Front matter (continued 3)

"But I haven't stacked his room, I'm telling you," interrupted Tim.

"Oh, give that ancient and antiquated aphorism a period of relaxation, will you, Tim? That doesn't work here, let me tell you. I know what I'm talking about."

"But I don't see what this sneak thinks he's going to gain by stacking my room," persisted Tim. "I shouldn't have to set it up again myself. I'm no West Hall pauper. I don't have to take care of my own room. Thank fortune, I've got some one to do my dirty work for me."

"Yes, that's what you're always doing, Tim Pickard," retorted Jack angrily, as he saw Ward flush at the brutal words; "you're always getting some one to do that for you. But let me tell you one thing, this stacking of Ward's room has got to be stopped."

"Who's going to stop it, I'd like to know?" replied Tim boldly.

"Oh, there's more than one way of doing that," replied Jack quietly. "Now, if you don't want to be sent home again for good and all, you'll see to it that Ward Hill's room isn't troubled again. That's all I've got to say about it."

"What'll you do? Go and report it to Doctor Gray?"

"I'm not telling what'll be done, but I am telling you that it isn't going to happen again. I know you and you know me, and you know too that I don't talk for the fun of hearing my own voice. Come on, Ward," he added, "you'll not be bothered any more after this. Good-bye, Tim," he called out as he and Ward together left the room.

But Tim made no response.

Neither of the boys spoke until they were in front of East Hall, then as Ward turned to go to his own room, Jack said, "What was the trouble? You had time enough to rip the carpet apart, to say nothing of upsetting everything in the room."

"I can't explain it, Jack; I don't know just why I didn't, but I couldn't do it, and that's all there was about it. When I got into the room, it all came over me what a mean, contemptible thing it was, and how I felt toward Tim for his work in West Hall; and on his table was a picture of his dead mother appearing to look reproachfully at me. It seemed to me that I couldn't do it, and if I did I'd be doing the very thing that set me so against him. And so I couldn't, and that's all there is about it."

"You're a queer chap," said Jack thoughtfully. "I thought I knew you pretty well, but I've got to give you up, I'm afraid. Ma Perrins came out into the hall while I was on guard there, and as I saw she looked a little surprised to see me, I went into the parlor with her just to quiet her fears and give you a chance to put in your fine work. I was horrified when I saw Tim rush into the house like a young whirlwind, and before I could call to him he was up the stairs as if he'd been shot out of a gun. You'd better believe I cut short my interview with Ma and made a break for Tim's room. I was half afraid I'd find only a few small pieces of you and Tim left, and that I'd have to beg the loan of one of Ma's platters to bring you home on. But I can't make you out, Ward. I hardly know now why you didn't fix Tim's room so that it would have been a living monument of your ability in that line. That's what I'd have done."

As Ward made no reply, Jack added: "Well, never mind, old fellow! Perhaps it's just as well. Tim won't bother you again, that is, I mean you won't have your room stacked again. You can rest easy about that."

"Thank you, Jack. You've been a good friend to me, and I need friends too."

"Don't mention it," replied Jack impulsively, as he reached forth his hand and shook Ward's warmly. "Good-night."

"Good-night, Jack."

When Ward, returned to his room, Henry was there and working over his lessons. At first he was tempted to tell his room-mate all about his experience, but fearing that Henry like Jack might misunderstand him he remained silent, and soon took his seat at his own table and began to work on his lessons.

It was some time, however, before he could bring his mind to bear upon his task. The scene in Tim Pickard's room kept rising before him. His anger and the part Jack had taken were still vivid. What a good fellow Jack was, Ward thought, and he appreciated his aid the more when he realized what it might mean for the impulsive lad to bring upon himself the anger of the "Tangs." And yet how fearless he had been, and in what a manly way he had taken his stand. Even then Ward could almost hear his words as he told Tim that the trouble in West Hall must cease. Would Tim heed? Somehow Ward felt that he would, at least in so far as the stacking of his room was concerned; but in other ways doubtless he would be made aware that Tim had not forgotten him. And Tim was one who never forgot.

At last he succeeded in banishing from his mind for the time, the recollection of the scene in Mrs. Perrins' house, and gave himself wholly to his work. On the following night Ward started to go to Mr. Crane's room. Somehow he dreaded the interview, and yet go he must. Mr. Crane he knew would expect him to come, and that scene in Ripley's room must be explained to his satisfaction.

Ward had thought over the matter many times, but as yet had arrived at no satisfactory course for him to follow. One thing was certain, and that was that he could not tell Mr. Crane about Tim Pickard. That was against the school's code of honor, and Ward's own feelings forbade it as well.

He was still undecided what to do when he rapped on Mr. Crane's door and was at once admitted by the teacher himself.

Apparently Mr. Crane had not changed, nor did he seem in any way suspicious of the boy before him. And yet that very quietness was most impressive to Ward, and had ever been the one element in the teacher's character and bearing which had most influenced him.

After a few general words Ward felt that he could bear it no longer, and breaking in somewhat abruptly, he said:

"Mr. Crane I want to put a case before you."

"Yes?" said Mr. Crane, lifting his eyes inquiringly, but not otherwise changing his manner.

"I want to know just what you would do. You seem to understand boys so well."

"I don't just know what I should do, if I didn't understand a little more clearly than I do now what was expected of me," answered Mr. Crane, smiling slightly as he spoke.

"Well, it's just this way. Suppose a fellow--I mean a boy--had come up to the Weston school, and was here a year. Suppose too, that he hadn't done very well. He'd neglected his work and was a great disappointment to his father and mother, and to his teachers, to say nothing of himself. Then suppose he'd fallen in with a set of the fellows--I mean boys--who were up to all sorts of mischief and he'd gone in with them, though all the time he didn't feel right about it. Then suppose he'd failed in his examinations at the end of the year, but that he tried to make them up during the summer. We'll say he came back to school and was able to go on with his class. When he came back he tried to break off with his old associates, but he didn't find it a very easy thing to do. They wouldn't believe in him, and when at last they found he really was trying to do differently, then they tried to make his life a burden to him."

Ward stopped a moment as if he expected some kind of a reply, but as Mr. Crane was silent he resumed his story.

"Well, if it didn't sound too much like telling tales, we'll suppose these fellows--I mean students--tried to do all they could to make life a burden for the boy. They put him off from the nine, they prejudiced the minds of the new boys against him, and some of the old ones too. But that wasn't all. They played all kinds of tricks on him, and worst of all they began to stack his room. I don't know that you understand what that means?" added Ward quickly.

"I think I understand," said Mr. Crane quietly.

"Well, this boy--I mean fellow--no, I don't, I mean boy--would find his room all upset every day. His carpet would be torn up, he'd find that water had been poured on his bed, and sometimes the oil from his lamp would be added too. The fellow--boy I mean--really wanted to study, but he had to take lots of his time from his lessons to set his room to rights. Finally he went at it and found out who was doing the mischief. He discovered that some one had a key to his room, but he found out too, that the fellow--I mean boy--who had the key wasn't the one who was stacking his room. He kept out of it himself, but set other fellows--I mean boys--up to it. And the worst of it all was that they were picking on Little P--I mean on a little fellow who rather looked up to this boy for help.

