and he began to think he
did not know anything about the game. And what made his condition of
mind border on imbecility was a hurried whisper from Arthurs between
innings: "Peg, don't pay the slightest attention to 'em fat-head
grad. coaches."

Practice days succeeding that were worse nightmares to Ken Ward than
the days he had spent in constant fear of the sophomores. It was a
terribly feverish time of batting balls, chasing balls, and of having
dinned into his ears thousands of orders, rules of play, talks on
college spirit in athletics--all of which conflicted so that it was
meaningless to him. During this dark time one ray of light was the
fact that Arthurs never spoke a sharp word to him. Ken felt vaguely
that he was whirling in some kind of a college athletic chaos, out of
which he would presently emerge.

Toward the close of March the weather grew warm, the practice field
dried up, and baseball should have been a joy to Ken. But it was not.
At times he had a shameful wish to quit the field for good, but he had
not the courage to tell the coach. The twenty-fifth, the day scheduled
for the game with the disgraced varsity team, loomed closer and closer.
Its approach was a fearful thing for Ken. Every day he cast furtive
glances down the field to where the varsity held practice. Ken had
nothing to say; he was as glum as most of the other candidates, but
he had heard gossip in the lecture-rooms, in the halls, on the street,
everywhere, and it concerned this game. What would the old varsity do
to Arthurs' new team? Curiosity ran as high as the feeling toward the
athletic directors. Resentment flowed from every source. Ken somehow got
the impression that he was blamable for being a member of the coach's
green squad. So Ken Ward fluctuated between two fears, one as bad as
the other--that he would not be selected to play, and the other that he
would be selected. It made no difference. He would be miserable if not
chosen, and if he was--how on earth would he be able to keep his knees
from wobbling? Then the awful day dawned.

Coach Arthurs met all his candidates at the cage. He came late, he
explained, because he wanted to keep them off the field until time for
practice. To-day he appeared more grave than worried, and where the boys
expected a severe lecture, he simply said: "I'll play as many of you as
I can. Do your best, that's all. Don't mind what these old players say.
They were kids once, though they seem to have