And Jack at once began to explain his "project."

*CHAPTER XI*

*JACK HOBART'S PROJECT*

"There's no other way out of it," began Jack, "except for you to take

the matter into your own hands, Ward. You can't report it to the

teachers, and you can't be expected to let it go on without doing

something to protect yourself. I think even Mr. Crane wouldn't expect

anything less than that of you."

"But I don't see just what I'm to do," protested Ward. "Of course I

know now that Tim Pickard is the one who's stirring the trouble up,

though I've been satisfied all the time that he was the ringleader. I

don't see what I can do, unless I fight him."

"That's one way out of it," replied Jack, who perhaps was not entirely

averse to a settlement of troubles by that primitive and brutal method.

"But you don't need to do that just yet. You can hold that till later,

though I'm not sure but you might save yourself a deal of trouble by

pitching into Tim now. It may have to come to that in the end. Still,

I think it would be better to try my plan first."

Ward smiled as he thought of Jack in the role of a peacemaker. He

appreciated fully Jack's spirit and life, and he well knew how he

enjoyed anything that partook of the nature of tests of physical

strength in the school. His last words, in which with apparent

reluctance he had counseled his friend to postpone the method his boyish

heart decidedly preferred, had been spoken in a tone which made Berry

laugh aloud.

"Let's hear your plan, Jack," said Ward.

"It's nothing more than giving Tim a dose of his own medicine."

"What do you mean? that I'm to stack his room?"

"That's exactly my meaning. You grasp it quickly, as Mr. Blake

sometimes tells me--no, I mean you, Ward--in his classes. Yes, sir,

that's the thing for you to do, for it's the only thing a fellow like

Tim Pickard will appreciate. 'Hoist with his own petard.' Isn't that

something you've heard somewhere, sometime?"

"I think I have heard the expression before. How am I to do it, Jack?"

"Just as easily as falling off a log. Tim rooms down at Ma Perrins', as

you know, and has a room all to himself. Now to-night after supper, my

friend, here, Luscious, will send for him to come up to our room. I

think it very likely that Luscious will have something to say about the

nine, and Tim won't wait long after hearing that Luscious Berry has

something to say about that, for if he's interested in anything it's the

work and the prospects of the nine, you know."

"Yes, I know," replied Ward somewhat gloomily. Tim Pickard's work and

interest in the nine was a subject on which he had very strong feelings

at that time.

"Well, Luscious will get him up here and he'll hold him with his

glittering eye, _a la_ ancient mariner, and he'll have so many bright

speeches to make, that Tim won't be able to get away from him. Meanwhile

you and I'll step down to Tim's room and rearrange it for him, don't you

see? I'm going into this with you, Ward, and see if I can't help you to

put a stop to these rascally proceedings."

"Yes, but----"

"There isn't a 'but' about it," interrupted Jack. "I know what you were

going to say, but it isn't worth saying, Ward. I know all the fine

phrases about 'stooping' and 'belittling yourself,' and all that sort of

stuff, but it's no time for indulging in such nonsense. Here you are

bothered to death by Tim's pranks. You don't want to bother him, or

have anything to do with him, for the matter of that. I understand all

these things. But you can't study; you won't be the valedic; you can't

report the trouble to the faculty. What can you do? Just nothing, but

take the matter into your own hands and do the thing that will put a

stop in the shortest time to all this nonsense. Do you see the point?"

"Yes, I see----"

"Well, I'm glad for once in your life that you're able to see the

point."

"And I'm glad that for once in your life you can make a point clear,"

said Ward with a laugh.

"Well done, my friend, I've hopes of you yet. Now, I say it's all fair

to feed Tim with his own food and from his own spoon. Why my father was

telling me the last time I was home about a trick a fellow named Bram

Martling played in the 'neutral ground,' away back in the Revolution.

It seems that this same Bram, which is short as I understand it for

Abraham, was a young officer in the Continental army, and once when he

came home he found the Tories and British had been burning the houses

around there just for the fun of seeing 'em burn, I fancy. Well, Bram

was pretty well stirred up when he found out what was going on, so he

just quietly got a dozen young fellows together, and they met over by

Wolfert's Roost on the Hudson, and took two whaleboats and pulled down

to Morningside Heights in the night. Then they crept up and set fire to

Oliver De Lancy's great house, and got away without one of them being

caught. They thought 'twas a great deed in those days, and made out

that the aforesaid Bram was quite a hero. But he stopped the Tories

from burning houses after that, let me tell you. It makes all the

difference in the world whether you are the burner or the burnee."

"And you think----?"

"Be silent, my young friend. This fable, which I have just related for

your special benefit, teaches that in bad things as well as in good it

is much more pleasant to give than to receive. Now, for your own good,

and for the good of Tim Pickard too, you are simply compelled to let him

know just how good it is to have one's room stacked. It must be done

thoroughly and at once. Who was it that said, 'if 'twere well done when

it is done, then 'twere well if it were done quickly'?"

"I guess it was Shakespeare," said Ward laughing; "but you got the

quotation twisted a bit. The way it reads is----"

"Oh, bother the way it reads, you know what I mean. Now, Luscious, you

tell Ward if you don't think what I've said is true."

"I think, Ward," said Berry, "that Jack's right. I don't see that you

can do anything else. You've got to put a stop to the racket and Jack's

plan is a good one."

For a moment Ward did not speak. Somehow he knew that Henry would not

go into the scheme, and he had a very decided opinion that Mr. Crane

would not approve. Indeed, the teacher had at one time said to him that

it was a good deal better to suffer wrong than to do it. One wrong did

not make another wrong right. Ward needed no one to tell him that.

Yet there was the trouble all the time threatening to become worse and

it was certainly bad enough as it was, and Henry and Little Pond were

both made to suffer too for his unpopularity. Jack's plan might work

well. Who could say? The specious reasoning of boys who would not

intentionally do anything very bad also appealed to him.

But more than all was Jack's evident friendship and interest. Ward was

well aware of the risks the impulsive lad would be incurring in entering

into the project with him. Tim Pickard's enmity in the Weston school

was no light matter, and Jack, even more than Ward, fed upon the good

will of his companions. Jack might feel hurt if he should refuse now to

enter into the project, when his only motive for proposing it had been

the desire to aid him. Ward felt that he could not refuse.

"Well, Jack," he said at last, "I'm obliged to you, and I think your

suggestion is worth trying."

"Good for you, old man," said Jack eagerly, rising from his chair as he

spoke. "Now we'll do it this very night. You go right up to your room

just as soon as you've had your supper, and as soon as Luscious and I

have had ours I'll have him bring Tim back with him to our room. Then,

when the coasts are clear, I'll make a break for your room and we'll

soon fix Tim's room out in great shape. There goes the bell now. Your

afflictions will soon be over, the wicked will cease to trouble you, and

the weary valedic will be at rest."

The boys at once left East Hall, Ward going to the dining hall and Jack

and Berry starting toward Mrs. Perrins', where they both took their

meals.

Somehow, Ward had no feeling of elation. Again and again he tried to

persuade himself that Jack's scheme was all right and that now he would

put an end to all his difficulties. But there were misgivings in his

heart all the time. Try as he would to convince himself that he was

taking a legitimate and justifiable method of protecting himself, he

could not shake off the feeling that if he should be discovered in the

act, or if Mr. Crane should learn of it, the affair would appear in a

far different light.

However, he did not mention the plan or his own misgivings to his

room-mate, and it was with a feeling of relief he heard Henry say to

him, when together they left the dining hall, "I'm going over to Dr.

Gray's a little while, Ward. Will you come too?"

"No, I think not at present," said Ward. "I guess I'll go over to our

room and keep out visitors. I don't want to have to tack down carpets

to-night."

"I don't believe they'll trouble us now that we've a new lock on the

door," said Henry, laughing as he spoke. He did not urge Ward to

accompany him and soon departed.

Ward walked slowly on toward West Hall and entered his room. He had not

been there long before Jack came, and he at once followed him out of the

building.

"It's all right, Ward," said Jack eagerly. "Luscious has taken Tim up

to our room and he'll keep him there for an hour."

"But how shall we get into his room?" inquired Ward.

"Oh, that's all easy enough. Ma doesn't keep the front door locked, and

if she happens to see me come in, she'll only think I've come back for

something I left. It'll be all right; you needn't have any fears about

that."

"Jack," said Ward slowly, "I've been thinking this thing over and I

don't want you to get your fingers burned."

"That's good of you," and Jack laughed. "Any one to hear you talk would

think I was the fellow in trouble. Don't bother your head about me.

I'll be all right."

"That isn't just what I mean. I think you'd better stay down by the

door or out in the hall and let me go up to Tim's room alone. There

isn't any use in your going, and besides that, I think you can help more

if you stay there and keep watch."

"Maybe you're right," replied Jack thoughtfully. "I'll tell you what

I'll do, Ward, I'll stay in the hall and wait for you to go up and fix

the room and then I'll come in for the finishing touches. I don't

believe you know how to do the thing up in the latest and most approved

manner."

The boys were now in front of Mrs. Perrins' house, and glancing quickly

up and down the street to make sure that they were not observed, they

quickly crossed over the street and approached the door.

Having found this unlocked, they entered and stood for a moment in the

hallway. One of the servants was in the dining room and glanced up at

them as they came in, but at once recognizing Jack, she paid no further

attention to them and went on with her duties.

"It's all right," whispered Jack. "Go right up to Tim's room, it's the

one right over the dining room, you know. I'll be up too in a few

minutes and help you to put the finishing touches on."

Ward turned and started at once up the stairway. A heavy carpet was on

the floor and deadened the sound of his footsteps. The lad was excited

and his heart was beating rapidly, but his presence was not discovered

and he soon made his way swiftly and silently to the door of Tim's room.

Suppose the door should be locked! Ward had not thought of that, nor

had Jack mentioned it. He almost wished that it was; but as he turned

the knob, the door opened and he at once entered, gently closing the

door behind him.

And now he was in Tim Pickard's room. The lamp upon the table was

burning, and the room seemed to be flooded with a soft and mellow light

which served to increase the luxurious appearance of all about him.

What an elegantly furnished room it was! In spite of his excitement,

Ward could not fail to notice that. Pictures were hanging on the walls,

the floor had a rich, soft carpet upon it, a little fire was burning in

the open grate, just sufficient to take away the chill of the early

autumn air. The study table was covered with books and papers, the

chairs were beautifully upholstered, and the bed, which stood in one

corner of the room, was not much like the rude little affair in his own

room, Ward thought.

Indeed, for a moment Ward stopped and looked about him, deeply impressed

by the contrast to his room in West Hall. And why should Tim Pickard,

with all his money and comforts, wish to torment him by a series of

petty and constant annoyances?

The thought made Ward's heart bitter and hard. It was unjust, mean,

contemptible. Jack was right. The only way in which he could defend

himself was to let Tim understand just what it meant for a fellow to

have his room all upset.

Hark! What was that? Ward stopped and listened intently as he heard

some one moving in the hall. Suppose he should be discovered in the

room! He felt like a thief. What could he say or do to explain his

presence if he should be discovered?

The sound of the footsteps passed and Ward breathed more freely. What

he was to do, he must do quickly. Where should he begin? He started

toward the bed to tear that in pieces, but quickly changing his purpose,

he turned again to the study table. That was the proper spot at which

to begin.

As he approached, the light of the lamp fell full upon the photograph of

a woman's face looking up at him from a beautiful frame on the table.

It almost seemed to him as if the eyes could see him and were looking at

him with a reproving, reproachful glance. That must be Tim's mother, he

thought. He knew that she was dead, for Tim had told him many a time of

the fact that his father--"the governor," as Tim called him--was the

only one he had to look after him or to whom he had to report.

Perhaps if his mother were alive, Tim would be a different fellow. It

seemed to Ward, as he stood gazing at the picture, as if the woman were

pleading with him. For a moment he thought of another woman in the

far-away village of Rockford. His mother was living, and he had no such

excuse as Tim had for failing to do what he knew was right. And how

grieved she would be if she knew he had been stealing like a thief into

another fellow's room. Ward almost started, for it seemed as if he could

hear the sound of her voice. And there was the face of Tim's dead

mother still looking up at him.

"I can't do it! I can't do it! I'd be no better than Tim Pickard if I

did. I'd be doing the very same thing which made me so mad when he did

it," groaned Ward.

