forgotten it. Try to learn
from them."

It was the first time the candidates had been taken upon the regular
diamond of Grant Field. Ken had peeped in there once to be impressed by
the beautiful level playground, and especially the magnificent turreted
grand-stand and the great sweeping stretches of bleachers. Then they had
been empty; now, with four thousand noisy students and thousands of other
spectators besides, they stunned him. He had never imagined a crowd coming
to see the game.

Perhaps Arthurs had not expected it either, for Ken heard him mutter grimly
to himself. He ordered practice at once, and called off the names of those
he had chosen to start the game. As one in a trance Ken Ward found himself
trotting out to right field.

A long-rolling murmur that was half laugh, half taunt, rose from the
stands. Then it quickly subsided. From his position Ken looked for
the players of the old varsity, but they had not yet come upon the
field. Of the few balls batted to Ken in practice he muffed only one,
and he was just beginning to feel that he might acquit himself creditably
when the coach called the team in. Arthurs had hardly given his new
players time enough to warm up, but likewise they had not had time
to make any fumbles.

All at once a hoarse roar rose from the stands, then a thundering
clatter of thousands of feet as the students greeted the appearance
of the old varsity. It was applause that had in it all the feeling of
the undergraduates for the championship team, many of whom they considered
had been unjustly barred by the directors. Love, loyalty, sympathy,
resentment--all pealed up to the skies in that acclaim. It rolled out
over the heads of Arthurs' shrinking boys as they huddled together on
the bench.

Ken Ward, for one, was flushing and thrilling. In that moment he lost
his gloom. He watched the varsity come trotting across the field, a
doughty band of baseball warriors. Each wore a sweater with the huge
white "W" shining like a star. Many of those players had worn that
honored varsity letter for three years. It did seem a shame to bar
them from this season's team. Ken found himself thinking of the matter
from their point of view, and his sympathy was theirs.

More than that, he gloried in the look of them, in the trained, springy
strides, in the lithe, erect forms, in the assurance in every move. Every
detail of that practice photographed itself upon Ken Ward's memory, and
he knew he would