"Well, finally the boy fixed a trap and caught the one who was trying to get into his room that day. He went over to his room and started to make him give up the key--but--but--he was interrupted, and somehow he didn't do it. Then he went down to the fellow's room--the one at the bottom of it all--and was going to stack his room well, so as to let him know how it felt. But when he got there he somehow couldn't bring himself to do it, and while he was hesitating, the fellow in whose room he was came back and there was a great row.

"No, there was no fight," he hastily added, as he saw the question in the teacher's eyes; "but the fellow didn't know but the boy was trying to stack his room. Now, there's the story, Mr. Crane. I wish you'd tell me what you would do if you were that boy."

For a few moments Mr. Crane was silent, but at last he said: "Hill, I'll try to be entirely frank with you. In the first place, I think I should honor the boy who had gained the victory over himself in that fellow's room. He couldn't afford to do the very same thing he despised in the other fellow."

Ward's face flushed with pleasure, for he felt that praise from Mr. Crane was praise indeed.

"I'm not done yet," resumed Mr. Crane quietly. "Then, if I were that boy, I think I should begin to question myself and see if there was any just cause for the school being down upon me. It may have been that that boy was somewhat conceited, and a little selfish. He was all the time perhaps thinking how the school ought to appreciate everything he did, and he did not have quite the necessary courage to face calmly the results of his own misdeeds."

"But, Mr. Crane," protested Ward, "the fellow knew he'd done wrong. He wasn't trying to crawl."

"Perhaps so, but it is also possible that he thought he ought to be praised unduly for simply turning about and doing his duty. In the main, Hill, boys are just; and while doubtless injustice creeps in at times, it is still true that if a fellow has trouble, he ought not only to think of that, but of what he may be doing to bring it upon himself."

"Then you think the boy ought to keep still and let his room be stacked every day, do you?"

"Not at all; I want him to cure that in the right way, but I want him also to think not only of the stacking, but of the reason for its being stacked."

"It was stacked because he broke with the fellows he'd been going with," said Ward bitterly.

"In part, yes; but in part, no. Think it over, Hill, and come and see me again in a week."

"Good-night, Mr. Crane," said Ward somewhat abruptly, as he left the room.

He felt hurt and humiliated. Somehow he had thought Mr. Crane would speak very differently. Was that to be the reward for trying to do better? It seemed to him that he had been abused and misunderstood, and in no very amiable frame of mind Ward walked back to West Hall.

CHAPTER XIII

A FAITHFUL FRIEND

For two days Ward Hill continued in no enviable frame of mind. He felt hurt and humiliated by the words of Mr. Crane, and also felt that he had been hard and somewhat unjust in his judgment.

It was true that he had not referred to the disturbance in Ripley's room, but to Ward that seemed a trifling matter now. The struggle through which he was passing was uppermost in his thoughts, and before that, all else seemed insignificant and small.

And to Ward Hill it was a struggle of no small character. The stand which near the close of the preceding year he had taken for Henry had brought upon him the enmity of his former associates, and they had succeeded not only in annoying him themselves, but also in creating a prejudice against him in the school.

Henry, it was true, remained his true friend, but he was a boy who was never demonstrative, and Ward somehow felt the need of continued praise. In this particular he did not differ from other sensitive and bright lads; but in his own home and in the little village of Rockford, he had been so looked up to by all his associates that he had come to regard such feelings toward him as but his just and natural right.

Jack Hobart's good will he highly prized and also prized more than he himself was aware all the good-natured references to the possibilities of his becoming the valedictorian of the class; but Ward Hill, like many another when he finds himself beset with perplexities and difficulties, was more prone to dwell upon his lacks than upon his possessions, and consequently he was thinking much more of the words of implied blame which Mr. Crane had spoken, than he was of the encouragement and appreciation he had received.

And it was just because Mr. Crane thoroughly understood Ward that he had spoken as he did at the time of Ward's indirect statement. He had understood clearly that in the case which Ward had stated, he was speaking of himself. The disguise was very thin, and the teacher had listened attentively and with a full sense of what it all meant to the eager, impulsive boy.

But he had also seen, what Ward himself had failed to see, that as yet he had not faced his situation with the true spirit. It was his vanity which was suffering more than his sense of justice and right. Eager for the praise of the boys and his teachers, he had not as yet come to perceive that there was something deeper, stronger, better. It was with no lack of appreciation of the efforts Ward certainly was making to do better work in his classes and to cut himself loose from the more disorderly elements of the Weston school, that Mr. Crane had spoken, but because he clearly perceived that as yet the troubled boy was governed only by his feelings, and that deep down below all his desires to improve there lay a motive which must be purified before anything like a radical or permanent change in his life could be produced.

He had not failed to notice the pain his words produced, but as we are informed that "faithful are the wounds of a friend," he had resolved for the sake of the boy, whom he sincerely loved and whose brightness he was in no wise backward in acknowledging, that what he needed most was not praise and sympathy, but frankness and a true picture of himself.

Not the least of Ward's troubles arose from the fact that in his own heart there was a perception of the fact that the basis of all his regard for Mr. Crane was his confidence in the teacher's candor and sincerity. Ward felt that come what might Mr. Crane never said pleasing things just for the pleasure of saying them, or for the pleasure his praise might impart. In all this he was in marked contrast to Mr. Blake whose words of praise were so plentiful as to be cheap, and were bestowed so indiscriminately that they were slightly valued. Mr. Crane, on the contrary, was ever ready to speak a word of encouragement to any boy whom he perceived to be doing his best, but he never praised at the expense of truth. And perhaps it was because of the dim consciousness that there was too much truth in what he had heard, that Ward's bitterness was somewhat increased.

He could not conceal from himself the fact that in the preceding year, when he had been received into the "Tangs" and made much of by a class of boys whose ideals, home training, and lives had been very different from his own, that he had been somewhat elated by the attentions he had received and that his manner and bearing toward the other boys in the school had gradually undergone a marked change.

He had become somewhat overbearing and condescending in his dealings with them. He had assumed airs that did not become him and rejected many of the overtures of friendship that had been offered him. And as a consequence he had not gained them, and now he had lost the others. Did Mr. Crane know anything of that? Ward almost felt that he must, but the knowledge did not tend to increase his peace of mind at the time. In fact, Ward Hill wanted what he did not need, and needed what he did not want.

For two days, as we have said, the struggle went on in Ward's soul. At times he would be bitter and hard, feeling that it made no difference what he attempted to do, the hand of nearly every one was certain to be against him. Then again, his better self would assert itself and he would be able to see things in their true light.

To Henry he did not speak of his troubles. He worked faithfully and hard over his lessons, and knew that he was doing well in his classes; but somehow the knowledge did not bring him the satisfaction he had expected. He could not forget or ignore Mr. Crane's words, and the recollection of them was ever a disturbing element in his mind.

When the two days had passed, he sought out Jack, having resolved to seek his opinion, half hoping that his friend, who ever had good words for all, would have something to say to him which would be a comfort to his troubled soul.

It was in his room that he found his friend and after stating, as clearly and fully as he could recall, the conversation with Mr. Crane, he said abruptly: "Now, Jack, I want you to tell me just what you think. Am I a prig, like Big Smith? Do you think Mr. Crane was right? Am I to blame for what's coming to me?"

