-day he never will. I almost wish he would.
He'd be better for it, afterward."

This surprised Ken, annoyed him, and straightway he became thoughtful.
Why this persistent harping on the chance of his getting excited from
one cause or another, losing his control and thereby the game? Ken had
not felt in the least nervous about the game. He would get so, presently,
if his advisers did not stop hinting. Then Worry's wish that he might
"explode" was puzzling. A little shade of gloom crept over the bright
horizon of Ken's hopes. Almost unconsciously vague doubts of himself
fastened upon him. For the first time he found himself looking forward
to a baseball game with less eagerness than uncertainty. Stubbornly he
fought off the mood.

Place was situated in an old college town famed for its ancient trees
and quaint churches and inns. The Wayne varsity, arriving late, put on
their uniforms at the St. George, a tavern that seemed never to have
been in any way acquainted with a college baseball team. It was very
quiet and apparently deserted. For that matter the town itself appeared
deserted. The boys dressed hurriedly, in silence, with frowning brows
and compressed lips. Worry Arthurs remained down-stairs while they
dressed. Homans looked the team over and then said:

"Boys, come on! To-day's our hardest game."

It was only a short walk along the shady street to the outskirts of
the town and the athletic field. The huge stands blocked the view
from the back and side. Homans led the team under the bleachers,
through a narrow walled-in aisle, to the side entrance, and there
gave the word for the varsity to run out upon the field. A hearty
roar of applause greeted their appearance.

Ken saw a beautiful green field, level as a floor, with a great
half-circle of stands and bleachers at one end. One glance was
sufficient to make Ken's breathing an effort. He saw a glittering
mass, a broad, moving band of color. Everywhere waved Place flags,
bright gold and blue. White faces gleamed like daisies on a golden
slope. In the bleachers close to the first base massed a shirt-sleeved
crowd of students, row on row of them, thousands in number. Ken
experienced a little chill as he attached the famous Place yell to
that significant placing of rooters. A soft breeze blew across the
field, and it carried low laughter and voices of girls, a merry hum,
and subdued murmur, and an occasional clear shout. The whole field
seemed keenly alive.

F