st,
and the nausea in his stomach, and the whirling fury in his mind did not
make him give up, though they robbed him of strength. The balls he threw
to Prince were wide of the plate and had nothing of his old speed. Prince,
also, took his base on balls.

Bases full and two out!

MacNeff, the captain, fronted the plate, and shook his big bat at Ken.
Of all the Place hitters Ken feared him the least. He had struck MacNeff
out twice, and deep down in his heart stirred a last desperate rally.
He had only to keep the ball high and in close to win this game. Oh!
for the control that had been his pride!

The field and stands seemed to swim round Ken and all he saw with his
half-blinded eyes was the white plate, the batter, and Dean and the
umpire. Then he took his swing and delivered the ball.

It went true. MacNeff missed it.

Ken pitched again. The umpire held up one finger of each hand.
One ball and one strike. Two more rapid pitches, one high and one
wide. Two strikes and two balls.

Ken felt his head bursting and there were glints of red before his eyes.
He bit his tongue to keep it from lolling out. He was almost done. That
ceaseless, infernal din had benumbed his being. With a wrenching of his
shoulder Ken flung up another ball. MacNeff leaned over it, then let it
go by.

Three and two!

It was torture for Ken. He had the game in his hands, yet could not
grasp it. He braced himself for the pitch and gave it all he had left
in him.

"_Too low!_" he moaned. MacNeff killed low balls.

The big captain leaped forward with a terrific swing and hit the ball.
It lined over short, then began to rise, shot over Homans, and soared
far beyond, to drop and roll and roll.

Through darkening sight Ken Ward saw runner after runner score, and saw
Homans pick up the ball as MacNeff crossed the plate with the winning
run. In Ken's ears seemed a sound of the end of the world.

He thought himself the centre of a flying wheel. It was the boys
crowding around him. He saw their lips move but caught no words.
Then choking and tottering, upheld by Reddy Ray's strong arm, the
young pitcher walked off the field.

XVII

KEN'S DAY

The slow return to the tavern, dressing and going to the station, the
ride home, the arrival at the training-house, the close-pressing, silent
companionship of Reddy Ray, Worry, and Raymond--these were dim details
of that day of calamity. Ken Ward's mind was dead--locked on that fatal
moment