inew of the body alert and the humming of cheers indistinctly heard, as
he rammed through the yielding line. Then the spring meant long hours of
romping over the smooth diamond, cutting down impossible hits, guarding
first base like a bull-dog, pulling down the high ones, smothering the
wild throws that came ripping along the ground, threatening to jump up
against his eyes, throws that other fellows dodged. He was in the
company of equals, of good fighters, like Charley De Soto, Hickey, Flash
Condit, and Turkey, fellows it was a joy to fight beside. Also, it was
good to feel that four hundred-odd wearers of the red and black put
their trust in him, and that trust became very sacred to him. He played
hard--very hard, but cleanly, because combat was the joy of life to him.
He broke other rules, not as a lark, but out of the same fierce desire
for battle, to seek out danger wherever he could find it. He had been
caught fair and square, and he knew that for that particular offense
there was only one punishment. Yet he hoped against hope, suddenly
realizing what it would cost him to give up the great school where,
however, he had never sought friendships or anything beyond the
admiration of his mates.

The sympathy of the Big Man startled him, then made him uncomfortable.
He had no intention of crying out, and he did not like or understand the
new emotion that rose in him as he wondered when his sentence would
come.

"Well, youngster," he said, gruffly, "had enough? Have another round?"

"I've had enough," said the Big Man, heaving a sigh. "Let me treat,
Butcher."

"Not to-day, youngster."

"Butcher, I--I'd like to. I'm awfully flush."

"Not to-day."

"Let's match for it."

"What!" said the Butcher, fiercely. "Don't let me hear any more of that
talk. You've got to grow up first."

The Big Man, thus rebuked, acquiesced meekly. The two strolled back to
the campus in silence.

"Suppose we have a catch," said the Big Man, tentatively.

"All right," said the Butcher, smiling.

Intrenched behind a gigantic mit, the Big Man strove valorously to hold
the difficult balls. After a long period of this mitigated pleasure they
sat down to rest. Then Cap Kiefer's stocky figure appeared around the
Dickinson, and the Butcher went off for a long, solemn consultation.

The Big Man, thus relieved of responsibility, felt terribly alone. He
went to his room and took down volume two of "The Count of Monte
Cristo," and stretched o