at
you this inning--like bullets. Now try hard, won't you? _Just try!_"

Ken knew from Arthurs' look more than his words that _trying_ was all
that was left for the youngsters. The varsity had come out early in
the spring, and they had practised to get into condition to annihilate
this new team practically chosen by the athletic directors. And they
had set out to make the game a farce. But Arthurs meant that all the
victory was not in winning the game. It was left for his boys to try
in the face of certain defeat, to try with all their hearts, to try with
unquenchable spirit. It was the spirit that counted, not the result.
The old varsity had received a bitter blow; they were aggressive and
relentless. The students and supporters of old Wayne, idolizing the
great team, always bearing in mind the hot rivalry with Place and Herne,
were unforgiving and intolerant of an undeveloped varsity. Perhaps neither
could be much blamed. But it was for the new players to show what it meant
to them. The greater the prospect of defeat, the greater the indifference
or hostility shown them, the more splendid their opportunity. For it was
theirs to try for old Wayne, to try, to fight, and never to give up.

Ken caught fire with the flame of that spirit.

"Boys, come on!" he cried, in his piercing tenor. "_They can't beat us
trying!_"

As he ran out into the field members of the varsity spoke to him.
"You green-backed freshman! Shut up! You scrub!"

"I'm not a varsity has-been!" retorted Ken, hurrying out to his position.

The first man up, a left-hander, rapped a hard twisting liner to right
field. Ken ran toward deep centre with all his might. The ball kept
twisting and curving. It struck squarely in Ken's hands and bounced
out and rolled far. When he recovered it the runner was on third base.
Before Ken got back to his position the second batter hit hard through
the infield toward right. The ball came skipping like a fiendish rabbit.
Ken gritted his teeth and went down on his knees, to get the bounding
ball full in his breast. But he stopped it, scrambled for it, and made
the throw in. Dale likewise hit in his direction, a slow low fly,
difficult to judge. Ken over-ran it, and the hit gave Dale two bases.
Ken realized that the varsity was now executing Worry Arthurs' famous
right-field hitting. The sudden knowledge seemed to give Ken the
blind-staggers. The field was in a haze; the players blurred in his
sight. He heard the crack