"Ward, I don't know," said Jack soberly after a brief silence.

Ward felt hurt and somewhat humiliated by his friend's reply. He was so anxious to be absolved from all blame that he had eagerly looked forward to Jack as a consoler. And now Jack's manner, far more than his words, seemed to imply that he too thought something was wrong with himself.

"It seems to me," said Ward, unable entirely to conceal his disappointment, "that a fellow who stands up for Henry as I did when the 'Tangs' got after him, isn't altogether bad. And why is Tim Pickard so down on me? If I'd gone into his scrapes, or if even now I'd go in again, he'd be all right, and you know it. I'd have my place on the nine and the fellows in the school wouldn't all be down on me as they now are."

"I don't know what to say to you," said Jack slowly. "You know how I feel, old fellow, and there isn't a chap in the school who would be so glad to have you take the place I know belongs to you as I would. I know Tim's to blame, but then you know how it was with Big Pond. He didn't go in with Tim and the 'Tangs,' and yet there hasn't been a fellow in school for years whom every one liked as they did Pond. Now I know him and I know you, and for the life of me I can't see just where the fault lies."

"Only you know they liked Pond and don't like me."

"It isn't as strong as that. It isn't that the fellows dislike you, Ward. That isn't it."

"It's that they don't like me," said Ward bitterly, determined to say the words which he perceived that Jack would not.

"I think it'll come out all right, Ward, if you'll have patience and wait. It isn't very pleasant, I know," he hastily added as he saw an expression of pain and mortification sweep over Ward's face, "but it'll all come right, I'm sure."

"And meanwhile I'm to sit still and bear it all like a martyr on a pole."

"No, not that--not that--but----"

"But what?"

"But I wish you'd take a little more pains to make the fellows like you."

"Don't you remember, though, what the doctor said about the fellows that tried to do the popular act, how they never succeeded and the school was always down on them?"

"Yes, I remember, and it's true too, but that doesn't mean that a fellow's not to take a little trouble to be agreeable--I mean to go out of his way. Forgive me, Ward. It hurts me worse than it does you, but you asked me the honest question and I'm trying hard, honestly I am, to see a way out of it. Now there's Big Smith. He's never in a scrape. He doesn't know what the word mischief means, but then he isn't over popular, you know."

"Yes, I know; but I hope I'm not like Big Smith. I suppose I'll have to take it out in being respected, even if I'm not liked."

"That's where you're wrong, Ward. I tell you a fellow's got to be respected or he's not liked. He's got to have something the other fellows don't have or they don't look up to him and don't care much for him, either. No, sir! I don't believe a fellow can be respected and not be liked. Speaking of that, and the doctor's words, don't you remember what he said about 'speaking the truth in love'? that it wasn't enough for a fellow to be true, and speak the truth too, for that matter, but that the way in which he did it counted for as much or more than what he said? I usually take a nap when the doctor gets to preaching, but I was thinking that morning and so kept awake."

"Thinking of me, maybe?" said Ward, looking keenly at Jack as he spoke.

"Why, yes, to tell the truth I was thinking of you, Ward; but I fancy I'd been in a good deal better business to have been thinking of myself."

"Jack, what would you advise me to do?"

"I told you, Ward, I don't know what to tell you. Still, if you want me to, I'll tell you one or two things I've thought of."

"Go ahead," said Ward, striving to appear calm, though there was a sinking of the heart as he spoke.

"Well, to begin with, old fellow, there isn't a boy in the class who can learn his lessons with as little work as you can. Why, you can see right through a thing that takes my old head an hour to find out. But, Ward," he added hesitatingly, "I've sometimes thought you were a little quick to poke fun at the fellows who are not so quick-witted as you are. And then you aren't over ready to give a fellow a lift when he's in trouble. Now, for example, there's Big Smith. I saw him come up to you before class yesterday and say, 'Ward, how do you translate this passage?' And maybe you remember what you said to him."

"No, I don't," replied Ward. "He's such a shirk I've no patience with him. What did I say, Jack?"

"Why you turned him off with a curt, 'How do I translate that place? Why, I translate it right,' and then you turned on your heel and walked off."

"But I don't want to drag Big Smith through by letting him hang on to my coat tails. I work to get what I have, and why shouldn't the other fellows work too, I'd like to know? Every tub ought to stand on its own bottom."

"That's all true enough, but it wouldn't cost you anything to give another fellow a lift; you can do it too, I know, for you've lifted me right out of the mire every time I asked you."

"Yes, but I like you, Jack."

"But I thought it was of the other fellows and the school you were talking just now."

"So I was, Jack," replied Ward slowly. Perhaps he was beginning to see what his friend had in mind. "But go on, give me another. I'm good for it."

"Well," said Jack hesitatingly, "I've thought about the nine, Ward. Henry and I were perfectly willing to keep off till they'd take you on, but you wouldn't have that."

"No, sir! I'd never go on the nine if I had to get on in that way."

"That's all right and I don't know that I blame you, though I think by a little squeezing Tim would have come around all right. But I did think you might have gone on the scrub."

"Go on the scrub!" said Ward quickly. "What? Go on the scrub when I'd been put off from the nine? Not much! Not as long as the court knows itself." And Ward rose from his seat and in his anger began to pace back and forth in the room.

"You don't see what I'm driving at. Now it looks to me like this. If you'd taken the thing good-naturedly and made out that you weren't hit so hard, I think the most of the fellows in the school would have taken your part in no time. As it is, you just keep away from them, and if Tim tells them that you've gone back on everything, why they don't know but it's true, you see. Now if you'd swallowed your pride and gone in with the fellows, whether you were on the nine or not, why it wouldn't have been any time before every one of them would be willing to swear that you were one of the best fellows in the school, as well as one of the best players, and Tim would be forced to give you back your place. Ripley has it now, but he doesn't size up to your knees, when it comes to playing ball."

"Yes, but think what Tim Pickard would say if he should see me on the scrub nine. He'd think he'd got me just where he wanted me, and that I was all cut up about being put off the nine, and was trying to force my way back again."

"Tim might be a little disagreeable at first; but you know if you braced up and either laughed at him or paid no attention to what he said, how soon he'd cool off. Now look here, Ward, how many times has your room been stacked since we had our little interview with Timothy down at Ma Perrins'?"

"Not once."

"Exactly. And if you meet Tim and the boys in the same way down on the ball ground you'd see how soon he'd crawl there. Oh, I know Tim Pickard all the way up and all the way down, from the top of his head to the sole of his foot."

"But, I don't want to get on the nine in any such way," protested Ward.

"Never mind the nine, just come down and go in with the fellows, that's all I'm telling you. You can't run off up to the glen or away off to the Hopper, and think all the school is going to come trailing after you. If you're going to catch fish, you've got to go where the fish are, haven't you? And if you think the fellows are all down on you, you can't fix things straight by going off and talking with the whispering breezes and echoing hills, and all that sort of stuff."

Ward soon departed and went to his own room. His heart was smarting from the effect of Jack's words, but somehow he could not feel angry with him. Who could? The light-hearted, generous lad made friends on every side, for no one could long withstand his sunny ways.

That night Ward sat for a long time at his study table, with his head resting upon his hands and his books unopened before him. He was thinking of Mr. Crane's words and what Jack had said.

