hought he had never seen a
more inspiring sight. The bright green oval was surrounded by a
glittering mass of white and blue and black. Out along the foul lines
were carriages, motors, and tally-hos, brilliant with waving fans and
flags. Over the field murmured the low hum of many voices.

"Here you are!" cried Huling, making a grab for Wayne. "Where were you
this morning? We couldn't find you. Come! We've got a minute before
the practice whistle blows, and I promised to exhibit you."

He hustled Wayne down the first-base line, past the cheering crowd, out
among the motors, to the same touring car that he remembered. A bevy
of white-gowned girls rose like a covey of ptarmigans, and whirled
flags of maroon and gray.

Dorothy Huling wore a bow of Yale blue upon her breast, and Wayne saw
it and her face through a blur.

"Hurry, girls; get it over. We've got to practice," said the captain.

In the merry melee some one tied a knot of ribbon upon Wayne. Who it
was he did not know; he saw only the averted face of Dorothy Huling.
And as he returned to the field with a dull pang, he determined he
would make her indifference disappear with the gladness of a victory
for her team.

The practice was short, but long enough for Wayne to locate the glaring
weakness of Salisbury at shortstop and third base. In fact, most of
the players of his team showed rather poor form; they were
overstrained, and plainly lacked experience necessary for steadiness in
an important game.

Burns, the catcher, however, gave Wayne confidence. He was a short,
sturdy youngster, with all the earmarks of a coming star. Huling, the
captain, handled himself well at first base. The Bellville players
were more matured, and some of them were former college cracks. Wayne
saw that he had his work cut out for him.

The whistle blew. The Bellville team trotted to their position in the
field; the umpire called play, and tossed a ball to Mackay, the long,
lean Georgetown pitcher.

Wells, the first batter, fouled out; Stamford hit an easy bounce to the
pitcher, and Clews put up a little Texas leaguer--all going out, one,
two, three, on three pitched balls.

The teams changed from bat to field. Wayne faced the plate amid
vociferous cheering. He felt that he could beat this team even without
good support. He was in the finest condition, and his arm had been
resting for ten days. He knew that if he had control of his high
inshoot, these Bellvill