rom the bench Ken turned curious, eager eyes upon the practising
Place men. Never had he regarded players with as sharp an interest,
curiosity being mingled with admiration, and confidence with doubt.
MacNeff, the captain, at first base, veteran of three years, was a
tall, powerful fellow, bold and decisive in action. Prince, Place's
star on both gridiron and diamond, played at second base. He was very
short, broad and heavy, and looked as if he would have made three of
little Raymond. Martin, at short-stop, was of slim, muscular build.
Keene and Starke, in centre and left, were big men. Salisbury looked
all of six feet, and every inch a pitcher. He also played end on the
football varsity. Ken had to indulge in a laugh at the contrast in
height and weight of Wayne when compared to Place. The laugh was good
for him, because it seemed to loosen something hard and tight within
his breast. Besides, Worry saw him laugh and looked pleased, and that
pleased Ken.

"Husky lot of stiffs, eh, Peg?" said Worry, reading Ken's thought.
"But, say! this ain't no football game. We'll make these heavyweights
look like ice-wagons. I never was much on beefy ball-players. Aha!
there goes the gong. Place's takin' the field. That suits me.... Peg,
listen! The game's on. I've only one word to say to you. _Try to keep
solid on your feet!_"

A short cheer, electrifying in its force, pealed out like a blast.

Then Homans stepped to the plate amid generous hand-clapping. The Place
adherents had their favorites, but they always showed a sportsmanlike
appreciation of opponents. Salisbury wound up, took an enormous stride,
and pitched the ball. He had speed. Homans seldom hit on the first
pitch, and this was a strike. But he rapped the next like a bullet at
Griffith, the third-baseman. Griffith blocked the ball, and, quickly
reaching it, he used a snap underhand throw to first, catching Homans
by a narrow margin. It was a fine play and the crowd let out another
blast.

Raymond, coming up, began his old trick of trying to work the
pitcher for a base. He was small and he crouched down until a wag
in the bleachers yelled that this was no kindergarten game. Raymond
was exceedingly hard to pitch to. He was always edging over the plate,
trying to get hit. If anybody touched him in practice he would roar
like a mad bull, but in a game he would cheerfully have stopped
cannon-balls. He got in front of Salisbury's third pitch, and,
dropping his bat, start