balmy breeze blew in.
Ken got up noiselessly and dressed. Raymond snored in blissful
ignorance of the conspiracy. Presently a gentle tapping upon the
door told Ken that Reddy was in the hall. Ken let him in and they
held a whispered consultation.
"Let's see," said Reddy, picking up the sweater. "It's going to be an
all-fired hard job. This sweater's tight. We'll wake him."
"Not on your life!" exclaimed Ken. "Not if we're quick. Now you roll
up the sweater so--and stretch it on your hands--so--and when I lift
Kel up you slip it over his head. It'll be like pie."
The operation was deftly though breathlessly performed, and all it
brought from Raymond was a sleepy: "Aw--lemme sleep," and then he
was gone again.
Ken and Reddy called all the boys, most of whom were in their pajamas,
and Worry and Scotty and Murray, and got them all up-stairs in Raymond's
room. Raymond lay in bed very innocently asleep, and no one would have
suspected that he had not slept in his sweater.
"Well, I'll be dog-goned!" ejaculated Worry, laughing till he cried.
Murray was hugely delighted. These men were as much boys as the boys
they trained.
The roar of laughter awakened Raymond, and he came out of sleep very
languid and drowsy.
"Aw, Ken, lemme sleep s'more."
He opened his eyes and, seeing the room full of boys and men, he looked
bewildered, then suspicious.
"Wull, what do all you guys want?"
"We only came in to see you asleep in your new varsity sweater,"
replied Ken, with charming candor.
At this Raymond discovered the sweater and he leaped out of bed.
"It's a lie! I never slept in it! Somebody jobbed me!
I'll lick him!... It's a lie, I say!"
He began to hop up and down in a black fury. The upper half of him
was swathed in the red sweater; beneath that flapped the end of his
short nightgown; and out of that stuck his thin legs, all knotted
and spotted with honorable bruises won in fielding hard-batted balls.
He made so ludicrous a sight that his visitors roared with laughter.
Raymond threw books, shoes, everything he could lay his hands upon,
and drove them out in confusion.
Saturday seemed a long time in arriving, but at last it came. All
morning the boys kept close under cover of the training-house. Some
one sent them a package of placards. These were round, in the shape
of baseballs. They were in the college colors, the background of which
was a bright red, and across this had been printed in white the words:
"_Peg Ward's Day!_"
"What do you think of that?" cried the boys, with glistening eyes.
But Ken was silent.
Worry came in for lunch and reported that the whole west end of the
city had been placarded.
"The students have had millions of 'em cards printed," said Worry.
"They're everywhere. Murray told me there was a hundred students
tackin' 'em up on the stands and bleachers. They've got 'em on
sticks of wood for pennants for the girls.... 'Peg Ward's Day!'
Well, I guess!"
At two-thirty o'clock the varsity ran upon the field, to the welcoming
though somewhat discordant music of the university band. What the music
lacked in harmony it made up in volume, and as noise appeared to be the
order of the day, it was most appropriate. However, a great booming
cheer from the crowded stands drowned the band.
It was a bright summer day, with the warm air swimming in the thick,
golden light of June, with white clouds sailing across the blue sky.
Grant Field resembled a beautiful crater with short, sloping sides
of white and gold and great splashes of red and dots of black all
encircling a round lake of emerald. Flashes of gray darted across
the green, and these were the Place players in practice. Everywhere
waved and twinkled and gleamed the red-and-white Wayne placards. And
the front of the stands bore wide-reaching bands of these colored cards.
The grand-stand, with its pretty girls and gowns, and waving pennants,
and dark-coated students, resembled a huge mosaic of many colors,
moving and flashing in the sunlight. One stand set apart for the Place
supporters was a solid mass of blue and gold. And opposite to it, in
vivid contrast, was a long circle of bleachers, where five thousand
red-placarded, red-ribboned Wayne students sat waiting to tear the
air into shreds with cheers. Dale and Stevens and Bryan, wearing their
varsity sweaters, strode to and fro on the cinder-path, and each carried
a megaphone. Cheers seemed to lurk in the very atmosphere. A soft, happy,
subdued roar swept around the field. Fun and good-nature and fair-play
and love of college pervaded that hum of many voices. Yet underneath it
all lay a suppressed spirit, a hidden energy, waiting for the battle.
When Wayne had finished a brief, snappy practice, Kern, a National
League umpire, called the game, with Place at bat. Ken Ward walked to
the pitcher's slab amid a prolonged outburst, and ten thousand red cards
bearing his name flashed like mirrors against the sunlight. Then the
crashing Place yell replied in defiance.