The troubled boy quickly turned to leave the room Jack might think what

he chose; he simply could not bring himself to do what he had planned.

As he approached the door, his heart seemed almost to cease to beat.

Some one was coming. He could hear the footsteps as they came nearer

the door. The frightened boy looked quickly about him for a place of

concealment, but none could be found. In a moment the door was opened

and Tim himself was standing before him with a look of mingled anger and

astonishment plainly expressed upon his face.

*CHAPTER XII*

*MR. CRANE'S WORDS*

"What are you doing here?" said Tim angrily, as soon as he recovered

from his surprise.

"I came over to stack your room."

"You did? You did?" said Tim, as if he could hardly believe what he had

heard.

His astonishment arose not from the fact that Ward should have come for

the purpose which he so calmly expressed, but from the fact that he

should have stated it so boldly. The one part Tim could readily

understand, but the other was something he could not comprehend. To him

there was but one explanation, and that was that Ward was somehow openly

defying him, and Tim's anger was correspondingly increased.

With all his faults Tim Pickard was no coward, as the word is ordinarily

used. That is, he had no fears of a physical contest, and as he stood

in the doorway before him Ward readily perceived what a fine specimen of

young manhood in its bodily form Tim was. Tall, with broad shoulders

and with the fire and force of vigorous health manifest in every phase

of his bearing, he would not be an antagonist whom most boys would care

to meet.

Ward himself was no weakling. Though he was not so large as Tim, his

compact and well-knit frame betokened physical powers of no mean order.

And his quiet bearing served to increase the impression of his

fearlessness too, and for a moment the two seniors stood quietly facing

each other, each being conscious of the fact that a contest between them

would be no light affair.

"Well, why don't you stack it then?" said Tim at last with a sneer.

"Here's the room and you've got my full consent to go ahead--if you

can."

"I'm not going to stack it," said Ward quietly.

"Oh, you're not? Well, that's kind of you, I must say," laughed Tim.

"Well, if you're not going to stack it, will you leave or shall I put

you out? I don't want any sneaking hypocrite prowling around here."

"I shall leave, but you won't put me out," replied Ward, his face

flushing as he spoke.

"Well, leave then, will you? You can't do it too soon to suit me."

Ward did not stir.

Tim's face flushed with anger and he advanced a step nearer the table,

and Ward braced himself for the conflict which now appeared to be

inevitable.

Before anything could be done, however, the door was suddenly pushed

open and Jack burst into the room. A hasty glance at the two boys

revealed at once to him the condition of affairs, and taking a position

between the two, he said:

"Here now, quit this, will you?"

"You don't suppose I'm going to sit down quietly and let a fellow go to

work stacking my room, do you?" said Tim. "This sneak says that was

just what he came for."

"No, I don't believe you'd do any such thing," replied Jack; "neither do

I think you would think Ward Hill would be likely to do any such thing,

either. If he came over here to stack your room, it's no more than you

deserve, and he'd be only paying off old scores."

"I never stacked his room," replied Tim evasively.

"No, you never had the nerve to do that openly, but you can set such

fellows as Ripley and Choate and a lot of others up to it. Oh, you

needn't beg off, Tim Pickard. I know you through and through, and so

does Ward Hill too; and if he came over here to set your room up, he

knows, and I know, and you know, and I know you know that we know,

you're only being paid off in your own coin."

Tim was silent, and Jack quickly perceiving his advantage, went on.

"Now, look here, you fellows. You can't get into any scrap here, not so

long as I'm in the room. The first thing you know Ma Perrins would be

at the door, and you know she would report the thing at once to Doctor

Gray. Then what would happen? You, Tim, aren't in very good shape for

receiving an invitation to come up and confer with him about 'the best

interests of the school,' as he puts it. You know what would follow

mighty sudden. And Ward here isn't in just the best position in the

world for a faculty meeting, though I think he'd be in a good deal

better one than you, Tim, for he's only trying to protect himself. Even

a worm will turn, and I don't believe Doctor Gray would blame a fellow

too much for taking the law into his own hands and trying to put a stop

to having his room stacked every day of his life."

"But I haven't stacked his room, I'm telling you," interrupted Tim.

"Oh, give that ancient and antiquated aphorism a period of relaxation,

will you, Tim? That doesn't work here, let me tell you. I know what

I'm talking about."

"But I don't see what this sneak thinks he's going to gain by stacking

my room," persisted Tim. "I shouldn't have to set it up again myself.

I'm no West Hall pauper. I don't have to take care of my own room.

Thank fortune, I've got some one to do my dirty work for me."

"Yes, that's what you're always doing, Tim Pickard," retorted Jack

angrily, as he saw Ward flush at the brutal words; "you're always

getting some one to do that for you. But let me tell you one thing,

this stacking of Ward's room has got to be stopped."

"Who's going to stop it, I'd like to know?" replied Tim boldly.

"Oh, there's more than one way of doing that," replied Jack quietly.

"Now, if you don't want to be sent home again for good and all, you'll

see to it that Ward Hill's room isn't troubled again. That's all I've

got to say about it."

"What'll you do? Go and report it to Doctor Gray?"

"I'm not telling what'll be done, but I am telling you that it isn't

going to happen again. I know you and you know me, and you know too

that I don't talk for the fun of hearing my own voice. Come on, Ward,"

he added, "you'll not be bothered any more after this. Good-bye, Tim,"

he called out as he and Ward together left the room.

But Tim made no response.

Neither of the boys spoke until they were in front of East Hall, then as

Ward turned to go to his own room, Jack said, "What was the trouble?

You had time enough to rip the carpet apart, to say nothing of upsetting

everything in the room."

"I can't explain it, Jack; I don't know just why I didn't, but I

couldn't do it, and that's all there was about it. When I got into the

room, it all came over me what a mean, contemptible thing it was, and

how I felt toward Tim for his work in West Hall; and on his table was a

picture of his dead mother appearing to look reproachfully at me. It

seemed to me that I couldn't do it, and if I did I'd be doing the very

thing that set me so against him. And so I couldn't, and that's all

there is about it."

"You're a queer chap," said Jack thoughtfully. "I thought I knew you

pretty well, but I've got to give you up, I'm afraid. Ma Perrins came

out into the hall while I was on guard there, and as I saw she looked a

little surprised to see me, I went into the parlor with her just to

quiet her fears and give you a chance to put in your fine work. I was

horrified when I saw Tim rush into the house like a young whirlwind, and

before I could call to him he was up the stairs as if he'd been shot out

of a gun. You'd better believe I cut short my interview with Ma and

made a break for Tim's room. I was half afraid I'd find only a few

small pieces of you and Tim left, and that I'd have to beg the loan of

one of Ma's platters to bring you home on. But I can't make you out,

Ward. I hardly know now why you didn't fix Tim's room so that it would

have been a living monument of your ability in that line. That's what

I'd have done."

As Ward made no reply, Jack added: "Well, never mind, old fellow!

Perhaps it's just as well. Tim won't bother you again, that is, I mean

you won't have your room stacked again. You can rest easy about that."

"Thank you, Jack. You've been a good friend to me, and I need friends

too."

"Don't mention it," replied Jack impulsively, as he reached forth his

hand and shook Ward's warmly. "Good-night."

"Good-night, Jack."

When Ward, returned to his room, Henry was there and working over his

lessons. At first he was tempted to tell his room-mate all about his

experience, but fearing that Henry like Jack might misunderstand him he

remained silent, and soon took his seat at his own table and began to

work on his lessons.

It was some time, however, before he could bring his mind to bear upon

his task. The scene in Tim Pickard's room kept rising before him. His

anger and the part Jack had taken were still vivid. What a good fellow

Jack was, Ward thought, and he appreciated his aid the more when he

realized what it might mean for the impulsive lad to bring upon himself

the anger of the "Tangs." And yet how fearless he had been, and in what

a manly way he had taken his stand. Even then Ward could almost hear

his words as he told Tim that the trouble in West Hall must cease.

Would Tim heed? Somehow Ward felt that he would, at least in so far as

the stacking of his room was concerned; but in other ways doubtless he

would be made aware that Tim had not forgotten him. And Tim was one who

never forgot.

At last he succeeded in banishing from his mind for the time, the

recollection of the scene in Mrs. Perrins' house, and gave himself

wholly to his work. On the following night Ward started to go to Mr.

Crane's room. Somehow he dreaded the interview, and yet go he must.

Mr. Crane he knew would expect him to come, and that scene in Ripley's

room must be explained to his satisfaction.

Ward had thought over the matter many times, but as yet had arrived at

no satisfactory course for him to follow. One thing was certain, and

that was that he could not tell Mr. Crane about Tim Pickard. That was

against the school's code of honor, and Ward's own feelings forbade it

as well.

He was still undecided what to do when he rapped on Mr. Crane's door and

was at once admitted by the teacher himself.

Apparently Mr. Crane had not changed, nor did he seem in any way

suspicious of the boy before him. And yet that very quietness was most

impressive to Ward, and had ever been the one element in the teacher's

character and bearing which had most influenced him.

After a few general words Ward felt that he could bear it no longer, and

breaking in somewhat abruptly, he said:

"Mr. Crane I want to put a case before you."

"Yes?" said Mr. Crane, lifting his eyes inquiringly, but not otherwise

changing his manner.

"I want to know just what you would do. You seem to understand boys so

well."

"I don't just know what I should do, if I didn't understand a little

more clearly than I do now what was expected of me," answered Mr. Crane,

smiling slightly as he spoke.

"Well, it's just this way. Suppose a fellow--I mean a boy--had come up

to the Weston school, and was here a year. Suppose too, that he hadn't

done very well. He'd neglected his work and was a great disappointment

to his father and mother, and to his teachers, to say nothing of

himself. Then suppose he'd fallen in with a set of the fellows--I mean

boys--who were up to all sorts of mischief and he'd gone in with them,

though all the time he didn't feel right about it. Then suppose he'd

failed in his examinations at the end of the year, but that he tried to

make them up during the summer. We'll say he came back to school and

was able to go on with his class. When he came back he tried to break

off with his old associates, but he didn't find it a very easy thing to

do. They wouldn't believe in him, and when at last they found he really

was trying to do differently, then they tried to make his life a burden

to him."

Ward stopped a moment as if he expected some kind of a reply, but as Mr.

Crane was silent he resumed his story.

"Well, if it didn't sound too much like telling tales, we'll suppose

these fellows--I mean students--tried to do all they could to make life

a burden for the boy. They put him off from the nine, they prejudiced

the minds of the new boys against him, and some of the old ones too.

But that wasn't all. They played all kinds of tricks on him, and worst

of all they began to stack his room. I don't know that you understand

what that means?" added Ward quickly.

"I think I understand," said Mr. Crane quietly.

"Well, this boy--I mean fellow--no, I don't, I mean boy--would find his

room all upset every day. His carpet would be torn up, he'd find that

water had been poured on his bed, and sometimes the oil from his lamp

would be added too. The fellow--boy I mean--really wanted to study, but

he had to take lots of his time from his lessons to set his room to

rights. Finally he went at it and found out who was doing the mischief.

He discovered that some one had a key to his room, but he found out too,

that the fellow--I mean boy--who had the key wasn't the one who was

stacking his room. He kept out of it himself, but set other fellows--I

mean boys--up to it. And the worst of it all was that they were picking

on Little P--I mean on a little fellow who rather looked up to this boy

for help.

"Well, finally the boy fixed a trap and caught the one who was trying to

get into his room that day. He went over to his room and started to make

him give up the key--but--but--he was interrupted, and somehow he didn't

do it. Then he went down to the fellow's room--the one at the bottom of

it all--and was going to stack his room well, so as to let him know how

it felt. But when he got there he somehow couldn't bring himself to do

it, and while he was hesitating, the fellow in whose room he was came

back and there was a great row.

"No, there was no fight," he hastily added, as he saw the question in

the teacher's eyes; "but the fellow didn't know but the boy was trying

to stack his room. Now, there's the story, Mr. Crane. I wish you'd

tell me what you would do if you were that boy."

For a few moments Mr. Crane was silent, but at last he said: "Hill, I'll

try to be entirely frank with you. In the first place, I think I should

honor the boy who had gained the victory over himself in that fellow's

room. He couldn't afford to do the very same thing he despised in the

other fellow."

Ward's face flushed with pleasure, for he felt that praise from Mr.

Crane was praise indeed.

