The Young Pitcher | Page 7

"How's the whip?"
"What?" asked Ken.
"The wing--your arm, Kid, your arm."
"Oh--Why, it's all right."
"It's not sore--not after peggin' a bushel of potatoes on a cold day?"
Ken laughed and raised his arm up and down. "It's weak to-night, but
not sore."
"These boys with their India-rubber arms! It's youth, Kid, it's youth.
Say, how old are you?"
"Sixteen."
"What! No more than that?"
"No."

"How much do you weigh?"
"About one hundred and fifty-six."
"I thought you had some beef back of that stunt of yours to-day. Say,
Kid, it was the funniest and the best thing I've seen at the university in
ten years--and I've seen some fresh boys do some stunts, I have. Well...
Kid, you've a grand whip--a great arm--and we're goin' to do some
stunts with it."
Ken felt something keen and significant in the very air.
"A great arm! For what?... who are you?"
"Say, I thought every boy in college knew me. I'm Arthurs."
"The baseball coach! Are you the baseball coach?" exclaimed Ken,
jumping up with his heart in his throat.
"That's me, my boy; and I'm lookin' you up."
Ken suddenly choked with thronging emotions and sat down as limp as
a rag.
"Yes, Kid, I'm after you strong. The way you pegged 'em to-day got me.
You've a great arm!"

III
PRISONER OF THE SOPHS
"But if--it's really true--that I've a great arm," faltered Ken, "it won't
ever do me any good. I could never get on the varsity."
"Why not?" demanded the coach. "I'll make a star of a youngster like
you, if you'll take coachin'. Why not?"
"Oh, you don't know," returned Ken, with a long face.

"Say, you haven't struck me as a kid with no nerve. What's wrong with
you?"
"It was I who slugged Captain Dale and caused that big rush between
the freshmen and sophomores. I've lived like a hermit ever since."
"So it was you who hit Dale. Well--that's bad," replied Arthurs. He got
up with sober face and began to walk the floor. "I remember the eye he
had. It was a sight.... But Dale's a good fellow. He'll--"
"I'd do anything on earth to make up for that," burst out Ken.
"Good! I'll tell you what we'll do," said Arthurs, his face brightening.
"We'll go right down to Dale's room now. I'll fix it up with him
somehow. The sooner the better. I'm goin' to call the baseball
candidates to the cage soon."
They put on coats and hats and went out. Evidently the coach was
thinking hard, for he had nothing to say, but he kept a reassuring hand
on Ken's arm. They crossed the campus along the very path where Ken
had fled from the sophomores. The great circle of dormitories loomed
up beyond with lights shining in many windows. Arthurs led Ken
through a court-yard and into a wide, bright hallway. Their steps
sounded with hollow click upon the tiled floor. They climbed three
flights of stairs, and then Arthurs knocked at a door. Ken's heart
palpitated. It was all so sudden; he did not know what he was going to
say or do. He did not care what happened to him if Arthurs could only,
somehow, put him right with the captain.
A merry voice bade them enter. The coach opened the door and led
Ken across the threshold. Ken felt the glow of a warm, bright room,
colorful with pennants and posters, and cozy in its disorder. Then he
saw Dale and, behind him, several other students. There was a
moment's silence in which Ken heard his heart beat.
Dale rose slowly from his seat, the look on his frank face changing
from welcome to intense amazement and then wild elation.

"Whoop!" he shouted. "Lock the door! Worry Arthurs, this's your best
bet ever!"
Dale dashed at the coach, hugged him frantically, then put his head out
of the door to bawl: "Sophs! Sophs! Sophs! Hurry call! Number nine!...
Oh, my!"
Then he faced about, holding the door partially open. He positively
beamed upon the coach.
"Say, Cap, what's eatin' you?" asked Arthurs. He looked dumfounded.
Ken hung to him desperately; he thought he knew what was coming.
There were hurried footsteps in the corridor and excited voices.
"Worry, it's bully of you to bring this freshman here," declared the
captain.
"Well, what of it?" demanded the coach. "I looked him up to-night.
He's got a great arm, and will be good material for the team. He told me
about the little scrap you had in the lecture-room. He lost his temper,
and no wonder. Anyway, he's sorry, Cap, and I fetched him around to
see if you couldn't make it up. How about it, Kid?"
"I'm sorry--awfully sorry, Captain Dale," blurted out Ken. "I was