Ken surveyed his fellow-players, from whom came low, inspiriting words;
then, facing the batter, Keene, he eyed him in cool speculation, and
swung into supple action.
The game started with a rush. Keene dumped the ball down the third-base
line. Blake, anticipating the play, came rapidly in, and bending while
in motion picked up the ball and made a perfect snap-throw to McCord,
beating Keene by a foot. Prince drove a hot grass-cutter through the
infield, and the Place stand let out shrill, exultant yells. MacNeff
swung powerfully on the first ball, which streaked like a flitting wing
close under his chin. Prince, with a good lead, had darted for second.
It was wonderful how his little, short legs carried him so swiftly. And
his slide was what might have been expected of a famous football player.
He hit the ground and shot into the bag just as Raymond got Dean's
unerring throw too late. Again the Place rooters howled. MacNeff
watched his second strike go by. The third pitch, remorselessly true
to that fatal place, retired him on strikes; and a roll of thunder
pealed from under the Wayne bleachers. Starke struck at the first ball
given him. The Place waiters were not waiting on Ken to-day; evidently
the word had gone out to hit. Ken's beautiful, speedy ball, breast high,
was certainly a temptation. Starke lifted a long, lofty fly far beyond
Homans, who ran and ran, and turned to get it gracefully at his breast.
Worry Arthurs sat stern and intent upon the Wayne bench. "Get that hit
back and go them a run better!" was his sharp order.
The big, loose-jointed Salisbury, digging his foot into the dirt,
settled down and swung laboriously. Homans waited. The pitch was a
strike, and so was the next. But strikes were small matters for the
patient Homans. He drew three balls after that, and then on the next
he hit one of his short, punky safeties through the left side of the
infield. The Wayne crowd accepted it with vigor of hands and feet.
Raymond trotted up, aggressive and crafty. He intended to bunt, and
the Place infield knew it and drew in closer. Raymond fouled one, then
another, making two strikes. But he dumped the next and raced for the
base. Salisbury, big and slow as he was, got the ball and threw Raymond
out. Homans over-ran second, intending to go on, but, halted by Weir's
hoarse coaching, he ran back.
When Reddy Ray stepped out it was to meet a rousing cheer, and then the
thousands of feet went crash! crash! crash! Reddy fouled the first ball
over the grand-stand. Umpire Kern threw out a new one, gleaming white.
The next two pitches were wide; the following one Reddy met with the
short poke he used when hitting to left field. The ball went over
Martin's head, scoring Homans with the first run of the game. That
allowed the confident Wayne crowd to get up and yell long and loud.
Weir fouled out upon the first ball pitched, and Blake, following him,
forced Reddy out at second on an infield hit.
Place tied the score in the second inning on Weir's fumble of Martin's
difficult grounder, a sacrifice by Horton, and Griffith's safe fly back
of second.
With the score tied, the teams blanked inning after inning until the
fifth. Wayne found Salisbury easy to bat, but a Place player was always
in front of the hit. And Place found Peg Ward unsolvable when hits meant
runs. Ken kept up his tireless, swift cannonading over the plate, making
his opponents hit, and when they got a runner on base he extended himself
with the fast raise ball. In the first of the fifth, with two out, Prince
met one of Ken's straight ones hard and fair and drove the ball into
the bleachers for a home-run. That solid blue-and-gold square of Place
supporters suddenly became an insane tossing, screeching mêlée.
The great hit also seemed to unleash the fiery spirit which had waited
its chance. The Wayne players came in for their turn like angry bees.
Trace got a base on balls. Dean sacrificed. Ken also essayed to bunt
and fouled himself out on strikes. Again Homans hit safely, but the
crafty Keene, playing close, held Trace at third.
"We want the score!" Crash! crash! crash! went the bleachers.
With Raymond up and two out, the chance appeared slim, for he was not
strong at batting. But he was great at trying, and this time, as luck
would have it, he hit clean through second. Trace scored, and Homans,
taking desperate risk, tried to reach home on the hit and failed. It
was fast, exciting work, and the crowd waxed hotter and hotter.
For Place the lumbering Horton hit a twisting grounder to McCord, who
batted it down with his mitt, jumped for it, turned and fell on the base,
but too late to get his man. Griffith swung on Ken's straight ball and,
quite by accident, blocked a little bunt out of reach of both Dean and
Ken. It was a safe hit. Conroy stepped into Ken's fast ball, which ticked
his shirt, and the umpire sent him down to first amid the vociferous
objections of the Wayne rooters.