At last he arrived at a quick decision, and with the decision once made he opened his books and resolutely began the preparation of his lessons for the following day.

CHAPTER XIV

WARD HUMBLES HIMSELF

For a long time after he had retired that night Ward rolled and tossed upon his bed, and it seemed to the troubled boy as if sleep would never come. The words of Jack kept sounding in his ears, and do what he would he could not forget them.

His heart was heavy too, with the consciousness that the words were true and that he knew he was in a measure at fault. Perhaps that after all was the source of his deepest suffering, for Ward Hill was one of the few boys who could not entirely deceive himself.

Again and again he tried to persuade himself that his present suffering all came because he had broken with his former associates in the school. That a measure of truth lay in that fact he could readily persuade himself to believe, but not all of it could be traced to that source. Jack's references to his unwillingness to aid the other boys and his tendency to have but slight sympathy for those who did not learn as easily as he, had touched him in a tender spot and his own conscience accused him.

Then too, he knew that he had withdrawn from the fellowship of many in the school, and had been accustomed to pride himself somewhat upon that very fact. He was not dependent upon any one. If the fellows did not care for him, why, he did not intend to hang his harp on the willows and sit down and mourn over his slights. He would show every one in the school that he could live without his company if needs be. With such statements he had endeavored to bolster up his courage and by an air of bravado, if not of true independence, he would show his own superiority. No one should ever hear him "whine."

Yet, despite his efforts, his heart had been heavy all the time. He yearned for the love and good will of his companions. No one in the school more desired to be popular than he. And few too would suffer from the lack of popularity as he did.

And his heart had been heavy when he at last had closed his books when the bell was rung that night and he had put out his light and crept into his bed. He was tormented by a dull, heavy feeling of misery. He felt lonely and forlorn. Both Mr. Crane and Jack had virtually admitted that he was not very well liked by the school, and both also evidently thought he was not entirely blameless in the matter.

As the truth gradually came to be seen by him, he was sincere enough to acknowledge it to be true and had sufficient strength to rouse himself to face its difficulties. He would follow Jack's suggestions.

On the following morning he said to Jack as they left the chapel together: "I'm going to follow your advice, and am coming down to play on the scrub against the nine this afternoon. The only thing I'm afraid of is that Tim Pickard will think I'm crawling. You know I'm not trying to get back my place on the team."

"That's all right, Ward," replied Jack enthusiastically. "Never you mind Tim, you just go ahead. It'll be all right and I'll see that you have a place on the scrub."

As a consequence of Jack's efforts, when in the afternoon Ward went down to the ball ground, Ford, who was acting as the captain of the scrub nine, which was formed to give the regular nine practice every day, said to him, "Ward, will you take a hand with us this afternoon?"

"Yes," replied Ward quietly.

"All right; play 'short' then, will you?"

As Ward threw aside his coat and walked out upon the field to take the position assigned him, he was conscious that many of the boys who had assembled to watch the nine at its practice were talking of him. His face burned, but he tried hard not to appear aware of the curiosity which his appearance on the field had aroused. The sneer on Tim Pickard's face was the hardest for him to bear; and when he overheard the words which Tim uttered, evidently intended for Ward's special benefit, about "sneaks" and "trying to curry favor and crawl back on the team," he was sorely tempted to leave the field instantly.

But catching a meaning look just then from Jack, he resolutely ignored all that he had heard and seen, and well aware that Tim would be highly delighted even then to have him abandon the game, he tried hard to give his entire attention to the work before him.

It was the first game in which Ward had played since he had come back to Weston and he felt sadly his lack of practice. But endeavoring to make up by his efforts what he lacked in practice, he succeeded beyond his hopes in acquitting himself creditably. He handled the ball quickly and threw with all his old-time swiftness.

Indeed, he thought more than once of that long throw of his in the game with the Burrs in the preceding year, which had saved the game and won for him the wild applause of his fellows. The recollection served to intensify the difficulties of his present position. How sadly had it all been changed since the preceding year! He was, however, too busy in the game to dwell long upon the misery which the thought produced.

When it came to be his turn to bat and he stood facing Tim, who was the pitcher of the Weston nine, he could easily perceive the expression of hatred upon his face. Tim exerted himself to the utmost and sent in the ball with all the speed and curves he could summon. Perhaps his manifest desire to place Ward at a disadvantage served to rouse the latter all the more. At any rate he stood calmly facing Tim, apparently unmoved by all his efforts to annoy him.

It became evident to others as well as to Ward that Tim in his anger was trying to hit him with the ball. He sent in two or three at his swiftest speed and Ward had all he could do to dodge them successfully.

"Oh, hold on, Tim!" called Jack in a low voice from his position at short stop. "What are you trying to do? You want to remember that we're not alone here."

Somehow Jack always seemed to have a strange influence over the captain of the nine, an influence which no other exerted, or even tried to use. And the effect of the words became at once apparent as Tim's speed slackened and the next ball came in directly over the plate.

Just then Ward obtained a glimpse of Mr. Crane, who had come upon the grounds and taken his position in the front line of the spectators, where he stood watching the game. Perhaps the sight of the teacher, or Jack's words, or the change which came over Tim, served to arouse Ward still more. He never knew just what the cause was; but as he saw the ball coming swiftly toward him, he caught it squarely on the end of his bat and sent it far out over the heads of the waiting fielders.

As Ward swiftly cleared the bases, sending in two men before him, he was dimly conscious that a faint cheer had arisen from the spectators. He gave no heed to that, however, nor yet to the words with which Jack hailed him as he ran swiftly past him. Somehow the heavy hit which he had made served in a measure to relieve his feelings, and as he halted upon the third base he wiped his dripping face with his handkerchief and for the first time turned and looked about him.

Jack's face was beaming and Ward could easily see he had risen in the estimation of the spectators. The sight produced a thrill of pleasure in his heart, but he was soon recalled to the necessities of the game and gave himself fully to that. When at last he succeeded in stealing home, the applause again broke out, but Ward held himself aloof from the boys, well satisfied with what he had done.

Twice more during the game Ward succeeded in hitting squarely the swiftly thrown balls of the pitcher, and when at last the game was ended, the scrub nine for the first time that season had succeeded in making a creditable showing against the school nine, and Ward knew the success in large measure had been due to his efforts.

"Tell you what, Tim," said Jack, as the members of the nine picked up their bats and started for their rooms, "we'll have to put up the scrub against the Burrs, I'm thinking. If we don't look out they'll be playing all around us."

Tim made no reply, but a savage scowl crept over his face. He prided himself upon his prowess as a pitcher, and indeed it was freely acknowledged that there was no one in the school in any way to be compared with him. Indeed, it was this fact that chiefly enabled Tim to retain his position as the captain of the nine, for the boys well knew that without him they would be so sadly crippled as to be unable to make a good showing against any team.

The fact that Ward Hill, whom he disliked so intensely, had succeeded in successfully batting him that day was gall to the angry boy. He made no reply to Jack's words, and sullenly departed from the field.

Ward did not wait for any of his friends to accompany him as he too started from the ball ground. Jack's beaming face pleased him greatly, and the words that he overheard some of the boys say about it's being "a shame that Hill was not on the nine," seemed also to comfort him; but without waiting to speak to any one he drew on his coat and started to go.

