of the ball and saw Raymond dash over and
plunge down. Then the ball seemed to streak out of the grass toward
him, and, as he bent over, it missed his hands and cracked on his shin.
Again he fumbled wildly for it and made the throw in. The pain roused
his rage. He bit his lips and called to himself: "I'll stop them if it
kills me!"

Dreer lined the ball over his head for a home-run. Hollis made a bid
for a three-bagger, but Ken, by another hard sprint, knocked the ball
down. Hickle then batted up a tremendously high fly. It went far beyond
Ken and he ran and ran. It looked like a small pin-point of black up
in the sky. Then he tried to judge it, to get under it. The white sky
suddenly glazed over and the ball wavered this way and that. Ken lost
it in the sun, found it again, and kept on running. Would it never come
down? He had not reached it, he had run beyond it. In an agony he lunged
out, and the ball fell into his hands and jumped out.

Then followed a fusillade of hits, all between second base and first,
and all vicious-bounding grounders. To and fro Ken ran, managing somehow
to get some portion of his anatomy in front of the ball. It had become
a demon to him now and he hated it. His tongue was hanging out, his
breast was bursting, his hands were numb, yet he held before him the
one idea to keep fiercely trying.

He lost count of the runs after eleven had been scored. He saw McCord and
Raymond trying to stem the torrent of right-field hits, but those they
knocked down gave him no time to recover. He blocked the grass-cutters
with his knees or his body and pounced upon the ball and got it away from
him as quickly as possible. Would this rapid fire of uncertain-bounding
balls never stop? Ken was in a kind of frenzy. If he only had time to
catch his breath!

Then Dreer was at bat again. He fouled the first two balls over the
grand-stand. Some one threw out a brand-new ball. Farther and farther
Ken edged into deep right. He knew what was coming. "Let him--hit it!"
he panted. "I'll try to get it! This day settles me. I'm no outfielder.
But I'll try!"

The tired pitcher threw the ball and Dreer seemed to swing and bound at
once with the ringing crack. The hit was one of his famous drives close
to the right-field foul-line.

Ken was off with all the speed left in him. He strained every nerve
and was going fast when he passed the foul-flag. The bleachers loomed
up indistinct in his sight. But he thought only of me