Three runners on bases and no one out. How the Place students bawled
and beat their seats and kicked the floor!
Ken took a longer moment of deliberation. He showed no sign that the
critical situation unnerved him. But his supple shoulders knit closer,
and his long arm whipped harder as he delivered the ball.
Salisbury, a poor batter, apparently shut his eyes and swung with
all his might. All present heard the ringing crack of the bat, but
few saw the ball. Raymond leaped lengthwise to the left and flashed
out his glove. There was another crack, of different sound. Then
Raymond bounded over second base, kicking the bag, and with fiendish
quickness sped the ball to first. Kern, the umpire, waved both arms
wide. Then to the gasping audience the play became clear. Raymond
had caught Salisbury's line hit in one hand, enabling him to make a
triple play. A mighty shout shook the stands. Then strong, rhythmic,
lusty cheers held the field in thrall for the moment, while the teams
changed sides.
In Wayne's half of the sixth both Weir and McCord hit safely,
but sharp fielding by Place held them on base.
Again the formidable head of Place's batting order was up. Keene lined
to right field, a superb hit that looked good for a triple, but it had
not the speed to get beyond the fleet sprinter.
Ken eyed the curly-haired Prince as if he was saying to himself:
"I'm putting them over to-day. Hit if you can!"
Prince appeared to jump up and chop Ken's first pitch. The ball
struck on fair ground and bounded very high, and was a safe hit.
Prince took a long lead off first base, and three times slid back
to the bag when Ken tried to catch him. The fast football man
intended to steal; Ken saw it, Dean saw it; everybody saw it.
Whereupon Ken delivered a swift ball outside of the plate. As
Prince went down little Dean caught the pitch and got the ball
away quick as lightning. Raymond caught it directly in the base-line,
and then, from the impact of the sliding Prince, he went hurtling
down. Runner, baseman, and ball disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Kern ran nimbly down the field and waved Prince off.
But Raymond did not get up. The umpire called time. Worry Arthurs
ran out, and he and Weir carried Raymond to the bench, where they
bathed his head and wiped the blood from his face.
Presently Raymond opened his eyes.
"Wull, what struck me?" he asked.
"Oh, nothin'. There was a trolley loose in the field," replied Worry.
"Can you get up? Why did you try to block that football rusher?"
Raymond shook his head.
"Did I tag the big fat devil?" he queried, earnestly. "Is he out?"
"You got him a mile," replied Worry.
After a few moments Raymond was able to stand upon his feet, but he
was so shaky that Worry sent Schoonover to second.
Then the cheering leaders before the bleachers bellowed through their
megaphones, and the students, rising to their feet, pealed out nine
ringing "_Waynes!_" and added a roaring "Raymond!" to the end.
With two out, Kern called play.
Once again MacNeff was at bat. He had not made a foul in his two times
up. He was at Ken's mercy, and the Wayne rooters were equally merciless.
"Ho! the slugging captain comes!"
"Get him a board!"
"Fluke hitter!"
"Mac, that was a lucky stab of yours Wednesday! Hit one _now_!"
No spectator of that game missed Ken's fierce impetuosity when he
faced MacNeff. He was as keen strung as a wire when he stood erect
in the box, and when he got into motion he whirled far around, swung
back bent, like a spring, and seemed to throw his whole body with the
ball. One--two--three strikes that waved up in their velocity, and
MacNeff for the third time went out.
Clatter and smash came from the bleachers, long stamping of feet,
whistle and bang, for voices had become weak.
A hit, an error, a double play, another hit, a steal, and a forced
out--these told Wayne's dogged, unsuccessful trial for the winning run.
But Worry Arthurs had curtly said to his pitcher: "Peg, cut loose!"
and man after man for Place failed to do anything with his terrific
speed. It was as if Ken had reserved himself wholly for the finish.
In the last of the eighth Dean hit one that caromed off Griffith's shin,
and by hard running the little catcher made second. Ken sent him to third
on a fielder's choice. It was then the run seemed forthcoming. Salisbury
toiled in the box to coax the wary Homans. The Wayne captain waited until
he got a ball to his liking. Martin trapped the hit and shot the ball
home to catch Dean. It was another close decision, as Dean slid with the
ball, but the umpire decided against the runner.