As he came to the border of the grounds he was surprised as Mr. Crane joined him and said: "You've done well to-day, Hill, and I congratulate you."

"Thank you," said Ward simply, though his face flushed with pleasure at the words.

"You haven't been over to see me yet," continued Mr. Crane. "Can't you come up to my room for a few minutes now?"

"I'm hardly fit for that," said Ward, glancing ruefully at his soiled hands. He knew also that his hair was in disorder and that his face bore many tokens of his recent exertions.

"I understand all that," said Mr. Crane quietly. "If you can spare a few minutes now I should be very glad to have you come. You bear only the honorable signs of battle, and I shall forget them. I want only a few minutes with you."

"I'll come," said Ward simply, as he turned and walked with the teacher, and was soon seated in his room.

"Now, Hill," said Mr. Crane as soon as he too had taken his seat, "I don't want you to think that I'm asking more than I ought, and if you feel that I am you are at liberty not to answer me. But I should be glad to have you tell me why you went down to the ball ground this afternoon and played on the scrub nine. You haven't done that before, have you?"

"No," said Ward quietly.

He was silent a moment, and then, as he looked up, he felt rather than saw that Mr. Crane was regarding him intently. His interest was so apparent that almost before he realized what he was doing Ward had related all his recent troubles to him. He did not mention any names, but he told him of his own feelings when he had listened to his words of the previous interview; also of what "a friend"--for so he referred to Jack--had said to him in the same line. He held nothing back. His own bitterness, his feeling that he had been misunderstood, his discouragement and all came out.

"Hill," said Mr. Crane when Ward at last ended, "I'm greatly pleased with you. You haven't done anything since you came to Weston that has given me such genuine pleasure as that which you have done to-day."

"Why, Mr. Crane," said Ward quickly, his face flushing as he spoke and a very suspicious moisture appearing in his eyes, "I didn't know you cared so much about the game. I thought you would be more pleased over my work in the classes."

"I am pleased with both, Hill. I am delighted at the improvement in your class work, and I am no less pleased over what I have seen to-day."

As Ward appeared somewhat mystified and looked questioningly at him, Mr. Crane continued, "The class work is important. You know I would be the last to belittle that. But there are many other things to be learned in a school like this. I have been here many years now, and I have had an opportunity to judge of the relative success of the boys as they have gone up to college and out into life, and I must say that many of my old standards of judgment have been revised."

"And you don't think that standing high in the class is first then?" said Ward eagerly.

"Yes, with you I do, Hill; but first, not all. I want to see every boy do his best, his particular rank in class then becomes a secondary matter. There are some boys who are older when they enter, or much more mature when they are of the same age as their fellows, and of course they do the work more easily and gain a higher standing without much effort. But some students show elements of growth and promise, and although they may not stand so high as some of the others, I can see by the very impetus they receive from working faithfully that they are bound to outstrip the others in the race of life. Then too, school work only tests a man on one side of his mental make-up. His memory may be strong and he may also be able to perceive and receive, but his ability to create or to carry out plans is not tested in the least, or to a very slight degree. So when he gets out into the world and finds that the world is much more prone to ask of him what he can furnish or add to the stock it already has, or what he can do in carrying out his plans, than it is to ask him about his ability to soak in as a sponge does, he doesn't know just what to make of it. Creative ability and executive ability are but slightly tested in school life, and these are the qualities of success far more than mere receptive power. I don't know that I make myself clear, using these long words," added Mr. Crane smilingly.

"I think I understand you," said Ward slowly; "but I'd never thought of it in that way before. I always thought if a fellow did well in school he'd be likely to outside."

"And so he will," said Mr. Crane quickly. "You see I didn't make myself clear after all. I think success in the main is in him, not in his surroundings, and if he has ability and exerts it in school it will tell there as well as in any other place. If a boy has ability and applies himself he will succeed in school if success is in him. But on the other hand, because a boy has the special kind of ability to succeed in school work it does not always follow that the same qualities will make his life-work a success. And that is the very reason why I am always glad to see a boy tested and meet the test on every side of his life, even while he is in school."

"And you think I have been tested?"

"Yes; and I think you are meeting the tests. School life and school work are two different things. I want not less of one but more of the other. The discipline of hard study is what you need, Hill; and you need also the discipline which only the boys can give you. No teacher can give it, however much he may try. It's life, not books. Now no discipline for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous. Nevertheless, afterward----"

"Yes, yes, I see," said Ward quickly. "And you think I am learning? Tell me honestly just what you think, Mr. Crane."

"I think you are learning and are doing well in the school life as well as in the school work," replied Mr. Crane cordially, as he rose from his chair, a signal which Ward at once understood.

CHAPTER XV

OUTSIDE LESSONS

"Now, Hill," said Mr. Crane, as Ward stopped for a moment in the doorway, "I trust I have not said too much to you."

The teacher's kindly tones and grave manner impressed Ward even more than what he had been saying, and with a face that beamed in spite of the marks which the dust of the ball-ground had left, the boy, far more light-hearted than he had been for many weeks now, said: "You have done me lots of good, Mr. Crane."

"Let us hope that it will prove to be so. I rejoice with you that the muskets of Lexington have been heard, now let us see to it that the guns of Yorktown shall also be heard. Or to put it in another way, the victory of a Bull Run does not always mean that the same parties are in similar conditions at Appomattox. The declaration of independence did not of itself make the colonies free. They had to prove their right and ability to be free; but still the declaration had to come first. You have fought at Lexington, and have declared your independence, and I think too you have had your Trenton and Princeton. Now if Valley Forge and Benedict Arnold come along why you will not forget what followed them. But I don't mean to stand here and croak of possible ills. I am confident now, Hill, that you are beginning to be master of yourself, and that is what the discipline and training of a school course and school life are for. Come and see me again soon, Hill. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Mr. Crane," said Ward; and then he started directly across the campus toward his room to prepare for supper.

Somehow he was feeling strangely elated. He could not see that there had been any radical change in himself or in his relations with his fellows, but the trial of the afternoon on the ball-ground had been passed, and he had played a game which certainly must have proven to all that whether he was on the nine or not, there was no one in the school who could do better.

And he could not fail to see too the change which already had become manifest in the feelings of many of the boys toward him. The surprise with which they had first observed him when he went out on the field, the sneers of Tim Pickard, reflected in a measure by some of his boon companions, the remarks which his appearance had called forth, had all soon changed, that is, all save Tim's malice, which had given place to an expression of intense and bitter hatred.

Still Ward thought he could endure that. His vigorous body was still tingling from the effects of his exercise, and the words of Mr. Crane were still sounding in his ears. Added to all that was the evident pleasure of the spectators which his ability as a player had aroused, and the cordial encouragement of the one teacher in the school whom he most respected and loved. Ward was beginning to feel as if life were not such a heavy burden after all.

"Well, Ward, that was a great game you put up this afternoon," said Henry, as his room-mate entered the room. "The way in which you batted Tim almost broke him up."

"Did it?" said Ward lightly, as he at once began to wash.

"It did that, and it tickled the rest of us, or rather some of us, mightily too. Tim will soon have to give you back your place on the nine."

"No, he'll not do that," replied Ward quickly. "Tim's got enough of the nine under his thumb to have his say, and I know he'd rather leave than have me on the team."