"I'm not done yet," resumed Mr. Crane quietly. "Then, if I were that

boy, I think I should begin to question myself and see if there was any

just cause for the school being down upon me. It may have been that

that boy was somewhat conceited, and a little selfish. He was all the

time perhaps thinking how the school ought to appreciate everything he

did, and he did not have quite the necessary courage to face calmly the

results of his own misdeeds."

"But, Mr. Crane," protested Ward, "the fellow knew he'd done wrong. He

wasn't trying to crawl."

"Perhaps so, but it is also possible that he thought he ought to be

praised unduly for simply turning about and doing his duty. In the

main, Hill, boys are just; and while doubtless injustice creeps in at

times, it is still true that if a fellow has trouble, he ought not only

to think of that, but of what he may be doing to bring it upon himself."

"Then you think the boy ought to keep still and let his room be stacked

every day, do you?"

"Not at all; I want him to cure that in the right way, but I want him

also to think not only of the stacking, but of the reason for its being

stacked."

"It was stacked because he broke with the fellows he'd been going with,"

said Ward bitterly.

"In part, yes; but in part, no. Think it over, Hill, and come and see

me again in a week."

"Good-night, Mr. Crane," said Ward somewhat abruptly, as he left the

room.

He felt hurt and humiliated. Somehow he had thought Mr. Crane would

speak very differently. Was that to be the reward for trying to do

better? It seemed to him that he had been abused and misunderstood, and

in no very amiable frame of mind Ward walked back to West Hall.

*CHAPTER XIII*

*A FAITHFUL FRIEND*

For two days Ward Hill continued in no enviable frame of mind. He felt

hurt and humiliated by the words of Mr. Crane, and also felt that he had

been hard and somewhat unjust in his judgment.

It was true that he had not referred to the disturbance in Ripley's

room, but to Ward that seemed a trifling matter now. The struggle

through which he was passing was uppermost in his thoughts, and before

that, all else seemed insignificant and small.

And to Ward Hill it was a struggle of no small character. The stand

which near the close of the preceding year he had taken for Henry had

brought upon him the enmity of his former associates, and they had

succeeded not only in annoying him themselves, but also in creating a

prejudice against him in the school.

Henry, it was true, remained his true friend, but he was a boy who was

never demonstrative, and Ward somehow felt the need of continued praise.

In this particular he did not differ from other sensitive and bright

lads; but in his own home and in the little village of Rockford, he had

been so looked up to by all his associates that he had come to regard

such feelings toward him as but his just and natural right.

Jack Hobart's good will he highly prized and also prized more than he

himself was aware all the good-natured references to the possibilities

of his becoming the valedictorian of the class; but Ward Hill, like many

another when he finds himself beset with perplexities and difficulties,

was more prone to dwell upon his lacks than upon his possessions, and

consequently he was thinking much more of the words of implied blame

which Mr. Crane had spoken, than he was of the encouragement and

appreciation he had received.

And it was just because Mr. Crane thoroughly understood Ward that he had

spoken as he did at the time of Ward's indirect statement. He had

understood clearly that in the case which Ward had stated, he was

speaking of himself. The disguise was very thin, and the teacher had

listened attentively and with a full sense of what it all meant to the

eager, impulsive boy.

But he had also seen, what Ward himself had failed to see, that as yet

he had not faced his situation with the true spirit. It was his vanity

which was suffering more than his sense of justice and right. Eager for

the praise of the boys and his teachers, he had not as yet come to

perceive that there was something deeper, stronger, better. It was with

no lack of appreciation of the efforts Ward certainly was making to do

better work in his classes and to cut himself loose from the more

disorderly elements of the Weston school, that Mr. Crane had spoken, but

because he clearly perceived that as yet the troubled boy was governed

only by his feelings, and that deep down below all his desires to

improve there lay a motive which must be purified before anything like a

radical or permanent change in his life could be produced.

He had not failed to notice the pain his words produced, but as we are

informed that "faithful are the wounds of a friend," he had resolved for

the sake of the boy, whom he sincerely loved and whose brightness he was

in no wise backward in acknowledging, that what he needed most was not

praise and sympathy, but frankness and a true picture of himself.

Not the least of Ward's troubles arose from the fact that in his own

heart there was a perception of the fact that the basis of all his

regard for Mr. Crane was his confidence in the teacher's candor and

sincerity. Ward felt that come what might Mr. Crane never said pleasing

things just for the pleasure of saying them, or for the pleasure his

praise might impart. In all this he was in marked contrast to Mr. Blake

whose words of praise were so plentiful as to be cheap, and were

bestowed so indiscriminately that they were slightly valued. Mr. Crane,

on the contrary, was ever ready to speak a word of encouragement to any

boy whom he perceived to be doing his best, but he never praised at the

expense of truth. And perhaps it was because of the dim consciousness

that there was too much truth in what he had heard, that Ward's

bitterness was somewhat increased.

He could not conceal from himself the fact that in the preceding year,

when he had been received into the "Tangs" and made much of by a class

of boys whose ideals, home training, and lives had been very different

from his own, that he had been somewhat elated by the attentions he had

received and that his manner and bearing toward the other boys in the

school had gradually undergone a marked change.

He had become somewhat overbearing and condescending in his dealings

with them. He had assumed airs that did not become him and rejected

many of the overtures of friendship that had been offered him. And as a

consequence he had not gained them, and now he had lost the others. Did

Mr. Crane know anything of that? Ward almost felt that he must, but the

knowledge did not tend to increase his peace of mind at the time. In

fact, Ward Hill wanted what he did not need, and needed what he did not

want.

For two days, as we have said, the struggle went on in Ward's soul. At

times he would be bitter and hard, feeling that it made no difference

what he attempted to do, the hand of nearly every one was certain to be

against him. Then again, his better self would assert itself and he

would be able to see things in their true light.

To Henry he did not speak of his troubles. He worked faithfully and

hard over his lessons, and knew that he was doing well in his classes;

but somehow the knowledge did not bring him the satisfaction he had

expected. He could not forget or ignore Mr. Crane's words, and the

recollection of them was ever a disturbing element in his mind.

When the two days had passed, he sought out Jack, having resolved to

seek his opinion, half hoping that his friend, who ever had good words

for all, would have something to say to him which would be a comfort to

his troubled soul.

It was in his room that he found his friend and after stating, as

clearly and fully as he could recall, the conversation with Mr. Crane,

he said abruptly: "Now, Jack, I want you to tell me just what you think.

Am I a prig, like Big Smith? Do you think Mr. Crane was right? Am I to

blame for what's coming to me?"

"Ward, I don't know," said Jack soberly after a brief silence.

Ward felt hurt and somewhat humiliated by his friend's reply. He was so

anxious to be absolved from all blame that he had eagerly looked forward

to Jack as a consoler. And now Jack's manner, far more than his words,

seemed to imply that he too thought something was wrong with himself.

"It seems to me," said Ward, unable entirely to conceal his

disappointment, "that a fellow who stands up for Henry as I did when the

'Tangs' got after him, isn't altogether bad. And why is Tim Pickard so

down on me? If I'd gone into his scrapes, or if even now I'd go in

again, he'd be all right, and you know it. I'd have my place on the

nine and the fellows in the school wouldn't all be down on me as they

now are."

"I don't know what to say to you," said Jack slowly. "You know how I

feel, old fellow, and there isn't a chap in the school who would be so

glad to have you take the place I know belongs to you as I would. I

know Tim's to blame, but then you know how it was with Big Pond. He

didn't go in with Tim and the 'Tangs,' and yet there hasn't been a

fellow in school for years whom every one liked as they did Pond. Now I

know him and I know you, and for the life of me I can't see just where

the fault lies."

"Only you know they liked Pond and don't like me."

"It isn't as strong as that. It isn't that the fellows dislike you,

Ward. That isn't it."

"It's that they don't like me," said Ward bitterly, determined to say

the words which he perceived that Jack would not.

"I think it'll come out all right, Ward, if you'll have patience and

wait. It isn't very pleasant, I know," he hastily added as he saw an

expression of pain and mortification sweep over Ward's face, "but it'll

all come right, I'm sure."

"And meanwhile I'm to sit still and bear it all like a martyr on a

pole."

"No, not that--not that--but----"

"But what?"

"But I wish you'd take a little more pains to make the fellows like

you."

"Don't you remember, though, what the doctor said about the fellows that

tried to do the popular act, how they never succeeded and the school was

always down on them?"

"Yes, I remember, and it's true too, but that doesn't mean that a

fellow's not to take a little trouble to be agreeable--I mean to go out

of his way. Forgive me, Ward. It hurts me worse than it does you, but

you asked me the honest question and I'm trying hard, honestly I am, to

see a way out of it. Now there's Big Smith. He's never in a scrape. He

doesn't know what the word mischief means, but then he isn't over

popular, you know."

"Yes, I know; but I hope I'm not like Big Smith. I suppose I'll have to

take it out in being respected, even if I'm not liked."

"That's where you're wrong, Ward. I tell you a fellow's got to be

respected or he's not liked. He's got to have something the other

fellows don't have or they don't look up to him and don't care much for

him, either. No, sir! I don't believe a fellow can be respected and

not be liked. Speaking of that, and the doctor's words, don't you

remember what he said about 'speaking the truth in love'? that it

wasn't enough for a fellow to be true, and speak the truth too, for that

matter, but that the way in which he did it counted for as much or more

than what he said? I usually take a nap when the doctor gets to

preaching, but I was thinking that morning and so kept awake."

"Thinking of me, maybe?" said Ward, looking keenly at Jack as he spoke.

"Why, yes, to tell the truth I was thinking of you, Ward; but I fancy

I'd been in a good deal better business to have been thinking of

myself."

"Jack, what would you advise me to do?"

"I told you, Ward, I don't know what to tell you. Still, if you want me

to, I'll tell you one or two things I've thought of."

"Go ahead," said Ward, striving to appear calm, though there was a

sinking of the heart as he spoke.

"Well, to begin with, old fellow, there isn't a boy in the class who can

learn his lessons with as little work as you can. Why, you can see

right through a thing that takes my old head an hour to find out. But,

Ward," he added hesitatingly, "I've sometimes thought you were a little

quick to poke fun at the fellows who are not so quick-witted as you are.

And then you aren't over ready to give a fellow a lift when he's in

trouble. Now, for example, there's Big Smith. I saw him come up to you

before class yesterday and say, 'Ward, how do you translate this

passage?' And maybe you remember what you said to him."

"No, I don't," replied Ward. "He's such a shirk I've no patience with

him. What did I say, Jack?"

"Why you turned him off with a curt, 'How do I translate that place?

Why, I translate it right,' and then you turned on your heel and walked

off."

"But I don't want to drag Big Smith through by letting him hang on to my

coat tails. I work to get what I have, and why shouldn't the other

fellows work too, I'd like to know? Every tub ought to stand on its own

bottom."

"That's all true enough, but it wouldn't cost you anything to give

another fellow a lift; you can do it too, I know, for you've lifted me

right out of the mire every time I asked you."

"Yes, but I like you, Jack."

"But I thought it was of the other fellows and the school you were

talking just now."

"So I was, Jack," replied Ward slowly. Perhaps he was beginning to see

what his friend had in mind. "But go on, give me another. I'm good for

it."

"Well," said Jack hesitatingly, "I've thought about the nine, Ward.

Henry and I were perfectly willing to keep off till they'd take you on,

but you wouldn't have that."

"No, sir! I'd never go on the nine if I had to get on in that way."

"That's all right and I don't know that I blame you, though I think by a

little squeezing Tim would have come around all right. But I did think

you might have gone on the scrub."

"Go on the scrub!" said Ward quickly. "What? Go on the scrub when I'd

been put off from the nine? Not much! Not as long as the court knows

itself." And Ward rose from his seat and in his anger began to pace

back and forth in the room.

"You don't see what I'm driving at. Now it looks to me like this. If

you'd taken the thing good-naturedly and made out that you weren't hit

so hard, I think the most of the fellows in the school would have taken

your part in no time. As it is, you just keep away from them, and if

Tim tells them that you've gone back on everything, why they don't know

but it's true, you see. Now if you'd swallowed your pride and gone in

with the fellows, whether you were on the nine or not, why it wouldn't

have been any time before every one of them would be willing to swear

that you were one of the best fellows in the school, as well as one of

the best players, and Tim would be forced to give you back your place.

Ripley has it now, but he doesn't size up to your knees, when it comes

to playing ball."

