tly or wildly at
balls and essayed bunts. Few hit the ball out and none made a creditable
bunt. After their turn at bat they were ordered to the other end of the
cage, where they fell over one another trying to stop the balls that
were hit. Every few moments the coach would yell for one of them, any
one, to take a turn at pitching. Ken noticed that Arthurs gave a sharp
glance at each new batter, and one appeared to be sufficient. More and
more ambitious players crowded into the cage, until there were so many
that batted balls rarely missed hitting some one.

Presently Ken Ward awoke from his thrilling absorption in the scene to
note another side of it. The students around him were making game of
the players.

"What a bunch!"

"Look at that fuzzy gosling with the yellow pants!"

"Keep your shanks out of the way, Freshie!"

"Couldn't hit a balloon!"

Whenever a batter hit a ball into the crowd of dodging players down
the cage these students howled with glee. Ken discovered that he was
standing near Captain Dale and other members of the barred varsity.

"Say, Dale, how do the candidates shape up?" asked a student.

"This is a disgrace to Wayne," declared Dale, bitterly. "I never saw
such a mob of spindle-legged kids in my life. Look at them! Scared to
death! That fellow never swung at a ball before--that one never heard
of a bunt--they throw like girls--Oh! this is sickening, fellows. I see
where Worry goes to his grave this year and old Wayne gets humbled by
one-horse colleges."

Ken took one surprised glance at the captain he had admired so much
and then he slipped farther over in the crowd. Perhaps Dale had spoken
truth, yet somehow it jarred upon Ken's sensitive nature. The thing
that affected Ken most was the earnestness of the uniformed boys trying
their best to do well before the great coach. Some were timid, uncertain;
others were rash and over-zealous. Many a ball cracked off a player's
knee or wrist, and more than once Ken saw a bloody finger. It was cold
in the cage. Even an ordinarily hit ball must have stung the hands,
and the way a hard grounder cracked was enough to excite sympathy among
those scornful spectators, if nothing more. But they yelled in delight
at every fumble, at everything that happened. Ken kept whispering to
himself: "I can't see the fun in it. I can't!"

Arthurs dispensed with the bunting and ordered one hit each for
the batters. "Step up and hit!" he ordered, hoarsely. "Don't b