The Young Pitcher | Page 2

was afraid to open his lips. Once he had dared
to go into Carlton Hall, the magnificent club-house which had been
given to the university by a famous graduate. The club was for all
students--Ken had read that on the card sent to him, and also in the
papers. But manifestly the upper-classmen had a different point of view.
Ken had gotten a glimpse into the immense reading-room with its open
fireplace and huge chairs, its air of quiet study and repose; he had
peeped into the brilliant billiard-hall and the gymnasium; and he had
been so impressed and delighted with the marble swimming-tank that
he had forgotten himself and walked too near the pool. Several students
accidentally bumped him into it. It appeared the students were so eager
to help him out that they crowded him in again. When Ken finally got
out he learned the remarkable fact that he was the sixteenth freshman
who had been accidentally pushed into the tank that day.
So Ken Ward was in a state of revolt. He was homesick; he was lonely
for a friend; he was constantly on the lookout for some trick; his
confidence in himself had fled; his opinion of himself had suffered a
damaging change; he hardly dared call his soul his own.
But that part of his time spent in study or attending lectures more than
made up for the other. Ken loved his subject and was eager to learn. He
had a free hour in the afternoon, and often he passed this in the library,
sometimes in the different exhibition halls. He wanted to go into
Carlton Club again, but his experience there made him refrain.
One afternoon at this hour Ken happened to glance into a lecture-room.
It was a large amphitheatre full of noisy students. The benches were
arranged in a circle running up from a small pit. Seeing safety in the
number of students who were passing in, Ken went along. He thought
he might hear an interesting lecture. It did not occur to him that he did
not belong there. The university had many departments and he felt that
any lecture-room was open to him. Still, caution had become a habit
with him, and he stepped down the steep aisle looking for an empty
bench.
How steep the aisle was! The benches appeared to be on the side of a
hill. Ken slipped into an empty one. There was something warm and

pleasant in the close contact of so many students, in the ripple of
laughter and the murmur of voices. Ken looked about him with a
feeling that he was glad to be there.
It struck him, suddenly, that the room had grown strangely silent. Even
the shuffling steps of the incoming students had ceased. Ken gazed
upward with a queer sense of foreboding. Perhaps he only imagined
that all the students above were looking down at him. Hurriedly he
glanced below. A sea of faces, in circular rows, was turned his way.
There was no mistake about it. He was the attraction. At the same
instant when he prayed to sink through the bench out of sight a burning
anger filled his breast. What on earth had he done now? He knew it was
something; he felt it. That quiet moment seemed an age. Then the
waiting silence burst.
"Fresh on fifth!" yelled a student in one of the lower benches.
"FRESH ON FIFTH!" bawled another at the top of his lungs.
Ken's muddled brain could make little of the matter. He saw he was in
the fifth row of benches, and that all the way around on either side of
him the row was empty. The four lower rows were packed, and above
him students were scattered all over. He had the fifth row of benches to
himself.
"Fresh on fifth!"
Again the call rang up from below. It was repeated, now from the left
of the pit and then from the right. A student yelled it from the first row
and another from the fourth. It banged back and forth. Not a word came
from the upper part of the room.
Ken sat up straight with a very red face. It was his intention to leave the
bench, but embarrassment that was developing into resentment held
him fast. What a senseless lot these students were! Why could they not
leave him in peace? How foolish of him to go wandering about in
strange lecture-rooms!

A hand pressed Ken's shoulder. He looked back to see a student
bending down toward him.
"Hang, Freshie!" this fellow whispered.
"What's it all about?" asked Ken. "What have I done, anyway? I never
was in here before."
"All Sophs down there. They don't allow freshmen to go below the
sixth row. There've been several rushes