"Yes, but think what Tim Pickard would say if he should see me on the

scrub nine. He'd think he'd got me just where he wanted me, and that I

was all cut up about being put off the nine, and was trying to force my

way back again."

"Tim might be a little disagreeable at first; but you know if you braced

up and either laughed at him or paid no attention to what he said, how

soon he'd cool off. Now look here, Ward, how many times has your room

been stacked since we had our little interview with Timothy down at Ma

Perrins'?"

"Not once."

"Exactly. And if you meet Tim and the boys in the same way down on the

ball ground you'd see how soon he'd crawl there. Oh, I know Tim Pickard

all the way up and all the way down, from the top of his head to the

sole of his foot."

"But, I don't want to get on the nine in any such way," protested Ward.

"Never mind the nine, just come down and go in with the fellows, that's

all I'm telling you. You can't run off up to the glen or away off to

the Hopper, and think all the school is going to come trailing after

you. If you're going to catch fish, you've got to go where the fish

are, haven't you? And if you think the fellows are all down on you, you

can't fix things straight by going off and talking with the whispering

breezes and echoing hills, and all that sort of stuff."

Ward soon departed and went to his own room. His heart was smarting from

the effect of Jack's words, but somehow he could not feel angry with

him. Who could? The light-hearted, generous lad made friends on every

side, for no one could long withstand his sunny ways.

That night Ward sat for a long time at his study table, with his head

resting upon his hands and his books unopened before him. He was

thinking of Mr. Crane's words and what Jack had said.

At last he arrived at a quick decision, and with the decision once made

he opened his books and resolutely began the preparation of his lessons

for the following day.

*CHAPTER XIV*

*WARD HUMBLES HIMSELF*

For a long time after he had retired that night Ward rolled and tossed

upon his bed, and it seemed to the troubled boy as if sleep would never

come. The words of Jack kept sounding in his ears, and do what he would

he could not forget them.

His heart was heavy too, with the consciousness that the words were true

and that he knew he was in a measure at fault. Perhaps that after all

was the source of his deepest suffering, for Ward Hill was one of the

few boys who could not entirely deceive himself.

Again and again he tried to persuade himself that his present suffering

all came because he had broken with his former associates in the school.

That a measure of truth lay in that fact he could readily persuade

himself to believe, but not all of it could be traced to that source.

Jack's references to his unwillingness to aid the other boys and his

tendency to have but slight sympathy for those who did not learn as

easily as he, had touched him in a tender spot and his own conscience

accused him.

Then too, he knew that he had withdrawn from the fellowship of many in

the school, and had been accustomed to pride himself somewhat upon that

very fact. He was not dependent upon any one. If the fellows did not

care for him, why, he did not intend to hang his harp on the willows and

sit down and mourn over his slights. He would show every one in the

school that he could live without his company if needs be. With such

statements he had endeavored to bolster up his courage and by an air of

bravado, if not of true independence, he would show his own superiority.

No one should ever hear him "whine."

Yet, despite his efforts, his heart had been heavy all the time. He

yearned for the love and good will of his companions. No one in the

school more desired to be popular than he. And few too would suffer

from the lack of popularity as he did.

And his heart had been heavy when he at last had closed his books when

the bell was rung that night and he had put out his light and crept into

his bed. He was tormented by a dull, heavy feeling of misery. He felt

lonely and forlorn. Both Mr. Crane and Jack had virtually admitted that

he was not very well liked by the school, and both also evidently

thought he was not entirely blameless in the matter.

As the truth gradually came to be seen by him, he was sincere enough to

acknowledge it to be true and had sufficient strength to rouse himself

to face its difficulties. He would follow Jack's suggestions.

On the following morning he said to Jack as they left the chapel

together: "I'm going to follow your advice, and am coming down to play

on the scrub against the nine this afternoon. The only thing I'm afraid

of is that Tim Pickard will think I'm crawling. You know I'm not trying

to get back my place on the team."

"That's all right, Ward," replied Jack enthusiastically. "Never you

mind Tim, you just go ahead. It'll be all right and I'll see that you

have a place on the scrub."

As a consequence of Jack's efforts, when in the afternoon Ward went down

to the ball ground, Ford, who was acting as the captain of the scrub

nine, which was formed to give the regular nine practice every day, said

to him, "Ward, will you take a hand with us this afternoon?"

"Yes," replied Ward quietly.

"All right; play 'short' then, will you?"

As Ward threw aside his coat and walked out upon the field to take the

position assigned him, he was conscious that many of the boys who had

assembled to watch the nine at its practice were talking of him. His

face burned, but he tried hard not to appear aware of the curiosity

which his appearance on the field had aroused. The sneer on Tim

Pickard's face was the hardest for him to bear; and when he overheard

the words which Tim uttered, evidently intended for Ward's special

benefit, about "sneaks" and "trying to curry favor and crawl back on the

team," he was sorely tempted to leave the field instantly.

But catching a meaning look just then from Jack, he resolutely ignored

all that he had heard and seen, and well aware that Tim would be highly

delighted even then to have him abandon the game, he tried hard to give

his entire attention to the work before him.

It was the first game in which Ward had played since he had come back to

Weston and he felt sadly his lack of practice. But endeavoring to make

up by his efforts what he lacked in practice, he succeeded beyond his

hopes in acquitting himself creditably. He handled the ball quickly and

threw with all his old-time swiftness.

Indeed, he thought more than once of that long throw of his in the game

with the Burrs in the preceding year, which had saved the game and won

for him the wild applause of his fellows. The recollection served to

intensify the difficulties of his present position. How sadly had it

all been changed since the preceding year! He was, however, too busy in

the game to dwell long upon the misery which the thought produced.

When it came to be his turn to bat and he stood facing Tim, who was the

pitcher of the Weston nine, he could easily perceive the expression of

hatred upon his face. Tim exerted himself to the utmost and sent in the

ball with all the speed and curves he could summon. Perhaps his

manifest desire to place Ward at a disadvantage served to rouse the

latter all the more. At any rate he stood calmly facing Tim, apparently

unmoved by all his efforts to annoy him.

It became evident to others as well as to Ward that Tim in his anger was

trying to hit him with the ball. He sent in two or three at his

swiftest speed and Ward had all he could do to dodge them successfully.

"Oh, hold on, Tim!" called Jack in a low voice from his position at

short stop. "What are you trying to do? You want to remember that

we're not alone here."

Somehow Jack always seemed to have a strange influence over the captain

of the nine, an influence which no other exerted, or even tried to use.

And the effect of the words became at once apparent as Tim's speed

slackened and the next ball came in directly over the plate.

Just then Ward obtained a glimpse of Mr. Crane, who had come upon the

grounds and taken his position in the front line of the spectators,

where he stood watching the game. Perhaps the sight of the teacher, or

Jack's words, or the change which came over Tim, served to arouse Ward

still more. He never knew just what the cause was; but as he saw the

ball coming swiftly toward him, he caught it squarely on the end of his

bat and sent it far out over the heads of the waiting fielders.

As Ward swiftly cleared the bases, sending in two men before him, he was

dimly conscious that a faint cheer had arisen from the spectators. He

gave no heed to that, however, nor yet to the words with which Jack

hailed him as he ran swiftly past him. Somehow the heavy hit which he

had made served in a measure to relieve his feelings, and as he halted

upon the third base he wiped his dripping face with his handkerchief and

for the first time turned and looked about him.

Jack's face was beaming and Ward could easily see he had risen in the

estimation of the spectators. The sight produced a thrill of pleasure in

his heart, but he was soon recalled to the necessities of the game and

gave himself fully to that. When at last he succeeded in stealing home,

the applause again broke out, but Ward held himself aloof from the boys,

well satisfied with what he had done.

Twice more during the game Ward succeeded in hitting squarely the

swiftly thrown balls of the pitcher, and when at last the game was

ended, the scrub nine for the first time that season had succeeded in

making a creditable showing against the school nine, and Ward knew the

success in large measure had been due to his efforts.

"Tell you what, Tim," said Jack, as the members of the nine picked up

their bats and started for their rooms, "we'll have to put up the scrub

against the Burrs, I'm thinking. If we don't look out they'll be

playing all around us."

Tim made no reply, but a savage scowl crept over his face. He prided

himself upon his prowess as a pitcher, and indeed it was freely

acknowledged that there was no one in the school in any way to be

compared with him. Indeed, it was this fact that chiefly enabled Tim to

retain his position as the captain of the nine, for the boys well knew

that without him they would be so sadly crippled as to be unable to make

a good showing against any team.

The fact that Ward Hill, whom he disliked so intensely, had succeeded in

successfully batting him that day was gall to the angry boy. He made no

reply to Jack's words, and sullenly departed from the field.

Ward did not wait for any of his friends to accompany him as he too

started from the ball ground. Jack's beaming face pleased him greatly,

and the words that he overheard some of the boys say about it's being "a

shame that Hill was not on the nine," seemed also to comfort him; but

without waiting to speak to any one he drew on his coat and started to

go.

As he came to the border of the grounds he was surprised as Mr. Crane

joined him and said: "You've done well to-day, Hill, and I congratulate

you."

"Thank you," said Ward simply, though his face flushed with pleasure at

the words.

"You haven't been over to see me yet," continued Mr. Crane. "Can't you

come up to my room for a few minutes now?"

"I'm hardly fit for that," said Ward, glancing ruefully at his soiled

hands. He knew also that his hair was in disorder and that his face

bore many tokens of his recent exertions.

"I understand all that," said Mr. Crane quietly. "If you can spare a few

minutes now I should be very glad to have you come. You bear only the

honorable signs of battle, and I shall forget them. I want only a few

minutes with you."

"I'll come," said Ward simply, as he turned and walked with the teacher,

and was soon seated in his room.

"Now, Hill," said Mr. Crane as soon as he too had taken his seat, "I

don't want you to think that I'm asking more than I ought, and if you

feel that I am you are at liberty not to answer me. But I should be

glad to have you tell me why you went down to the ball ground this

afternoon and played on the scrub nine. You haven't done that before,

have you?"

"No," said Ward quietly.

He was silent a moment, and then, as he looked up, he felt rather than

saw that Mr. Crane was regarding him intently. His interest was so

apparent that almost before he realized what he was doing Ward had

related all his recent troubles to him. He did not mention any names,

but he told him of his own feelings when he had listened to his words of

the previous interview; also of what "a friend"--for so he referred to

Jack--had said to him in the same line. He held nothing back. His own

bitterness, his feeling that he had been misunderstood, his

discouragement and all came out.

"Hill," said Mr. Crane when Ward at last ended, "I'm greatly pleased

with you. You haven't done anything since you came to Weston that has

given me such genuine pleasure as that which you have done to-day."

"Why, Mr. Crane," said Ward quickly, his face flushing as he spoke and a

very suspicious moisture appearing in his eyes, "I didn't know you cared

so much about the game. I thought you would be more pleased over my

work in the classes."

"I am pleased with both, Hill. I am delighted at the improvement in

your class work, and I am no less pleased over what I have seen to-day."

As Ward appeared somewhat mystified and looked questioningly at him, Mr.

Crane continued, "The class work is important. You know I would be the

last to belittle that. But there are many other things to be learned in

a school like this. I have been here many years now, and I have had an

opportunity to judge of the relative success of the boys as they have

gone up to college and out into life, and I must say that many of my old

standards of judgment have been revised."

"And you don't think that standing high in the class is first then?"

said Ward eagerly.

"Yes, with you I do, Hill; but first, not all. I want to see every boy

do his best, his particular rank in class then becomes a secondary

matter. There are some boys who are older when they enter, or much more

mature when they are of the same age as their fellows, and of course

they do the work more easily and gain a higher standing without much

effort. But some students show elements of growth and promise, and

although they may not stand so high as some of the others, I can see by

the very impetus they receive from working faithfully that they are

bound to outstrip the others in the race of life. Then too, school work

only tests a man on one side of his mental make-up. His memory may be

strong and he may also be able to perceive and receive, but his ability

to create or to carry out plans is not tested in the least, or to a very

slight degree. So when he gets out into the world and finds that the

world is much more prone to ask of him what he can furnish or add to the

stock it already has, or what he can do in carrying out his plans, than

it is to ask him about his ability to soak in as a sponge does, he

doesn't know just what to make of it. Creative ability and executive

ability are but slightly tested in school life, and these are the

qualities of success far more than mere receptive power. I don't know

that I make myself clear, using these long words," added Mr. Crane

smilingly.

