en
on Grant Field. That may be. I want to say that to my mind it was also
the most splendid effort ever made on Grant Field. For it was made against
defeat, fear, ridicule. It was elimination of self. It was made for his
coach, his fellow-players, his college--that is to say, for the students
who shamed themselves by scorn for his trial.

"Young men of Wayne, give us a little more of such college spirit!"

X

NEW PLAYERS

When practice time rolled around for Ken next day, he went upon the
field once more with his hopes renewed and bright.

"I certainly do die hard," he laughed to himself. "But I can never go
down and out now--never!"

Something seemed to ring in Ken's ears like peals of bells. In spite of
his awkwardness Coach Arthurs had made him a varsity man; in spite of his
unpreparedness old Crab had given him a passing mark; in spite of his
unworthiness President Halstead had made him famous.

"I surely am the lucky one," said Ken, for the hundredth time. "And
now I'm going to force my luck." Ken had lately revolved in his mind
a persistent idea that he meant to propound to the coach.

Ken arrived on the field a little later than usual, to find Arthurs for
once minus his worried look. He was actually smiling, and Ken soon saw
the reason for this remarkable change was the presence of a new player
out in centre field.

"Hello, Peg! things are lookin' up," said the coach, beaming. "That's
Homans out there in centre--Roy Homans, a senior and a crackerjack
ball-player. I tried to get him to come out for the team last year, but
he wouldn't spare the time. But he's goin' to play this season--said the
president's little talk got him. He's a fast, heady, scientific player,
just the one to steady you kids."

Before Ken could reply his attention was attracted from Homans to
another new player in uniform now walking up to Arthurs. He was tall,
graceful, powerful, had red hair, keen dark eyes, a clean-cut profile
and square jaw.

"I've come out to try for the team," he said, quietly, to the coach.

"You're a little late, ain't you?" asked Worry, gruffly; but he ran
a shrewd glance over the lithe form.

"Yes."

"Must have been stirred up by that talk of President Halstead's,
wasn't you?"

"Yes." There was something quiet and easy about the stranger,
and Ken liked him at once.

"Where do you play?" went on Worry.

"Left."

"Can you hit? Talk sense now, and mebbe you'll save me work. Can you hit?"