lisbury,
but neither he nor any one else could have heard a thunderbolt in
that moment.

Again Salisbury toed the rubber, and he hesitated, with his face turned
toward second. But he had to pitch the ball, and as his elbow trembled
the sprinter shot out of his tracks with the start that had made him
famous. His red hair streaked in the wind like a waving flame. His
beautiful stride swallowed distance. Then he sailed low and slid into
the base as the ball struck Griffith's hands.

Reddy was on third now, with no one out, with two balls upon Weir and
no strikes. In the fury of sound runner and batter exchanged a glance
that was a sign.

The sprinter crouched low, watching Salisbury. For the third time,
as the pitcher vibrated with the nervous force preceding his delivery,
Reddy got his start. He was actually running before the ball left
Salisbury's hand. Almost it seemed that with his marvellous fleetness
he was beating the ball to the plate. But as the watchers choked in
agony of suspense Weir bunted the ball, and Reddy Ray flashed across
the plate with the winning run.

Then all that seemed cheering, din, and stamping roar deadened in an
earth-shaking sound like an avalanche.

The students piled out of the bleachers in streams and poured
on the field. An irresistible, hungry, clamoring flood, they
submerged the players.

Up went Ken upon sturdy shoulders, and up went Reddy Ray and
Kel and Homans and Dean--all the team, and last the red-faced
Worry Arthurs. Then began the triumphant march about Grant Field
and to the training-house.

It was a Wayne day, a day for the varsity, for Homans and Raymond,
and for the great sprinter, but most of all it was Peg Ward's day.

XVIII

BREAKING TRAINING

The Wayne varsity was a much-handled, storm-tossed team before it
finally escaped the clutches of the students. Every player had a
ringing in his ears and a swelling in his heart. When the baseball
uniforms came off they were carefully packed in the bottoms of trunks,
and twelve varsity sweaters received as tender care as if they were
the flimsy finery dear to the boys' sisters.

At six the players were assembled in the big reading-room, and there
was a babel of exultant conversation. Worry suddenly came in, shouting
to persons without, who manifestly wanted to enter. "Nothin' doin' yet!
I'll turn the boys over to you in one hour!" Then he banged the door
and locked it.

Worry was a sight to behold. His coll