"I think I understand you," said Ward slowly; "but I'd never thought of

it in that way before. I always thought if a fellow did well in school

he'd be likely to outside."

"And so he will," said Mr. Crane quickly. "You see I didn't make myself

clear after all. I think success in the main is in him, not in his

surroundings, and if he has ability and exerts it in school it will tell

there as well as in any other place. If a boy has ability and applies

himself he will succeed in school if success is in him. But on the

other hand, because a boy has the special kind of ability to succeed in

school work it does not always follow that the same qualities will make

his life-work a success. And that is the very reason why I am always

glad to see a boy tested and meet the test on every side of his life,

even while he is in school."

"And you think I have been tested?"

"Yes; and I think you are meeting the tests. School life and school work

are two different things. I want not less of one but more of the other.

The discipline of hard study is what you need, Hill; and you need also

the discipline which only the boys can give you. No teacher can give

it, however much he may try. It's life, not books. Now no discipline

for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous. Nevertheless,

afterward----"

"Yes, yes, I see," said Ward quickly. "And you think I am learning?

Tell me honestly just what you think, Mr. Crane."

"I think you are learning and are doing well in the school life as well

as in the school work," replied Mr. Crane cordially, as he rose from his

chair, a signal which Ward at once understood.

*CHAPTER XV*

*OUTSIDE LESSONS*

"Now, Hill," said Mr. Crane, as Ward stopped for a moment in the

doorway, "I trust I have not said too much to you."

The teacher's kindly tones and grave manner impressed Ward even more

than what he had been saying, and with a face that beamed in spite of

the marks which the dust of the ball-ground had left, the boy, far more

light-hearted than he had been for many weeks now, said: "You have done

me lots of good, Mr. Crane."

"Let us hope that it will prove to be so. I rejoice with you that the

muskets of Lexington have been heard, now let us see to it that the guns

of Yorktown shall also be heard. Or to put it in another way, the

victory of a Bull Run does not always mean that the same parties are in

similar conditions at Appomattox. The declaration of independence did

not of itself make the colonies free. They had to prove their right and

ability to be free; but still the declaration had to come first. You

have fought at Lexington, and have declared your independence, and I

think too you have had your Trenton and Princeton. Now if Valley Forge

and Benedict Arnold come along why you will not forget what followed

them. But I don't mean to stand here and croak of possible ills. I am

confident now, Hill, that you are beginning to be master of yourself,

and that is what the discipline and training of a school course and

school life are for. Come and see me again soon, Hill. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Mr. Crane," said Ward; and then he started directly across

the campus toward his room to prepare for supper.

Somehow he was feeling strangely elated. He could not see that there

had been any radical change in himself or in his relations with his

fellows, but the trial of the afternoon on the ball-ground had been

passed, and he had played a game which certainly must have proven to all

that whether he was on the nine or not, there was no one in the school

who could do better.

And he could not fail to see too the change which already had become

manifest in the feelings of many of the boys toward him. The surprise

with which they had first observed him when he went out on the field,

the sneers of Tim Pickard, reflected in a measure by some of his boon

companions, the remarks which his appearance had called forth, had all

soon changed, that is, all save Tim's malice, which had given place to

an expression of intense and bitter hatred.

Still Ward thought he could endure that. His vigorous body was still

tingling from the effects of his exercise, and the words of Mr. Crane

were still sounding in his ears. Added to all that was the evident

pleasure of the spectators which his ability as a player had aroused,

and the cordial encouragement of the one teacher in the school whom he

most respected and loved. Ward was beginning to feel as if life were

not such a heavy burden after all.

"Well, Ward, that was a great game you put up this afternoon," said

Henry, as his room-mate entered the room. "The way in which you batted

Tim almost broke him up."

"Did it?" said Ward lightly, as he at once began to wash.

"It did that, and it tickled the rest of us, or rather some of us,

mightily too. Tim will soon have to give you back your place on the

nine."

"No, he'll not do that," replied Ward quickly. "Tim's got enough of the

nine under his thumb to have his say, and I know he'd rather leave than

have me on the team."

"But surely, Ward, after to-day's work you'll not object to Jack's

proposal?"

"Jack's proposal? I don't know just what you mean."

"Why, that he and I should tell Tim that he must take you back or we'd

leave the nine."

"No. I never should agree to that," replied Ward quietly. "I'd never

want to get on the nine in that way. I'd stay off forever before I'd do

that. Not that I don't thank you," he hastily added, as he saw an

expression of genuine disappointment creeping over his room-mate's face.

"It's mighty good of you and Jack, and I'll never forget it, either.

But, you see, even if I were willing to go on in that way, Tim still has

the most of the nine, and I think the most of the school too, on his

side, and I think it would break up the team. And with the game coming

on with the Burrs so soon now, that would never do, you see."

"Still, I wish you were on the nine, Ward," said Henry. "I want you,

and the nine needs you."

"Oh, well," replied Ward, speaking far more lightly than he felt, "it'll

all come out right in the end. Jordan's a hard road to travel, but I've

got to take things as they come."

"You're doing great work in the classes, anyway, Ward. Dr. Gray told me

the other night that your reports were great so far in the term."

"Did he say that?" said Ward eagerly, his hunger for praise returning in

an instant.

"Yes, that's just what he said."

"Well, that's enough without making the nine."

Ward's prophecy proved to be correct. Unknown to him Henry and Jack

went and had a talk with Tim Pickard, but the captain of the nine

utterly refused to listen to any plea in Ward's behalf. He threatened,

if they persisted in pressing his claims, to throw up his own position

and take with him the four members of the team whom he controlled, and

with the aid of whose votes he was always able to have his own way, as

with his own vote they made a majority.

Neither of the boys informed Ward of their efforts on his behalf,

fearing that the failure might serve to dampen the returning ardor which

he now displayed.

And Ward longed to be on the nine too. Conscious of his own ability as

a player, and eager as he was for the excitement of the games and the

applause of his fellows, it was no slight disappointment to feel that he

was shut off from it all, and that he was powerless to change the

conditions that surrounded him.

He did not go down to the grounds every day, for that seemed to him too

much as if he were pushing for his former place on the nine. Still, he

went there frequently and willingly taking any position assigned him on

the scrub team, threw himself into the game with all his heart.

Meanwhile he did not neglect his lessons. Come what might, he was

resolved to do well in them. As the days passed his own pleasure

increased as he saw that no one in the class was doing better than he.

Berry thus far was his most dangerous competitor, for "Luscious" was a

bright fellow and not one to shirk his work. His influence on Jack too,

was becoming apparent, and Jack's class work was far better than any he

had ever done in the course of his three years at Weston.

Jack seemed to rejoice in his own success too, and made many sly

references to the honors he was hoping to win. Indeed, he was

accustomed now to refer to himself and Ward and Luscious when the three

by chance were together as the "three valedics."

"And the greater of the three--ah, that's a secret. That's to be

revealed in the forthcoming chapters, as the books say," he would

laughingly add.

Another change also became manifest in Ward. There was no more surprised

boy in all the Weston school than Big Smith, when one morning on his way

to the Latin room Ward overtook him and walked on by his side.

"Got your lesson, Smith?" said Ward.

"No, not all of it. I fear I'm like the men that toiled all night and

took nothing. I've been studying hours and hours on one passage here,

but somehow I can't get it."

"Which is it?" said Ward cordially. "Perhaps I can give you a lift."

"If you only would, Ward," said Big Smith eagerly, as he opened the book

at the difficult passage.

Ward translated the passage, and when he had finished, Big Smith said:

"I don't understand how it is, Ward, that you can do these things and I

can't. My brain is larger than yours," and Big Smith removed his hat

and thoughtfully stroked his hair as he spoke. "Now I've always heard

that the size of a man's head was the measure of his ability, and I know

my hat is two sizes larger than yours, Ward. And yet you could read

that place and I couldn't," he added ruefully. "How do you account for

it, Ward?"

"Quality, not quantity," said Ward with a laugh, who was light-hearted

in the consciousness of having helped another, a comparatively new

experience for him.

The consequences of that act made Ward afterward somewhat dubious as to

the real benefits he had bestowed on his classmate. Almost every

evening Big Smith obtained permission from Mr. Blake to go up to Ward's

room, and for a long time he would remain there and listen to Ward as he

translated the difficult passages for him.

At last his presence during the study hour became a burden. "Big Smith

is an unmitigated nuisance," Henry declared. The boys posted great

notices on their door which bore such alarming headlines as "Smallpox

within," "This is my busy day," "No one admitted except on business,"

"Danger," and other similar mild and suggestive devices. But Big Smith

calmly ignored them all, and every night when the study hour was about

half done would appear, and with his unmoved and benign countenance ask

for the aid which Ward never refused him now.

At last Henry declared it could be borne no longer, and as Ward knew how

hard the work was for his chum and how Big Smith's interruptions

confused him, he uttered no protest when Henry boldly told the intruder

one night that if he wanted help he must come for it out of study hours.

"But I don't ask you for help, Henry," replied Big Smith in apparent

surprise.

"I know that; but you're imposing on Ward's good nature, and I can't

study when you two fellows are talking. Besides, I don't think it's the

square thing for you to take Ward's work into class as your own."

"But I don't," protested Big Smith warmly. "I never in my life took his

work into class."

"Why don't you get a pony, Big Smith? That would be the easiest way out

of it."

"Me get a pony? Do you think I'd use a translation? Not much. I'm

thankful for one thing, and that is, I never have used a pony, as you

call it, yet."

"What do you call it when you come up here and get Ward to read your

Latin and Greek to you, I'd like to know."

"That? Oh, that's not a pony. That's just Ward Hill."

Both his hearers laughed in spite of their efforts to restrain

themselves, Big Smith meanwhile looking from one to the other as if he

were not quite able to see the joke.

"No, Big Smith," said Henry at last, "I don't want to be small or mean,

but I have to work hard for all I get, and when you come up here in

study hours you just break me all up. I don't mind it any other time;

but it doesn't seem to me just the square thing to break in on another

fellow's time. I wouldn't do it; it doesn't seem to me that Mr. Blake

ought to let you do it, either. What are the study hours for?"

"I'm sure I don't want to come here if I'm not wanted," replied Big

Smith soberly.

"That's not it; that's not it at all," protested Henry. "It's only for

a quiet study hour I'm arguing. I don't think you ought to break in on

another fellow's work. Now, do you?"

"But," said Big Smith in his most solemn tones, "all my teachers say

I've been doing a great deal better work of late. I'm sure you wouldn't

want me to drop back in my work or stand lower in the class, would you?"

With a hopeless sigh Henry turned again to his work. It seemed as if it

were almost impossible to impress the conception of the needs of any one

else on Big Smith's mind.

Ward, however, finally adjusted matters to the satisfaction of both by

promising his aid to Big Smith after breakfast each morning, in the hour

between breakfast time and chapel. In his new desire to follow out

Jack's suggestion and make himself familiar and helpful to his

companions, he never once thought of the harm he might be doing Big

Smith. Indeed he went much further, and soon a number of the boys in

the class joined Big Smith each morning and listened to Ward as he read

aloud the lessons of the day.

And Ward was thinking only of the aid he was giving, not at all of the

harm the others might receive. But then we are told in many ways

outside the realm of physics that the reaction is always equal to the

action. Perhaps Ward Hill, however, was yet to learn that lesson--a

lesson which certainly each must learn for himself and not for another.

Meanwhile, through all these days Ward's room not been touched. Whoever

had done the "stacking" had now, at least for a time, ceased from his

labors. That there was still a very bitter feeling against him on the

part of many he well knew, nor could he attribute it all to the

immediate circle of the "Tangs."

Ward felt the prejudice keenly, but he resolutely held himself to his

work, and by the aid he gave the boys in their lessons and by mingling

with them more than he had done of late, he was hoping to win his way

back to the position he had once held in the school.

Nor was this born of a weak desire for popularity alone. That was true

in part, but only in part; but Ward Hill, as we have said, was one of

those few persons who cannot deceive themselves.

