never forget.

There was Dale, veteran player, captain and pitcher of the nine, hero of
victories over Place and Herne. There was Hogan, catcher for three seasons,
a muscular fellow, famed for his snap-throw to the bases and his fiendish
chasing of foul flies. There was Hickle, the great first-baseman, whom the
professional leagues were trying to get. What a reach he had; how easily
he scooped in the ball; low, high, wide, it made no difference to him.
There was Canton at second, Hollis at short, Burns at third, who had been
picked for the last year's All-American College Team. Then there was Dreer,
brightest star of all, the fleet, hard-hitting centre-fielder. This player
particularly fascinated Ken. It was a beautiful sight to see him run. The
ground seemed to fly behind him. When the ball was hit high he wheeled
with his back to the diamond and raced out, suddenly to turn with unerring
judgment--and the ball dropped into his hands. On low line hits he showed
his fleetness, for he was like a gleam of light in his forward dash; and,
however the ball presented, shoulder high, low by his knees, or on a short
bound, he caught it. Ken Ward saw with despairing admiration what it meant
to be a great outfielder.

Then Arthurs called "Play ball!" giving the old varsity the field.

With a violent start Ken Ward came out of his rhapsody. He saw a white
ball tossed on the diamond. Dale received it from one of the fielders
and took his position in the pitcher's box. The uniform set off his
powerful form; there was something surly and grimly determined in
his face. He glanced about to his players, as if from long habit, and
called out gruffly: "Get in the game, fellows! No runs for this scrub
outfit!" Then, with long-practised swing, he delivered the ball. It
travelled plateward swift as the flight of a white swallow. The umpire
called it a strike on Weir; the same on the next pitch; the third was
wide. Weir missed the fourth and was out. Raymond followed on the batting
list. To-day, as he slowly stepped toward the plate, seemingly smaller
and glummer than ever, it was plain he was afraid. The bleachers howled
at the little green cap sticking over his ear. Raymond did not swing at
the ball; he sort of reached out his bat at the first three pitches,
stepping back from the plate each time. The yell that greeted his weak
attempt seemed to shrivel him up. Also it had its effect on the youngsters
huddling around Arthurs. Graves went up