"But surely, Ward, after to-day's work you'll not object to Jack's proposal?"

"Jack's proposal? I don't know just what you mean."

"Why, that he and I should tell Tim that he must take you back or we'd leave the nine."

"No. I never should agree to that," replied Ward quietly. "I'd never want to get on the nine in that way. I'd stay off forever before I'd do that. Not that I don't thank you," he hastily added, as he saw an expression of genuine disappointment creeping over his room-mate's face. "It's mighty good of you and Jack, and I'll never forget it, either. But, you see, even if I were willing to go on in that way, Tim still has the most of the nine, and I think the most of the school too, on his side, and I think it would break up the team. And with the game coming on with the Burrs so soon now, that would never do, you see."

"Still, I wish you were on the nine, Ward," said Henry. "I want you, and the nine needs you."

"Oh, well," replied Ward, speaking far more lightly than he felt, "it'll all come out right in the end. Jordan's a hard road to travel, but I've got to take things as they come."

"You're doing great work in the classes, anyway, Ward. Dr. Gray told me the other night that your reports were great so far in the term."

"Did he say that?" said Ward eagerly, his hunger for praise returning in an instant.

"Yes, that's just what he said."

"Well, that's enough without making the nine."

Ward's prophecy proved to be correct. Unknown to him Henry and Jack went and had a talk with Tim Pickard, but the captain of the nine utterly refused to listen to any plea in Ward's behalf. He threatened, if they persisted in pressing his claims, to throw up his own position and take with him the four members of the team whom he controlled, and with the aid of whose votes he was always able to have his own way, as with his own vote they made a majority.

Neither of the boys informed Ward of their efforts on his behalf, fearing that the failure might serve to dampen the returning ardor which he now displayed.

And Ward longed to be on the nine too. Conscious of his own ability as a player, and eager as he was for the excitement of the games and the applause of his fellows, it was no slight disappointment to feel that he was shut off from it all, and that he was powerless to change the conditions that surrounded him.

He did not go down to the grounds every day, for that seemed to him too much as if he were pushing for his former place on the nine. Still, he went there frequently and willingly taking any position assigned him on the scrub team, threw himself into the game with all his heart.

Meanwhile he did not neglect his lessons. Come what might, he was resolved to do well in them. As the days passed his own pleasure increased as he saw that no one in the class was doing better than he. Berry thus far was his most dangerous competitor, for "Luscious" was a bright fellow and not one to shirk his work. His influence on Jack too, was becoming apparent, and Jack's class work was far better than any he had ever done in the course of his three years at Weston.

Jack seemed to rejoice in his own success too, and made many sly references to the honors he was hoping to win. Indeed, he was accustomed now to refer to himself and Ward and Luscious when the three by chance were together as the "three valedics."

"And the greater of the three--ah, that's a secret. That's to be revealed in the forthcoming chapters, as the books say," he would laughingly add.

Another change also became manifest in Ward. There was no more surprised boy in all the Weston school than Big Smith, when one morning on his way to the Latin room Ward overtook him and walked on by his side.

"Got your lesson, Smith?" said Ward.

"No, not all of it. I fear I'm like the men that toiled all night and took nothing. I've been studying hours and hours on one passage here, but somehow I can't get it."

"Which is it?" said Ward cordially. "Perhaps I can give you a lift."

"If you only would, Ward," said Big Smith eagerly, as he opened the book at the difficult passage.

Ward translated the passage, and when he had finished, Big Smith said: "I don't understand how it is, Ward, that you can do these things and I can't. My brain is larger than yours," and Big Smith removed his hat and thoughtfully stroked his hair as he spoke. "Now I've always heard that the size of a man's head was the measure of his ability, and I know my hat is two sizes larger than yours, Ward. And yet you could read that place and I couldn't," he added ruefully. "How do you account for it, Ward?"

"Quality, not quantity," said Ward with a laugh, who was light-hearted in the consciousness of having helped another, a comparatively new experience for him.

The consequences of that act made Ward afterward somewhat dubious as to the real benefits he had bestowed on his classmate. Almost every evening Big Smith obtained permission from Mr. Blake to go up to Ward's room, and for a long time he would remain there and listen to Ward as he translated the difficult passages for him.

At last his presence during the study hour became a burden. "Big Smith is an unmitigated nuisance," Henry declared. The boys posted great notices on their door which bore such alarming headlines as "Smallpox within," "This is my busy day," "No one admitted except on business," "Danger," and other similar mild and suggestive devices. But Big Smith calmly ignored them all, and every night when the study hour was about half done would appear, and with his unmoved and benign countenance ask for the aid which Ward never refused him now.

At last Henry declared it could be borne no longer, and as Ward knew how hard the work was for his chum and how Big Smith's interruptions confused him, he uttered no protest when Henry boldly told the intruder one night that if he wanted help he must come for it out of study hours.

"But I don't ask you for help, Henry," replied Big Smith in apparent surprise.

"I know that; but you're imposing on Ward's good nature, and I can't study when you two fellows are talking. Besides, I don't think it's the square thing for you to take Ward's work into class as your own."

"But I don't," protested Big Smith warmly. "I never in my life took his work into class."

"Why don't you get a pony, Big Smith? That would be the easiest way out of it."

"Me get a pony? Do you think I'd use a translation? Not much. I'm thankful for one thing, and that is, I never have used a pony, as you call it, yet."

"What do you call it when you come up here and get Ward to read your Latin and Greek to you, I'd like to know."

"That? Oh, that's not a pony. That's just Ward Hill."

Both his hearers laughed in spite of their efforts to restrain themselves, Big Smith meanwhile looking from one to the other as if he were not quite able to see the joke.

"No, Big Smith," said Henry at last, "I don't want to be small or mean, but I have to work hard for all I get, and when you come up here in study hours you just break me all up. I don't mind it any other time; but it doesn't seem to me just the square thing to break in on another fellow's time. I wouldn't do it; it doesn't seem to me that Mr. Blake ought to let you do it, either. What are the study hours for?"

"I'm sure I don't want to come here if I'm not wanted," replied Big Smith soberly.

"That's not it; that's not it at all," protested Henry. "It's only for a quiet study hour I'm arguing. I don't think you ought to break in on another fellow's work. Now, do you?"

"But," said Big Smith in his most solemn tones, "all my teachers say I've been doing a great deal better work of late. I'm sure you wouldn't want me to drop back in my work or stand lower in the class, would you?"

With a hopeless sigh Henry turned again to his work. It seemed as if it were almost impossible to impress the conception of the needs of any one else on Big Smith's mind.

Ward, however, finally adjusted matters to the satisfaction of both by promising his aid to Big Smith after breakfast each morning, in the hour between breakfast time and chapel. In his new desire to follow out Jack's suggestion and make himself familiar and helpful to his companions, he never once thought of the harm he might be doing Big Smith. Indeed he went much further, and soon a number of the boys in the class joined Big Smith each morning and listened to Ward as he read aloud the lessons of the day.

And Ward was thinking only of the aid he was giving, not at all of the harm the others might receive. But then we are told in many ways outside the realm of physics that the reaction is always equal to the action. Perhaps Ward Hill, however, was yet to learn that lesson--a lesson which certainly each must learn for himself and not for another.