And he had realized the truthfulness of Jack's and Mr. Crane's words,

and was now resolutely trying to set himself right. While he longed for

and keenly enjoyed the praise and good-will of his fellows, still unless

he felt in his heart that they were true and deserved he did not feel

thoroughly happy in receiving them. So perhaps a dual motive was at

work at this time on Ward's heart--the eager longing for the praise of

the school and the equally strong desire to feel that it was true and

merited. Let us not blame him too harshly. Purely good motives are

sadly lacking in this world of ours. And then, even a gold coin

contains some alloy, but the most of us are not inclined to reject the

use which can be made of it because of the baser metal it contains.

Little Pond was now doing nobly. He looked up to Ward with unbounded

confidence. Ward more than once found himself wondering whether he had

ever looked up to a senior in that way. Still he rejoiced in the little

fellow's success and felt strongly drawn to him, although he knew in his

heart that his days of trial were not all past.

And now the approaching game with the Burrs became the absorbing topic

of the school. The nine was working vigorously and Ward went down more

frequently to play on the team which was to give them their daily

practice.

No one knew how heavy his heart was and with what unutterable longing he

desired his place on the team. Still he held himself resolutely to the

line he had marked out. He studied faithfully, tried to make himself

friendly with the boys, and apparently threw himself heartily into the

task of giving the nine the practice they sadly needed. And no one

heard him complain, and not even to Jack did he mention his desire for

his former position, a position now filled by Ripley. And yet somehow

he had the feeling that Jack understood, although neither made any

reference to it now.

So matters stood on the day before the great game. The final

preparations had been completed, the last practice of the nine had

occurred, and throughout the school there was the strong though subdued

excitement which always preceded the great game.

But Ward Hill, with a heavy heart and a kind of dull misery, looked

forward to the morrow.

*CHAPTER XVI*

*THE BEGINNING OF THE GREAT GAME*

The following morning dawned clear and bright, and many a boy in the

Weston school gave a sigh of relief when first he looked from his

windows. The rugged hills, now covered with the highly tinted autumn

foliage, displayed patches of clouds resting on their summits or

creeping far up along the wooded slopes. The sun, however, would soon

burn away all such slight affairs as these gray-colored floating clouds

or stretches of fog, and the boys were rejoicing.

The games with the Burrs were the great events of the school year. Not

only were the schools themselves of equally high standing, and in a

sense rivals, but the advantage for a few years now in the ball games

had been with the Burrs, and the Weston boys consequently were

especially eager to win this time. As the game was to be played upon

their own grounds they had a slight advantage, but all were somewhat

nervous and the excitement ran correspondingly high.

There were to be recitations in the morning only. It was almost

impossible for the eager lads to hold themselves to their work, but the

teachers were somewhat lenient with them, and some of the ludicrous

mistakes were passed over with a smile.

Indeed, it was whispered that the teachers themselves were not far

behind the boys in sharing the excitement which pervaded the school, and

were as desirous that the nine should win as were the players

themselves.

Soon after noon autos could be seen coming along the pretty valley roads

or making their way over the hillsides. But whether from hill or valley

made no difference, for there was one destination for them all and that

was the ball ground. Old and young, men and women, boys and girls were

there, and the assembled crowd gave promise of being unusually large.

The great busses filled with the boys and girls from the neighboring

school began to put in an appearance, for the rival school was

co-educational in its methods, and the girls were apparently as eager

and excited as their brothers. Long streamers and banners floated out

from behind the well-filled machines and many of the girls were waving

flags or long ribbons of the school colors, handily adjusted to a cane

or some similar device.

A crowd of the Weston boys was waiting in front of the chapel for the

Burr nine to come, for it was known that they were to have a special

auto.

Some of the members of the Weston nine, clad in their bright new

uniforms, mingled with the crowd and as a committee were waiting to

welcome and conduct the visiting nine to the dressing rooms. Their

efforts to appear calm and unmindful of the attention they attracted

provoked a smile from some of the waiting boys, but no one begrudged

them the honors which were theirs, and as they joined in the shouts and

laughter which continually arose, or stopped to converse about the

prospects of the nine in the coming game, the interest steadily

increased.

"There they are! There they come!" suddenly some one in the crowd

shouted, and in a moment the sound of the horn carried by the Burrs

could be heard in the distance. In a brief time the huge auto drew up

before the crowd and the Burr nine leaped nimbly out upon the ground.

"Hello, Shackford," said Tim Pickard advancing and grasping the

outstretched hand of the rival captain. "Glad to see you. If we have

as big a game as we have crowd, there will be something to see before

night comes."

Tim proceeded to shake hands with each member of the team and then at

once started with them to lead the way to the rooms which had been

assigned to the visitors.

The waiting crowd parted and stood watching with undisguised curiosity

the opposing nine as they filed past them following Tim. Certainly they

were a sturdy lot, and the low murmurs which could be heard among the

Weston boys as the others withdrew were not entirely those of confidence

in the success of their own team.

Meanwhile Ward Hill had gone down to the ball ground and lay on the

grass in the rear of the field in a place from which he could easily

follow the progress of the game.

Beside him were Henry and Jack, both in uniforms, the latter sitting

erect and occasionally pounding the ground before him with the bat he

was holding in his hands. Not one of the trio was happy, and Ward least

so of the three, although he was striving manfully to appear unmindful

of the excitement which, though subdued, was still apparent on all sides

of them.

"It's tough, Ward," said Jack; "I want to win this game, but I never

went into one with such a mean feeling as I've got now. It's a shame

you're not to play. It's worse than a shame. The nine needs you and I

know how you feel, old fellow. Say, Ward," he added, suddenly leaping

to his feet, "if you'll say the word, we'll fix Tim yet. Henry and I

can go to him and declare that if he won't take you on, we're off. And

he'll have to give in now, with the crowd all here and everything ready

to begin."

"Yes, Ward, that's what we'll do," chimed in Henry. "It can be done

now."

"No, fellows," said Ward shaking his head. "I told you I couldn't go on

in that way; and then too, I'm not in practice, you know."

"Bother the practice! You'll do better without it than most of us can

with it. Here they come, Ward! Say the word and the deed's done."

But Ward still shook his head. He could not bring himself to do what

Jack asked. And yet how he did long to be in the game!

The appearance of the nines upon the field was greeted by a shout and

the school cheers were almost deafening on every side. The banners and

flags were waving, the girls were standing erect in the autos, and the

entire scene was stirring and exhilarating in the highest degree. "Good

luck to you, fellows," said Ward as Jack and Henry started to go and

join their comrades.

Neither of them replied save by the look which they gave him and soon

were with the nine.

The ground was cleared now, and the allotted time of preliminary

practice for each team was given. As Ward watched the boys it almost

seemed to him that he could not endure the sight. Only a year before

and he had been one of the team. Even now he could feel again the

thrill which he had when at the close of that famous game his mates had

borne him from the field on their shoulders. But now no one seemed to

care whether he played or not. And all the time there was the

consciousness in his own heart that there was not a better player than

he in all the Weston school.

Summoning all his resolution he left his place and took a position near

the end of the long line of Weston boys who were standing well back on

one side of the ground. He had seen Big Smith and Pond there, and even

their company was comforting to him now.

"Hello, Ward," was Big Smith's hail as Ward approached; "I should think

you would wish you were on the nine now. Do you know, I almost feel as

if I could play well enough myself to take a position."

Ward made no response, though Big Smith little realized how his words

had stung the troubled boy. The Weston nine had taken their positions in

the field and the game was about to begin.

Ward glanced out toward left field, his old position, and his heart was

bitter toward Ripley, who now was playing there. Ward knew he could

fill the place much better than Ripley ever could. Indeed, his heart was

so bitter that he was almost divided in his feelings between his desire

for the Weston boys to win, and that Ripley and Tim should not put up a

good game.

But everything was in readiness now and the hush which came over the

assembly betrayed the suppressed excitement. Shackford grasped his bat

and advanced to the plate, the umpire tossed the ball to Tim and gave

the word, and the game with the Burrs was begun.

Tim settled himself into his position, drew back his arm and sent the

ball in with all the speed he could put forth. Shackford for two years

had been captain of the Burr nine and his prowess was well known. There

was no one the Weston boys feared as they did him.

Shackford was ready, and the very first ball Tim sent in he caught

fairly on the end of the bat and sent far down the field close to the

foul flag.

A shout of delight arose from all the friends of the Burrs as the runner

started swiftly toward the first base.

"Foul, foul ball!" called the umpire and Shackford stopped suddenly on

his way to the second base.

A murmur of disapproval arose from the crowd, and Ward, who was standing

not very far from the place where the ball had struck, shook his head.

To him the ball had seemed fair, but he said nothing and admired the

spirit of Shackford as he raised his hand toward his supporters,

betokening his desire for no manifestations of the kind which had just

been heard, and went slowly back to the home-plate and once more picking

up his bat stood facing the pitcher.

"One strike!" called the umpire as Tim sent the ball swiftly in.

"Two strikes!" he called again as the second ball went whistling past.

A low murmur could be heard as the excitement of the watching crowd

increased. Shackford was ready and stood grimly waiting for Tim's next

move. "One ball" and "two balls" followed and the strain on all was

becoming more intense.

The next ball, however, was apparently the very one for which the

captain of the Burrs had been waiting, for he struck it hard and

squarely, and it went far up into the air directly into the territory

which Ripley was guarding.

Again a shout of delight was heard from the supporters of the Burrs, but

it was hushed in a moment as Ripley took his stand and waited with

outstretched hands for the descending ball.

Shackford was speeding on toward the third base, but Ward was unmindful

of him. He was watching his supplanter in left field. The ball settled

lower and lower; but whether it was because Ripley was highly excited or

had misjudged the ball was not known; it struck his hands and bounded

out again. The fielder had squarely muffed it.

A groan arose from the Weston boys, and "Hi! yi! yi!" came from many of

the friends of the Burrs.

Ward could not lament Ripley's failure, that would have been too much to

expect of human nature; but still he turned angrily, as he heard the

shouts, and then said to Little Pond: "That's a mean trick! no one ought

to applaud his opponents' errors."

"I don't see why not," said Big Smith.

"Because it's no way to do," said Ward. "If you can't win squarely you

don't want to win at all. But keep still. Let's see what'll be done

now."

Shackford was on third base now, and as he kept dancing about, Tim, who

had the ball, threw it to the baseman, but in his eagerness he sent it

over his head among the crowd. Shackford ran home, much to the delight

of his friends and the chagrin of the Weston boys. The first run had

been scored with no one out.

Three more of the Burrs nine crossed the plate before the inning closed,

the success of Shackford evidently encouraging his followers even more

than the glaring errors of their opponents. When the Weston boys came

in to take their turn at the bat their faces were glum and the prospect

was far from bright. Tim was the first batter, and got his base on

balls.

As Jack Hobart stepped to the plate to follow him, Ward turned to the

boys near him and called: "Let's give him a cheer, fellows!"

The cheers rang out, Ward's voice being the loudest of them all.

Evidently Jack felt the stimulus, for he sent the ball between left and

center fields, and Tim was soon on third, while Jack rested on second.

But neither could go any farther. The next two batters struck out, and

the third sent up a little fly which Shackford himself easily caught.

"Four to nothing," said Ward as the sides changed. "Not a very bright

outlook." But the inning closed without another run being scored.

On the Weston side Henry succeeded in making the circuit of the bases

and thus scored the first run for the team. The two succeeding innings

failed to add to the score of either side. Both nines were playing

desperately, and the interest and excitement of the spectators

momentarily increased.

"Four to one," said Ward as the fifth inning was begun.

He had led the cheering in the portion of the crowd where he stood, and

in his eagerness for the Weston boys to win, for the time he had almost

forgotten his own disappointment. Ripley had struck out each time he

had been at the bat, and certainly his success in the field had not been

very marked thus far.

Again it was Shackford's turn to bat, and as he advanced to the plate

the expression of determination on his face was to be clearly seen.

Four to one was certainly no small advantage, and the captain of the

Burrs was determined to hold it if such a thing were possible.

Again he waited until two strikes and two balls had been called. The

crowd evidently was anxious, but Shackford appeared to be as cool and

calm as if nothing were expected from him.

Ward had glanced aside a moment. The suspense of the spectators was

interesting if nothing more. He was suddenly recalled by a yell which

seemed to have arisen from a thousand throats. Shackford had lifted the

ball high into the air, and once more it was coming directly into

Ripley's territory.

The eager fielder started after the ball. He was compelled to run back

and to Ward it seemed as if the ball were going far over his head. But

having gone back as far as was necessary, Ripley turned sharply and ran

in. The ball was settling lower and lower now, and just as the fielder

stretched forth his hands for it his feet slipped from under him and he

fell headlong on the ground, while the ball went rolling far beyond him.