"Peg, lam them over now!" called Reddy Ray.
It was the first of the ninth, with the weak end of Place's hitting
strength to face Ken. Griffith, Conroy, Salisbury went down before
him as grass before a scythe. To every hitter Ken seemed to bring
more effort, more relentless purpose to baffle them, more wonderful
speed and control of his fast ball.
Through the stands and bleachers the word went freely that the game
would go to ten innings, eleven innings, twelve innings, with the
chances against the tiring Salisbury.
But on the Wayne bench there was a different order of conviction. Worry
sparkled like flint. Homans, for once not phlegmatic, faced the coaching
line at third. Raymond leaned pale and still against the bench. Ken was
radiant.
Reddy Ray bent over the row of bats and singled out his own. His strong,
freckled hands clenched the bat and whipped it through the air. His eyes
were on fire when he looked at the stricken Raymond.
"Kel, something may happen yet before I get up to the plate," he said.
"But if it doesn't--"
Then he strode out, knocked the dirt from his spikes, and stepped into
position. Something about Reddy at that moment, or something potent in
the unforeseen play to come, quieted the huge crowd.
Salisbury might have sensed it. He fussed with the ball and took a long
while to pitch. Reddy's lithe form whirled around and seemed to get into
running motion with the crack of the ball. Martin made a beautiful pick-up
of the sharply bounding ball, but he might as well have saved himself the
exertion. The championship sprinter beat the throw by yards.
Suddenly the whole Wayne contingent arose in a body, a tribute to what
they expected of Reddy, and rent Grant Field with one tremendous outburst.
As it ceased a hoarse voice of stentorian volume rose and swelled on
the air.
"_Wayne wins!_ WATCH HIM RUN!"
It came from Murray, who loved his great sprinter.
Thrice Salisbury threw to MacNeff to hold Reddy close to first base,
but he only wasted his strength. Then he turned toward the batter,
and he had scarcely twitched a muscle in the beginning of his swing,
when the keen sprinter was gone like a flash. His running gave the
impression of something demon-like forced by the wind. He had covered
the ground and was standing on the bag when Prince caught Conroy's throw.
Pandemonium broke out in the stands and bleachers, and a piercing,
continuous scream. The sprinter could not be stopped. That was plain.
He crouched low, watching Salisbury. Again and again the pitcher tried
to keep Reddy near second base, but as soon as Martin or Prince returned
the ball Reddy took his lead off the bag. He meant to run on the first
pitch; he was on his toes. And the audience went wild, and the Place
varsity showed a hurried, nervous strain. They yelled to Salisbury,
but neither he nor any one else could have heard a thunderbolt in
that moment.
Again Salisbury toed the rubber, and he hesitated, with his face turned
toward second. But he had to pitch the ball, and as his elbow trembled
the sprinter shot out of his tracks with the start that had made him
famous. His red hair streaked in the wind like a waving flame. His
beautiful stride swallowed distance. Then he sailed low and slid into
the base as the ball struck Griffith's hands.
Reddy was on third now, with no one out, with two balls upon Weir and
no strikes. In the fury of sound runner and batter exchanged a glance
that was a sign.
The sprinter crouched low, watching Salisbury. For the third time,
as the pitcher vibrated with the nervous force preceding his delivery,
Reddy got his start. He was actually running before the ball left
Salisbury's hand. Almost it seemed that with his marvellous fleetness
he was beating the ball to the plate. But as the watchers choked in
agony of suspense Weir bunted the ball, and Reddy Ray flashed across
the plate with the winning run.
Then all that seemed cheering, din, and stamping roar deadened in an
earth-shaking sound like an avalanche.
The students piled out of the bleachers in streams and poured
on the field. An irresistible, hungry, clamoring flood, they
submerged the players.
Up went Ken upon sturdy shoulders, and up went Reddy Ray and
Kel and Homans and Dean--all the team, and last the red-faced
Worry Arthurs. Then began the triumphant march about Grant Field
and to the training-house.
It was a Wayne day, a day for the varsity, for Homans and Raymond,
and for the great sprinter, but most of all it was Peg Ward's day.
XVIII
BREAKING TRAINING
The Wayne varsity was a much-handled, storm-tossed team before it
finally escaped the clutches of the students. Every player had a
ringing in his ears and a swelling in his heart. When the baseball
uniforms came off they were carefully packed in the bottoms of trunks,
and twelve varsity sweaters received as tender care as if they were
the flimsy finery dear to the boys' sisters.
