ol violent emotion. "Next batter up!"
he called, hoarsely, and sat down on the bench. He was breathing hard,
and beads of sweat stood out on his brow.

Ken went up to Worry, feeling that now was the time to acquaint the
coach with his new idea. Eager as Ken was he had to force himself to
take this step. All the hope and dread, nervousness and determination
of the weeks of practice seemed to accumulate in that moment. He
stammered and stuttered, grew speechless, and then as Worry looked
up in kind surprise, Ken suddenly grew cool and earnest.

"Mr. Arthurs, will you try me in the box?"

"What's that, Peg?" queried the coach, sharply.

"Will you give me a trial in the box? I've wanted one all along. You put
me in once when we were in the cage, but you made me hit the batters."

"Pitch? you, Peg? Why not? Why didn't I think of it? I'm sure gettin'
to be like 'em fat-head directors. You've got steam, Peg, but can you
curve a ball? Let's see your fingers."

"Yes, I can curve a ball round a corner. Please give me a trial,
Mr. Arthurs. I failed in the infield, and I'm little good in the
outfield. But I know I can pitch."

The coach gave Ken one searching glance. Then he called all the
candidates in to the plate, and ordered Dean, the stocky little
catcher, to don his breast-protector, mask, and mitt.

"Peg," said the coach, "Dean will sign you--one finger for a straight
ball, two for a curve."

When Ken walked to the box all his muscles seemed quivering and tense,
and he had a contraction in his throat. This was his opportunity. He was
not unnerved as he had been when he was trying for the other positions.
All Ken's life he had been accustomed to throwing. At his home he had
been the only boy who could throw a stone across the river; the only one
who could get a ball over the high-school tower. A favorite pastime had
always been the throwing of small apples, or walnuts, or stones, and he
had acquired an accuracy that made it futile for his boy comrades to
compete with him. Curving a ball had come natural to him, and he would
have pitched all his high-school games had it not been for the fact that
no one could catch him, and, moreover, none of the boys had found any
fun in batting against him.

When Ken faced the first batter a feeling came over him that he had
never before had on the ball field. He was hot, trembling, hurried,
but this new feeling was apart from these. His feet were on solid
ground, and his arm fel