When he had regained his footing and sent the ball in Shackford was once

more on third base. A low but pronounced murmur rose from the Weston

crowd which could be heard even above the shouts of the Burrs, but in a

moment silence was restored, as the next batter took his place and faced

Tim. The crack which resounded when he struck the ball could be heard

all over the field. As if with design the ball went skipping along the

ground after it struck just back of Jack's position as short stop, and

went rolling swiftly toward Ripley. The excited lad tried desperately

to stop it, but failed, and the ball slipped between his legs and went

on far behind him.

The murmurings of the crowd were unmistakable now. "Put him off! Put

him out! Hill! Hill! Ward Hill! Put him off! Put him out! Ward

Hill!" could be heard on every side.

Ward's heart was beating rapidly, and he tried to draw back out of

sight; but for two minutes the cries continued, for boys are merciless

in their judgments. At last quiet was in a measure restored and the game

went on, but the inning closed with the score six to one against the

Weston boys.

Ward could see that a crowd of angry students, chief among whom were

Jack and Henry, quickly surrounded Tim and an animated conversation took

place, though he could not hear any of the words which were spoken. He

was hardly prepared for what followed, however, for after a momentary

hesitation Tim started down the lines of the waiting spectators, and as

he caught sight of Ward he quickly turned and approached him.

*CHAPTER XVII*

*THE END OF THE GREAT GAME*

"The fellows want you to take Ripley's place," said Tim gruffly.

Ward's heart responded in an instant. The Weston boys were to bat now

and the excitement in the crowd was increasing. He longed to have a

share in the work which must be done within the four innings yet to be

played. It was a marvelous thing too, that Tim should himself come and

invite him to return to his place. It was true he was surly, and his

countenance betrayed his feelings. The pressure of the nine and the

crowd had been too strong for him to resist; and then, doubtless the

advantage which the Burr nine had thus far won also had its influence,

for no one more earnestly desired to win the game than did Tim Pickard.

Eager as Ward was, he still hesitated a moment. He well knew that Tim's

anger would not cease if he should do well; while if he should fail in a

time when so much was expected, his position in the school would be all

the more trying.

Tim stood waiting before him and did not repeat his request.

In a moment Jack came running toward him, and as he came up, said:

"Hurry up, Ward! Never mind the uniform. We won't stop for that. Just

throw off your coat and come on. You can afford to spoil a dozen suits

rather than let the Burrs win this game!"

Noticing the hesitation of his friend, Jack continued: "Oh, don't pull

off now, Ward! all the school wants you. We've just got to have you,

and that's all there is to it. Did you ever in your life see such work

as Ripley made of it? I don't believe he could stop the moon if it was

rolled at him by a baby. Come on, Ward, come on! Tim and I have got to

go and bat, and we can't stay any longer. All the fellows want him,

don't they, Tim?" he added, turning to the captain of the nine.

"That's what they say," growled Tim, and yet Ward could readily see that

he was almost as eager for him to play as Jack was, only he could not

bring himself to urge the boy whom he had abused in so many ways and

hated with such a genuine hatred.

Just at this juncture Mr. Crane approached and touching Ward lightly

upon the shoulder said in a low voice: "I should go in, Hill. You've

nothing to lose and much to gain. Remember, you've had your Lexington

and the Declaration of Independence and Trenton and Princeton, and now

you're at Monmouth. Don't let the British or General Lee baffle you

now. Besides, you must think of the school too."

Ward looked at the teacher in as great surprise as did Jack and Tim, and

his hesitation was gone. He had no desire to appear unwilling or

indifferent, for he certainly was not controlled by either feeling. He

longed to enter the game and did not wish to be "coaxed" into it. All

his hesitation had arisen from the fear that if he should not do well

his position in the school would not be improved, and the enmity of

Tim's special friends would only be intensified.

"I'll come in," he said gently, "and do the best I can."

"Good for you, Ward! good for you!" shouted Jack tossing his hat into

the air and turning a somersault. "He'll take Ripley's place at the bat

then, won't he, Tim?"

"I suppose so," replied Tim.

"Come on then, Ward. Maybe you'll get a chance this inning. Tim,

you're next up," he added as he noticed who the batsman was, "and I

follow you. We'll have to go now, Ward. Come up and take a seat on the

players' bench."

"I'll be around in time," replied Ward quietly.

For several reasons he preferred to retain his place in the crowd for

the present, unless his turn to bat should come.

Somehow fortune's wheel turned slightly in favor of the Weston boys, and

although Ward's turn to bat did not come, the inning closed with two

more runs scored by the nine.

"Six to three," shouted the boys as the players started for their places

in the field.

Ward's heart was beating high as he slowly drew off his coat and handed

it to Little Pond, who proudly received it, and then he started toward

his old place in left field.

His appearance was at once noted by the crowd and received with a cheer.

It was true it seemed to be wanting in the volume and heartiness of the

old-time applause, but still it did Ward's heart good.

Striving to appear unmindful he looked away from the crowd as the game

was now resumed. What had become of Ripley he did not know.

The inning was quickly ended, without a run being scored. Not a ball

had come near him, and Ward was not grieved over the fact, for his

nerves were in such a highly strung condition that he was fearful he

would not have been able to do much had the opportunity presented

itself.

He was the second at bat, however, and as he heard his name called he

carefully selected his bat and then tried to collect his thoughts and

appear calm, though he was far from feeling as he strove to appear.

Shackford, the pitcher of the Burr nine apparently was becoming somewhat

nervous, for he gave the first batter his base on balls.

Ward grasped his bat and started resolutely toward the plate. The crowd

was silent, but Ward realized how eager his friends were for him to do

well. Even a goodly portion of Tim's sneer had disappeared, and Ward

could not determine whether his stronger desire was now for the nine to

win or for him to fail. The task before the lad, however, quickly

banished all other thoughts from his mind. How eager he was and

determined to do his best.

"One strike," called the umpire. "Two strikes," he repeated a moment

later.

Shackford was doing his utmost to puzzle him and Ward began to fear that

he would strike out. The next ball, however, came close in to him and

before he could dodge it or step out of its way it struck the handle of

his bat and dropped a little ways from the plate. In an instant Ward

flung aside his bat and rushed at his swiftest pace for first base, the

runner in advance of him of course having started for second.

The excitement and necessity for quick action apparently rattled the

Burrs, for both Shackford and the catcher started together for the ball,

and as no one called out who was to make the play, the consequence was

that they came together in a sharp collision, and were both thrown to

the ground.

Before they could recover Ward was safe at first, and the other runner

had gained the second base.

Shackford now began to play more deliberately. Every move was carefully

timed, and he guarded his nine well. In spite of all the efforts of the

Weston boys, and the encouraging shouts of their friends among the

spectators, they could succeed in getting but one man around the bases,

Ward having been left on third.

"Six to four, and only two more innings to play," said Jack to Ward as

they walked together out upon the field to resume their positions. "Not

a very brilliant prospect for us."

"We'll not give up before the last man is out," said Ward. "There's

nothing more uncertain in all the world than a game of ball, and it's

never finished till the end has come."

He had done nothing to warrant any special praise thus far, but he was

in high spirits nevertheless. The increasing excitement as the game

drew toward its close was manifest among players and spectators alike,

and Ward Hill, as we know, was ever one of the quickest to respond to

his immediate surroundings.

Again the inning closed without the Burrs being able to score. The

utmost they could do was to get a man as far as second base, but there

he was left.

"We've got two turns at the bat and they've got one," said Jack, as they

came in from the field. "We've got to make three runs to win the game."

The inning opened very promisingly for the Weston boys. Both Tim and

Jack made hits, and were on third and second bases respectively. The

next two batters were out however, and as they all realized that

everything depended upon the efforts of the next man, the crowd followed

his movements with almost breathless interest.

"One strike!" called the umpire, and the various feelings of the

spectators were at once apparent in their responses. "One ball!" "Two

balls!" quickly followed.

Suddenly the crowd rose from their seats and stood leaning forward in

intense suspense as they followed the movements of the catcher, who had

let the ball which Shackford had pitched somewhat wildly get by him.

Tim started quickly from third, and was running as he had never run

before. Shackford stood waiting on the plate with outstretched hands

for the ball to be thrown by the catcher, who was doing his utmost to

get it and return it before Tim could gain the plate. Every player was

eagerly watching the movements, and not a sound could be heard from the

spectators. Nearer and nearer came Tim, and now the catcher had grasped

the rolling ball. With a quick movement he turned and threw it swiftly

to Shackford, who caught it just as Tim gained the plate, and running

into the player threw both heavily to the ground.

The crowd rushed in from their places eager to learn the decision of the

umpire, who had been standing close to the boys as they came together.

"He's out!" shouted the umpire as he waved his hand for the spectators

to go back to their places. For a moment there was a scene of confusion.

In their excitement many of the boys forgot what was expected of them,

and the shouts and cheers of the schools were mingled with the groans

and cries of those who took different views of the decision which had

just been made.

Tim was thoroughly angry, and stood talking loudly with the umpire,

claiming that he had cheated him out of a run and the nine from a score

which it had justly won.

In a moment, however, several of the boys had surrounded the excited

captain, and at last, after much persuasion, induced him to return to

his place in the field.

"It was close," said Jack to Ward, "and I think we ought to have had it;

but we can't help ourselves, and there's no use in kicking."

The excitement was now intense as the Burrs came to the bat for the last

time. The score still stood two in their favor, and even if they did

not succeed in adding to it, the advantage was still decidedly on their

side. Every movement of the players was cheered now, and the nervous

actions of the rival nines betrayed their own desires to win.

Tim Pickard was sending the balls in with a speed he had never had

before. If his own exertions could win the game, then surely the Weston

boys ought not to lose that day.

The first batsman struck out, and a fierce cheer arose from the Weston

contingent as the player flung his bat on the ground and strode back to

his place on the bench.

The next was struck by the first ball Tim threw in, and was evidently

hurt, but in a moment he pluckily started toward first base, and the

cheers of the spectators followed him.

His successor also struck out, and the din which arose was almost

deafening. All depended now upon the efforts of the next batter, and

the Weston boys' hearts sank when they saw that this was to be

Shackford, the heaviest hitter on the opposing nine.

Shackford grasped his bat and stood calmly facing Tim, each realizing

that it was now a battle royal. Tim was a trifle wild now, and the

fears of his friends increased when the batter hit one or two long fouls

that went far down the field, but luckily outside the lines. Again

Shackford hit the ball, and sent it with tremendous force down the field

directly toward the short stop. Jack made a desperate effort to stop

it, but it was going so swiftly that it almost threw him backward, and

he dropped the ball. In an instant, however, he recovered himself, and

quickly picking up the ball threw it swiftly to the second baseman, who

was waiting for it. He caught it just an instant before the runner

gained the base, and the umpire shouted, "Out!"

The din on the field now increased. Most of the spectators were

standing, and the boys were crowding close in to the lines. Each of the

Weston players was cheered by name as he approached the plate and stood

facing the calm and collected pitcher of the Burrs.

The first man was out, and a yell of delight arose from the supporters

of the Burrs.

The second made a hit, and a louder shout arose from the friends of the

Weston nine.

The third batter sent up a high foul, which was easily caught by the

third baseman, and the uproar broke out again. Another gained his base,

and now two men were out, two were on the bases, and two runs were

required to tie the game, and three to win, and it was Ward Hill's turn

to bat. Already some of the outer spectators were leaving the grounds,

for the game seemed to be practically ended.

"Now do your duty, Ward Hill!" called Jack as Ward grasped his bat and

started toward the plate. "Remember everything depends upon you."

Ward made no reply. Was it likely he could fail to realize how much

depended upon him? He was dimly conscious of the applause which greeted

him. Eager faces seemed to surround him, and the tension was intense.

Shackford brushed back the hair from his wet forehead, glanced coolly

about him at the runners on the bases and to see that his own men were

all ready, then quickly drew back his arm and sent the ball in swiftly

and directly over the plate.

"One strike!" called the umpire, and shrieks and calls resounded from

the crowd.

Before Ward could prepare himself Shackford swiftly drew back his arm

and sent in another ball.

"Two strikes!" shouted the umpire, and cheers and jeers alike could now

be heard. Indeed, many more of the spectators arose to depart, for it

seemed to be evident that the end had come. Only one more ball might be

necessary.

