n's bewildered ears drank
in one long, thundering "_Ward! Ward! Ward!_" and then his hearing
seemed drowned. The whole mass of students and spectators rose as
one, and the deafening stamp of feet only equalled the roar of voices.
But now the volume of sound was regular and rhythmic. It was like the
approach of a terrible army. For minutes, while the umpire held play
suspended, the Wayne supporters in hoarse and stamping tumult came
into their own again. It was a wild burst of applause, and as it had
been long delayed, so now it was prolonged fiercely to the limit of
endurance.

When those waves of sound had rolled away Ken Ward felt a difference
in Grant Field, in the varsity, in himself. A different color shone
from the sky.

Ken saw Reddy Ray go to bat and drive the ball against the right-field
fence. Then as the sprinter got into his wonderful stride once more the
whole audience rose in yelling, crashing clamor. And when on Weir's fly
to the outfield Reddy raced in to the plate, making the throw-in look
feeble, again the din was terrific.

As one in a glorious dream, Ken Ward crouched upon the bench and watched
the remainder of that game. He grasped it all as if baseball was all that
made life worth living, and as if every moment was his last. He never
thought of himself. He was only a part of the team, and that team,
every moment, grew sharper, faster, fiercer. He revelled in the game.
Schoonover was hit hard, but fast play by Raymond and Weir kept Herne's
score down. The little second-baseman was here, there, everywhere, like
a glint of light. Herne made runs, but Wayne also kept adding runs.
Blake caught a foul fly off the bleachers; Trace made a beautiful catch;
McCord was like a tower at first base, and little Dean went through the
last stages of development that made him a star.

Once in the eighth inning Ken became aware that Worry was punching
him in the back and muttering:

"Look out, Peg! Listen! Murphy'll get one in Reddy's groove this
time.... Oh-h!"

The crack of the ball, as well as Worry's yell, told Ken what had
happened. Besides, he could see, and as the ball lined away for the
fence, and the sprinter leaped into action, Ken jumped up and screamed:

"Oh, Reddy, it's over--over! No! Run! Run! Oh-h-h!"

In the shrill, piercing strife of sound Ken's scream seemed only a
breath at his ears. He held to it, almost splitting his throat, while
the sprinter twinkled round third base and came home li