At six the players were assembled in the big reading-room, and there
was a babel of exultant conversation. Worry suddenly came in, shouting
to persons without, who manifestly wanted to enter. "Nothin' doin' yet!
I'll turn the boys over to you in one hour!" Then he banged the door
and locked it.
Worry was a sight to behold. His collar was unbuttoned, and his necktie
disarranged. He had no hat. His hair was damp and rumpled, and his red
face worked spasmodically.
"Where's Peg?" he yelled, and his little bright eyes blinked at his
players. It was plain that Worry could not see very well then. Some
one pushed Ken out, and Worry fell on his neck. He hugged him close
and hard. Then he dived at Reddy and mauled him. Next he fell all over
little crippled Raymond, who sat propped up in an arm-chair. For once
Raymond never murmured for being jumped on. Upon every player, and even
the substitutes, Worry expressed his joy in violent manner, and then he
fell down himself, perspiring, beaming, utterly exhausted. This man was
not the cold, caustic coach of the cage-days, nor the stern, hard ruler
from the bench, nor the smooth worker on his players' feelings. This was
Worry Arthurs with his varsity at the close of a championship season.
No one but the boys who had fought at his bidding for Wayne ever saw
him like that.
"Oh, Peg, it was glorious! This game gives us the record and the
championship. Say, Peg, this was the great game for you to win.
For you made Place hit, and then when they got runners on bases
you shut down on 'em. You made MacNeff look like a dub. You gave
that home-run to Prince."
"I sure was after MacNeff's scalp," replied Ken. "And I put the ball
over for Prince to hit. What else could I do? Why, that little chunky
cuss has an eye, and he can sting the ball--he's almost as good as Reddy.
But, Worry, you mustn't give me the credit. Reddy won the game, you know."
"You talk like a kid," replied Reddy, for once not cool and easy.
"I cut loose and ran some; but, Peg, you and Raymond won the game."
"Wull, you make me sick," retorted Raymond, threatening to get up.
"There wasn't anything to this day but Peg Ward."
Ken replied with more heat than dignity, and quick as a flash he and
Reddy and Raymond were involved in a wordy war, trying to place the
credit for winning the game. They dragged some of the other boys into
the fierce argument.
Worry laughed and laughed; then, as this loyal bunch of players
threatened to come to blows, he got angry.
"_Shut up!_" he roared. "I never seen such a lot of hot-headed kids.
Shut up, and let me tell you who won this Place game. It'll go down
on record as a famous game, so you'll do well to have it straight.
Listen! The Wayne varsity won this game. Homans, your captain, won it,
because he directed the team and followed orders. He hit and run some,
too. Reddy Ray won this game by bein' a blue streak of chain lightnin'
on the bases. Raymond won it by makin' a hit when we all expected
him to fall dead. He won it twice, the second time with the greatest
fieldin' play ever pulled off on Grant Field. Dean won the game by
goin' up and hangin' onto Peg's jump ball. McCord won it by diggin'
low throws out of the dirt. Weir was around when it happened, wasn't
he--and Blake and Trace? Then there was Peg himself. He won the game
a _little_. Say! he had Place trimmed when he stepped on the slab in
the first innin'. So you all won the big Wayne-Place game."
Then Worry advanced impressively to the table, put his hand in his
breast pocket and brought forth a paper.
"You've won this for me, boys," he said, spreading the paper out.
"What is it?" they asked, wonderingly.
"Nothin' of much importance to you boys as compared with winnin'
the game, but some to Worry Arthurs." He paused with a little choke.
"It's a five-year contract to coach Wayne's baseball teams."
A thundering cheer attested to the importance of that document
to the boys.
"Oh, Worry, but I'm glad!" cried Ken. "Then your son Harry will be
in college next year--will be on the team?"
"Say, he'll have to go some to make next year's varsity, with only
two or three vacancies to fill. Now, fellows, I want to know things.
Sit down now and listen."
They all took seats, leaving the coach standing at the table.
"Homans, is there any hope of your comin' back to college next year?"
"None, I'm sorry to say," replied the captain. "Father intends to put
me in charge of his business."
"Reddy, how about a post-graduate course for you? You need that P.G."
"Worry, come to think of it, I really believe my college education
would not be complete without that P.G.," replied Reddy, with the
old cool speech, and a merry twinkle in his eye.
At this the boys howled like Indians, and Worry himself did a
little war-dance.
"Raymond, you'll come back?" went on the coach.