Shackford sent in the ball again, but this time Ward was ready. He hit

it squarely, and with all his force. Only realizing that the ball was

going, he started swiftly toward first base. It seemed to him that

pandemonium had broken loose behind him. Shrieks, calls, shouts, and

cheers were all mingled.

As he touched the first base and started toward second he looked at the

ball. He had sent it far out over the center-fielder's head, and not

yet had he caught up with it. It was a terrific hit, and all of Ward's

long pent up feelings seemed to have found vent in the force with which

he had struck. On and on sped the ball, and on and on ran Ward.

Before he had gained the third base both of the runners in advance of

him had scored. He touched the third base, and putting forth all his

speed started toward home. The applause was deafening now. He was dimly

conscious of a mass of waving banners and flags off on his right, and

that "Hi! yi! yi!" could be heard on every side.

"Go it, Ward! Go it!" shouted Jack intensely as he ran outside the line

to encourage his friend; and Ward was "going it" at his very best.

He bent low and rushed forward. He could hardly breathe now, but his

speed did not slacken. On and on he ran, until it seemed to him he

never could gain the coveted base.

Putting forth all the last remnant of his strength he obeyed Jack's

warning, and throwing himself on the ground touched the base just as a

last, loud, prolonged yell came from the crowd.

With his hand on the plate he for the first time glanced behind him.

The ball had just been thrown in and Shackford had caught it. The game

with the Burrs was won, and Ward Hill's long hit had won it.

*CHAPTER XVIII*

*A PUZZLING QUESTION*

Ward at first was only conscious that there was a scene of great

excitement being enacted all over the grounds. He had exerted himself

to the utmost and breathless and hardly able to stand he dimly realized

that a crowd of boys had surrounded him, and that the game was won.

Soon, however, he recovered, and with a beaming face looked out upon the

actions of his friends. Hats were thrown into the air, shouts and

cheers could be heard on every side.

Silence only was to be found among the supporters of the Burrs, and they

were already departing from the field. The treble shouts of the girls

had ceased, the banners and streamers which had been flung out were

nowhere to be seen now, but the very absence of all the signs of cheer

among the friends of the opposing nine only served to make more emphatic

the frantic joy of the Weston boys.

It was the first game they had won in more than two years from their

sturdy opponents, and naturally the long pent up feelings now broke

forth with the reserve of the time past.

For a long time the confusion continued. The cries would die away in a

measure, and then some enthusiast would lead in a cheer, and the entire

school and all its friends would take up the response, and it would seem

that all the previous enthusiasm would be redoubled.

Boys who had not spoken to Ward since his return to Weston now rushed

forward, eager to do him honor. He was the center of a constantly

increasing group, for those who had been foremost to praise him did not

depart when others came with their offering.

"Hill, I wish to congratulate you."

Ward turned as he heard the words, and saw Shackford, the captain of the

Burrs, standing before him with outstretched hand.

"I want to congratulate you," said Shackford again cordially. "That was

a magnificent hit. I never saw a heavier one. Of course I'm sorry we

lost the game, and I know that such a hit as that doesn't reflect very

much credit upon the pitcher of the Burrs, but all the same, I don't

want to be the last to honor the fellow that did it."

"Thank you," said Ward, highly pleased over the cordial expression.

"You needn't say a word about the pitcher of the Burrs. I thought when

you caught me napping with that second strike of yours that it was

good-bye with me. I wanted to hit you," he added laughingly, "but I was

afraid I couldn't, so I feel all the better that it has turned out as it

has."

"After your work last year, I was surprised when I heard that you were

not to play to-day. At first I felt afraid that if you were off the

nine, it must be that the Weston boys had found some still better

material, and I knew if that were true we had a great contract on our

hands. It wasn't long though before I was chuckling because you were

not in the game, and I can tell you I didn't rejoice very much when I

saw you throw off your coat and start for left field. Still, I hope I'm

not so small as not to be able to appreciate a good play even when it's

made by the other side, and I must say, Hill, that hit of yours was

great. It just won the game, and the Weston school ought to erect a

monument in your honor; they ought to, honestly."

Shackford's words served to increase the eagerness of the boys who had

crowded about Ward, and much as he enjoyed the novel experience he soon

began to feel somewhat abashed. He caught sight of Little Pond looking

at him with longing eyes from the border of the assembly, and pushing

his way toward him, Ward was soon grasping his youthful admirer by the

hand.

"O Ward, I'm so glad," said Little Pond eagerly. "Everybody's praising

you."

"Are they?" replied Ward, laughing as he spoke. "Well, I'm glad we won

the game."

He started to depart from the grounds now, but a crowd of boys still

followed him, all eager to honor the senior who had won the day and

saved the honor of the school.

And Ward Hill was happy. His heart was exulting over his success, and

the praise of his fellows was doubly sweet to him after his long period

of trouble. He knew he had done well, and the consciousness that Tim

Pickard at last had been compelled to come to him for aid, was perhaps

not the least of the sources of his enjoyment.

As the boys came up to the campus and turned the corner by the chapel,

Tim and Ripley stood there talking with some of the Burr boys. They

could not fail to perceive Ward in the midst of the crowd, but neither

Tim nor Ripley gave any signs of recognition.

Ward turned to Jack and laughed aloud, so loudly that both Tim and

Ripley heard him, and a flush of anger spread over their faces.

"Tim would rather have lost the game than have had it won in the way it

was," said Ward, as he started to leave Jack and go to his own room.

"Oh, well," replied Jack gleefully, "you can't blame Tim for making a

wry face over swallowing his dose; but it may do him good, after all."

"Perhaps so," said Ward dubiously.

In his heart just at that moment he cared but little about Tim Pickard's

feelings toward him. In the flush of success and the apparent return of

his popularity he could afford to be magnanimous, and Tim and all his

petty torments seemed now to be too slight to be heeded.

For two or three days Ward's long hit was the one theme of the school.

Not all of the boys, however, joined in singing his praises, for Tim was

not without his followers, and his influence was sufficiently strong to

hold them back; but the enthusiasm of the others more than atoned for

the failures, and Ward Hill was far happier than he had ever been since

he became a student in the Weston school.

The consciousness of having done good work in his classes was the main

foundation of it all. The appeals of Little Pond, and the manner in

which he himself, with Jack's aid, had met and stopped the stacking of

his room, also helped him now, and he rejoiced that he had not stooped

to retaliate in Tim's room, as he had been sorely tempted to do.

It may be that his success, and the sudden change which had come in his

standing in the school, may have led Ward unknowingly to assume a new

air. If he did, it was done wholly unconsciously, but in some way he had

come to glance sneeringly at Tim whenever he met him. He felt so strong

now that he could afford to condescend even to Tim Pickard himself.

One morning, three days after the game, and when the excitement which

had followed it had somewhat abated, as Ward, after passing Tim on their

way out from Mr. Crane's room, and returning the glance of hatred which

the captain of the nine had given him, was recalled by Mr. Crane, he

stopped a moment in front of his desk.

"I haven't seen you to speak to you since the game," said Mr. Crane

kindly. "I wanted to tell you that I rejoiced in your success, but

perhaps you may have heard all the words of that kind that you care to

hear."

"Not from you," replied Ward, his face flushing with pleasure.

"What are you reading in your Greek now?" inquired Mr. Crane.

"Homer," said Ward, wondering what that had to do with the game with the

Burrs.

"Do you recall the term which Homer applies to Achilles?"

"Yes, 'swift-footed' is one of them."

"And what is the term which is so frequently given the Greek heroes?"

"Why they're called 'well-greaved,' and 'great-souled,' 'great-hearted,'

and, and----"

"That's the word I wanted. The great-hearted, great-souled men.

There's a Latin word which is almost the equivalent of the term, and the

word was such a good one that it has been retained in many languages,

and has come down to us in a form but slightly modified. Do you know

what the word is?"

Ward hesitated a moment, and then, as his mind always worked rapidly,

his face lightened up as he said, "Why, it's the word 'magnanimous,'

isn't it?"

"That's the very word. And what does that word literally mean, then?"

"Large-minded."

"That's right. I mustn't detain you any longer or you'll be late for

your Greek. Come and see me some time soon, Hill."

Ward went out of the room, but he was somewhat puzzled over his

interview with the teacher. What did Mr. Crane mean by asking him those

questions? Was he only trying to test his knowledge? Ward knew better

than that. Mr. Crane was not one to put idle questions to him,

especially at such a time as he had chosen for the brief interview. But

what could he mean?

Ward entered the Greek room, but he only partially heard what Dr. Gray

was saying to the class. Boy after boy was called upon to recite, but

Ward was giving slight heed to what was occurring about him. His

thoughts were upon Mr. Crane's strange questions. What could he mean by

them? He never assumed that manner, his eyes slightly twinkling as if

there was some concealed joke in his mind and his grave, quiet ways

being all the more impressive, without having something more than the

mere questions in his mind.

The recitation was about half done, when suddenly Ward started up in his

seat. His face flushed as he almost spoke aloud.

Jack looked at him in astonishment, but Ward made no reply as he hastily

turned again to his book, and apparently was only following the

recitation. And yet in a flash it had come to him what Mr. Crane had

meant by his questions. At first he felt somewhat resentful, but as his

mind ran rapidly over the events of the past few days, he could not

conceal from himself the fact that he had given too much justification

for the implied rebuke of his teacher.

All through the day his mind kept going back to that brief interview

with Mr. Crane, and the recollection was not always a source of

pleasure.

That evening a group of boys was assembled in his room, Little Pond,

Jack, and Big Smith all being there, as well as Ward and his room-mate.

The conversation had been almost entirely on the game with the Burrs,

which to them at least, and most of all to Ward, was still a topic of

great interest.

"Well," Jack was saying, "we've got this game, thanks to Ward, and even

if we lose the return game in the spring we're not so badly off as we

might be. The valedic will help us out then too, won't you, Ward?"

"There's no knowing who the valedic will be, I'm thinking. Your friend

Luscious is making a pretty strong bid for it, and Little Pond here says

his big brother is coming back next week."

"Is that so?" said Jack eagerly, turning to the lad as he spoke. "Is

that so? Why I thought he wasn't coming back till after the Christmas

vacation."

"He didn't expect to," replied Little Pond; "but it's turned out so that

he can come next week, and I'm expecting him next Wednesday."

"That's fine," said Jack enthusiastically. "I tell you, Pond's got the

right stuff in him. Now Luscious has had a good influence on me, and

I've braced up wonderfully under his valuable example, and if Pond comes

back I think I shall make a try of it myself for the valedic. 'Us four,

no more,' will be in it then."

The boys laughed at Jack's declaration that he was about to try for the

honors of the class, for they all knew that the impulsive boy was not

over fond of study, and that the improvement in his class work had been

almost entirely due to the efforts which Berry had made in his behalf.

"I don't see why it is," said Big Smith solemnly, "that I don't receive

more recognition in the school. I've tried to do my best, and yet I'm

left out of everything. It sometimes seems to me that if a fellow is

wild, or gets into scrapes and then reforms, there's a good deal more of

a time made over him than there is over a fellow who just plods on and

never does anything bad at all. I can't understand it."

Ward's face flushed, for it seemed as if Big Smith meant to be personal.

Perhaps the recent return of his own popularity was the more marked

because of its very contrast with his previous record and position.

An angry reply rose to his lips, but in a moment the interview with Mr.

Crane flashed into his mind, and he bit his lips and remained silent.

"'Great-hearted,' 'large-minded,'" he thought. "I suppose Mr. Crane was

trying to get me to stretch my soul a bit, and I'll try not to be petty

and small to-day, anyway."

"Big Smith," said Jack solemnly, rising and moving his right arm up and

down after the manner of a pump-handle as he spoke, "there's a great

truth in what you say. I've suffered from the effects of it, lo, these

seventeen years. I've often thought if I'd fallen into evil ways or

joined in a few scrapes, that when the school saw, as the fellows all

must see now, the mighty change in me, they'd give me a good deal more

credit than they do. But they just take it all for granted, you see,

and expect me to do well every time."

"You can laugh all you please," said Big Smith, "but it's true. Now

look at Ward. He's been in more scrapes than I, for I never was in one

since I came to Weston; but just see how all the fellows, or almost all

of them, are talking him up on every side. They never talk in that way

about me, and yet I've tried to do right all the time."