Meanwhile, through all these days Ward's room not been touched. Whoever had done the "stacking" had now, at least for a time, ceased from his labors. That there was still a very bitter feeling against him on the part of many he well knew, nor could he attribute it all to the immediate circle of the "Tangs."

Ward felt the prejudice keenly, but he resolutely held himself to his work, and by the aid he gave the boys in their lessons and by mingling with them more than he had done of late, he was hoping to win his way back to the position he had once held in the school.

Nor was this born of a weak desire for popularity alone. That was true in part, but only in part; but Ward Hill, as we have said, was one of those few persons who cannot deceive themselves.

And he had realized the truthfulness of Jack's and Mr. Crane's words, and was now resolutely trying to set himself right. While he longed for and keenly enjoyed the praise and good-will of his fellows, still unless he felt in his heart that they were true and deserved he did not feel thoroughly happy in receiving them. So perhaps a dual motive was at work at this time on Ward's heart--the eager longing for the praise of the school and the equally strong desire to feel that it was true and merited. Let us not blame him too harshly. Purely good motives are sadly lacking in this world of ours. And then, even a gold coin contains some alloy, but the most of us are not inclined to reject the use which can be made of it because of the baser metal it contains.

Little Pond was now doing nobly. He looked up to Ward with unbounded confidence. Ward more than once found himself wondering whether he had ever looked up to a senior in that way. Still he rejoiced in the little fellow's success and felt strongly drawn to him, although he knew in his heart that his days of trial were not all past.

And now the approaching game with the Burrs became the absorbing topic of the school. The nine was working vigorously and Ward went down more frequently to play on the team which was to give them their daily practice.

No one knew how heavy his heart was and with what unutterable longing he desired his place on the team. Still he held himself resolutely to the line he had marked out. He studied faithfully, tried to make himself friendly with the boys, and apparently threw himself heartily into the task of giving the nine the practice they sadly needed. And no one heard him complain, and not even to Jack did he mention his desire for his former position, a position now filled by Ripley. And yet somehow he had the feeling that Jack understood, although neither made any reference to it now.

So matters stood on the day before the great game. The final preparations had been completed, the last practice of the nine had occurred, and throughout the school there was the strong though subdued excitement which always preceded the great game.

But Ward Hill, with a heavy heart and a kind of dull misery, looked forward to the morrow.

CHAPTER XVI

THE BEGINNING OF THE GREAT GAME

The following morning dawned clear and bright, and many a boy in the Weston school gave a sigh of relief when first he looked from his windows. The rugged hills, now covered with the highly tinted autumn foliage, displayed patches of clouds resting on their summits or creeping far up along the wooded slopes. The sun, however, would soon burn away all such slight affairs as these gray-colored floating clouds or stretches of fog, and the boys were rejoicing.

The games with the Burrs were the great events of the school year. Not only were the schools themselves of equally high standing, and in a sense rivals, but the advantage for a few years now in the ball games had been with the Burrs, and the Weston boys consequently were especially eager to win this time. As the game was to be played upon their own grounds they had a slight advantage, but all were somewhat nervous and the excitement ran correspondingly high.

There were to be recitations in the morning only. It was almost impossible for the eager lads to hold themselves to their work, but the teachers were somewhat lenient with them, and some of the ludicrous mistakes were passed over with a smile.

Indeed, it was whispered that the teachers themselves were not far behind the boys in sharing the excitement which pervaded the school, and were as desirous that the nine should win as were the players themselves.

Soon after noon autos could be seen coming along the pretty valley roads or making their way over the hillsides. But whether from hill or valley made no difference, for there was one destination for them all and that was the ball ground. Old and young, men and women, boys and girls were there, and the assembled crowd gave promise of being unusually large.

The great busses filled with the boys and girls from the neighboring school began to put in an appearance, for the rival school was co-educational in its methods, and the girls were apparently as eager and excited as their brothers. Long streamers and banners floated out from behind the well-filled machines and many of the girls were waving flags or long ribbons of the school colors, handily adjusted to a cane or some similar device.

A crowd of the Weston boys was waiting in front of the chapel for the Burr nine to come, for it was known that they were to have a special auto.

Some of the members of the Weston nine, clad in their bright new uniforms, mingled with the crowd and as a committee were waiting to welcome and conduct the visiting nine to the dressing rooms. Their efforts to appear calm and unmindful of the attention they attracted provoked a smile from some of the waiting boys, but no one begrudged them the honors which were theirs, and as they joined in the shouts and laughter which continually arose, or stopped to converse about the prospects of the nine in the coming game, the interest steadily increased.

"There they are! There they come!" suddenly some one in the crowd shouted, and in a moment the sound of the horn carried by the Burrs could be heard in the distance. In a brief time the huge auto drew up before the crowd and the Burr nine leaped nimbly out upon the ground.

"Hello, Shackford," said Tim Pickard advancing and grasping the outstretched hand of the rival captain. "Glad to see you. If we have as big a game as we have crowd, there will be something to see before night comes."

Tim proceeded to shake hands with each member of the team and then at once started with them to lead the way to the rooms which had been assigned to the visitors.

The waiting crowd parted and stood watching with undisguised curiosity the opposing nine as they filed past them following Tim. Certainly they were a sturdy lot, and the low murmurs which could be heard among the Weston boys as the others withdrew were not entirely those of confidence in the success of their own team.

Meanwhile Ward Hill had gone down to the ball ground and lay on the grass in the rear of the field in a place from which he could easily follow the progress of the game.

Beside him were Henry and Jack, both in uniforms, the latter sitting erect and occasionally pounding the ground before him with the bat he was holding in his hands. Not one of the trio was happy, and Ward least so of the three, although he was striving manfully to appear unmindful of the excitement which, though subdued, was still apparent on all sides of them.

"It's tough, Ward," said Jack; "I want to win this game, but I never went into one with such a mean feeling as I've got now. It's a shame you're not to play. It's worse than a shame. The nine needs you and I know how you feel, old fellow. Say, Ward," he added, suddenly leaping to his feet, "if you'll say the word, we'll fix Tim yet. Henry and I can go to him and declare that if he won't take you on, we're off. And he'll have to give in now, with the crowd all here and everything ready to begin."

"Yes, Ward, that's what we'll do," chimed in Henry. "It can be done now."

"No, fellows," said Ward shaking his head. "I told you I couldn't go on in that way; and then too, I'm not in practice, you know."

"Bother the practice! You'll do better without it than most of us can with it. Here they come, Ward! Say the word and the deed's done."

But Ward still shook his head. He could not bring himself to do what Jack asked. And yet how he did long to be in the game!

The appearance of the nines upon the field was greeted by a shout and the school cheers were almost deafening on every side. The banners and flags were waving, the girls were standing erect in the autos, and the entire scene was stirring and exhilarating in the highest degree. "Good luck to you, fellows," said Ward as Jack and Henry started to go and join their comrades.

Neither of them replied save by the look which they gave him and soon were with the nine.

The ground was cleared now, and the allotted time of preliminary practice for each team was given. As Ward watched the boys it almost seemed to him that he could not endure the sight. Only a year before and he had been one of the team. Even now he could feel again the thrill which he had when at the close of that famous game his mates had borne him from the field on their shoulders. But now no one seemed to care whether he played or not. And all the time there was the consciousness in his own heart that there was not a better player than he in all the Weston school.

