was not
expected. They raced around the bases. They made long runs from
first to third. They were like flashes of light, slippery as eels.
The bewildered infielders knew they were being played with. The
taunting "boo-hoos" and screams of delight from the bleachers were
as demoralizing as the illusively daring runners. Closer and closer
the infielders edged in until they were right on top of the batters.
Then Dale and his men began to bunt little infield flies over the heads
of their opponents. The merry audience cheered wildly. But Graves and
Raymond ran back and caught three of these little pop flies, thus retiring
the side. The old varsity had made six runs on nothing but deliberate
bunts and daring dashes around the bases.

Ken hurried in to the bench and heard some one call out, "Ward up!"

He had forgotten he would have to bat. Stepping to the plate was like
facing a cannon. One of the players yelled: "Here he is, Dale! Here's
the potato-pegger! Knock his block off!"

The cry was taken up by other players. "Peg him, Dale! Peg him, Dale!"
And then the bleachers got it. Ken's dry tongue seemed pasted to the
roof of his mouth. This Dale in baseball clothes with the lowering frown
was not like the Dale Ken had known. Suddenly he swung his arm. Ken's
quick eye caught the dark, shooting gleam of the ball. Involuntarily he
ducked. "Strike," called the umpire. Then Dale had not tried to hit him.
Ken stepped up again. The pitcher whirled slowly this time, turning with
long, easy motion, and threw underhand. The ball sailed, floated, soared.
Long before it reached Ken it had fooled him completely. He chopped at
it vainly. The next ball pitched came up swifter, but just before it
crossed the plate it seemed to stop, as if pulled back by a string, and
then dropped down. Ken fell to his knees trying to hit it.

The next batter's attempts were not as awkward as Ken's, still they were
as futile. As Ken sat wearily down upon the bench he happened to get next
to coach Arthurs. He expected some sharp words from the coach, he thought
he deserved anything, but they were not forthcoming. The coach put his
hand on Ken's knee. When the third batter fouled to Hickle, and Ken
got up to go out to the field, he summoned courage to look at Arthurs.
Something in his face told Ken what an ordeal this was. He divined that
it was vastly more than business with Worry Arthurs.

"Peg, watch out this time," whispered the coach. "They'll line 'em