The Young Pitcher | Page 6

on the bronze head it
struck with a sharp crack. Like a tenpin the Soph went down. He
plumped into the next two fellows, knocking them off their slippery
footing. The three fell helplessly and piled up their comrades in a dense
wedge half-way down the steps. If the Sophs had been yelling before, it
was strange to note how they were yelling now.
Deliberately Ken fired the heavy missiles. They struck with sodden
thuds against the bodies of the struggling sophomores. A poor thrower
could not very well have missed that mark, and Ken Ward was
remarkably accurate. He had a powerful overhand swing, and the
potatoes flew like bullets. One wild-eyed Soph slipped out of the tangle
to leap up the steps. Ken, throwing rather low, hit him on the shin. He
buckled and dropped down with a blood-curdling yell. Another shook
himself loose and faced upward. A better-aimed shot took him in the
shoulder. He gave an exhibition of a high and lofty somersault. Then
two more started up abreast. The first Ken hit over the eye with a very
small potato, which popped like an explosive bullet and flew into bits.
As far as effect was concerned a Martini could not have caused a more
beautiful fall. Ken landed on the second fellow in the pit of the stomach
with a very large potato. There was a sound as of a suddenly struck
bass-drum. The Soph crumpled up over the railing, slid down, and fell
among his comrades, effectually blocking the stairway.
For the moment Ken had stopped the advance. The sophomores had
been checked by one wild freshman. There was scarcely any doubt
about Ken's wildness. He had lost his hat; his dishevelled hair stood up
like a mane; every time he hurled a potato he yelled. But there was
nothing wild about his aim.
All at once he turned his battery on the students gathering below the
crush, trying to find a way through the kicking, slipping mass on the
narrow stairs. He scattered them as if they had been quail. Some ran out
of range. Others dove for cover and tried to dodge. This dodging
brought gleeful howls from Ken.
"Dodge, you Indian!" yelled Ken, as he threw. And seldom it was that

dodging was of any use. Then, coming to the end of his ammunition, he
surveyed the battle-field beneath him and, turning, ran across the
avenue and down a street. At the corner of the block he looked back.
There was one man coming, but he did not look like a student. So Ken
slackened his pace and bent his steps toward his boarding-house.
"By George! I stole those potatoes!" he exclaimed, presently. "I wonder
how I can make that good."
Several times as he turned to look over his shoulder he saw the man he
had noticed at first. But that did not trouble him, for he was sure no one
else was following him. Ken reached his room exhausted by exertion
and excitement. He flung himself upon his bed to rest and calm his
mind so that he could think. If he had been in a bad light before, what
was his position now? Beyond all reasoning with, however, was the
spirit that gloried in his last stand.
"By George!" he kept saying. "I wouldn't have missed that--not for
anything. They made my life a nightmare. I'll have to leave college--go
somewhere else--but I don't care."
Later, after dinner as he sat reading, he heard a door-bell ring, a man's
voice, then footsteps in the hall. Some one tapped on his door. Ken felt
a strange, cold sensation, which soon passed, and he spoke:
"Come in."
The door opened to admit a short man with little, bright eyes sharp as
knives.
"Hello, Kid," he said. Then he leisurely removed his hat and overcoat
and laid them on the bed.
Ken's fear of he knew not what changed to amazement. At least his
visitor did not belong to the faculty. There was something familiar
about the man, yet Ken could not place him.
"Well up in your studies?" he asked, cordially. Then he seated himself,

put a hand on each knee, and deliberately and curiously studied Ken.
"Why, yes, pretty well up," replied Ken. He did not know how to take
the man. There was a kindliness about him which relieved Ken, yet
there was also a hard scrutiny that was embarrassing.
"All by your lonely here," he said.
"It is lonely," replied Ken, "but--but I don't get on very well with the
students."
"Small wonder. Most of 'em are crazy."
He was unmistakably friendly. Ken kept wondering where he had seen
him. Presently the man arose, and, with a wide smile on his face,
reached over and grasped Ken's right arm.