Summoning all his resolution he left his place and took a position near the end of the long line of Weston boys who were standing well back on one side of the ground. He had seen Big Smith and Pond there, and even their company was comforting to him now.

"Hello, Ward," was Big Smith's hail as Ward approached; "I should think you would wish you were on the nine now. Do you know, I almost feel as if I could play well enough myself to take a position."

Ward made no response, though Big Smith little realized how his words had stung the troubled boy. The Weston nine had taken their positions in the field and the game was about to begin.

Ward glanced out toward left field, his old position, and his heart was bitter toward Ripley, who now was playing there. Ward knew he could fill the place much better than Ripley ever could. Indeed, his heart was so bitter that he was almost divided in his feelings between his desire for the Weston boys to win, and that Ripley and Tim should not put up a good game.

But everything was in readiness now and the hush which came over the assembly betrayed the suppressed excitement. Shackford grasped his bat and advanced to the plate, the umpire tossed the ball to Tim and gave the word, and the game with the Burrs was begun.

Tim settled himself into his position, drew back his arm and sent the ball in with all the speed he could put forth. Shackford for two years had been captain of the Burr nine and his prowess was well known. There was no one the Weston boys feared as they did him.

Shackford was ready, and the very first ball Tim sent in he caught fairly on the end of the bat and sent far down the field close to the foul flag.

A shout of delight arose from all the friends of the Burrs as the runner started swiftly toward the first base.

"Foul, foul ball!" called the umpire and Shackford stopped suddenly on his way to the second base.

A murmur of disapproval arose from the crowd, and Ward, who was standing not very far from the place where the ball had struck, shook his head. To him the ball had seemed fair, but he said nothing and admired the spirit of Shackford as he raised his hand toward his supporters, betokening his desire for no manifestations of the kind which had just been heard, and went slowly back to the home-plate and once more picking up his bat stood facing the pitcher.

"One strike!" called the umpire as Tim sent the ball swiftly in.

"Two strikes!" he called again as the second ball went whistling past.

A low murmur could be heard as the excitement of the watching crowd increased. Shackford was ready and stood grimly waiting for Tim's next move. "One ball" and "two balls" followed and the strain on all was becoming more intense.

The next ball, however, was apparently the very one for which the captain of the Burrs had been waiting, for he struck it hard and squarely, and it went far up into the air directly into the territory which Ripley was guarding.

Again a shout of delight was heard from the supporters of the Burrs, but it was hushed in a moment as Ripley took his stand and waited with outstretched hands for the descending ball.

Shackford was speeding on toward the third base, but Ward was unmindful of him. He was watching his supplanter in left field. The ball settled lower and lower; but whether it was because Ripley was highly excited or had misjudged the ball was not known; it struck his hands and bounded out again. The fielder had squarely muffed it.

A groan arose from the Weston boys, and "Hi! yi! yi!" came from many of the friends of the Burrs.

Ward could not lament Ripley's failure, that would have been too much to expect of human nature; but still he turned angrily, as he heard the shouts, and then said to Little Pond: "That's a mean trick! no one ought to applaud his opponents' errors."

"I don't see why not," said Big Smith.

"Because it's no way to do," said Ward. "If you can't win squarely you don't want to win at all. But keep still. Let's see what'll be done now."

Shackford was on third base now, and as he kept dancing about, Tim, who had the ball, threw it to the baseman, but in his eagerness he sent it over his head among the crowd. Shackford ran home, much to the delight of his friends and the chagrin of the Weston boys. The first run had been scored with no one out.

Three more of the Burrs nine crossed the plate before the inning closed, the success of Shackford evidently encouraging his followers even more than the glaring errors of their opponents. When the Weston boys came in to take their turn at the bat their faces were glum and the prospect was far from bright. Tim was the first batter, and got his base on balls.

As Jack Hobart stepped to the plate to follow him, Ward turned to the boys near him and called: "Let's give him a cheer, fellows!"

The cheers rang out, Ward's voice being the loudest of them all. Evidently Jack felt the stimulus, for he sent the ball between left and center fields, and Tim was soon on third, while Jack rested on second. But neither could go any farther. The next two batters struck out, and the third sent up a little fly which Shackford himself easily caught.

"Four to nothing," said Ward as the sides changed. "Not a very bright outlook." But the inning closed without another run being scored.

On the Weston side Henry succeeded in making the circuit of the bases and thus scored the first run for the team. The two succeeding innings failed to add to the score of either side. Both nines were playing desperately, and the interest and excitement of the spectators momentarily increased.

"Four to one," said Ward as the fifth inning was begun.

He had led the cheering in the portion of the crowd where he stood, and in his eagerness for the Weston boys to win, for the time he had almost forgotten his own disappointment. Ripley had struck out each time he had been at the bat, and certainly his success in the field had not been very marked thus far.

Again it was Shackford's turn to bat, and as he advanced to the plate the expression of determination on his face was to be clearly seen. Four to one was certainly no small advantage, and the captain of the Burrs was determined to hold it if such a thing were possible.

Again he waited until two strikes and two balls had been called. The crowd evidently was anxious, but Shackford appeared to be as cool and calm as if nothing were expected from him.

Ward had glanced aside a moment. The suspense of the spectators was interesting if nothing more. He was suddenly recalled by a yell which seemed to have arisen from a thousand throats. Shackford had lifted the ball high into the air, and once more it was coming directly into Ripley's territory.

The eager fielder started after the ball. He was compelled to run back and to Ward it seemed as if the ball were going far over his head. But having gone back as far as was necessary, Ripley turned sharply and ran in. The ball was settling lower and lower now, and just as the fielder stretched forth his hands for it his feet slipped from under him and he fell headlong on the ground, while the ball went rolling far beyond him.

When he had regained his footing and sent the ball in Shackford was once more on third base. A low but pronounced murmur rose from the Weston crowd which could be heard even above the shouts of the Burrs, but in a moment silence was restored, as the next batter took his place and faced Tim. The crack which resounded when he struck the ball could be heard all over the field. As if with design the ball went skipping along the ground after it struck just back of Jack's position as short stop, and went rolling swiftly toward Ripley. The excited lad tried desperately to stop it, but failed, and the ball slipped between his legs and went on far behind him.

The murmurings of the crowd were unmistakable now. "Put him off! Put him out! Hill! Hill! Ward Hill! Put him off! Put him out! Ward Hill!" could be heard on every side.

Ward's heart was beating rapidly, and he tried to draw back out of sight; but for two minutes the cries continued, for boys are merciless in their judgments. At last quiet was in a measure restored and the game went on, but the inning closed with the score six to one against the Weston boys.

Ward could see that a crowd of angry students, chief among whom were Jack and Henry, quickly surrounded Tim and an animated conversation took place, though he could not hear any of the words which were spoken. He was hardly prepared for what followed, however, for after a momentary hesitation Tim started down the lines of the waiting spectators, and as he caught sight of Ward he quickly turned and approached him.

CHAPTER XVII

THE END OF THE GREAT GAME

"The fellows want you to take Ripley's place," said Tim gruffly.

Ward's heart responded in an instant. The Weston boys were to bat now and the excitement in the crowd was increasing. He longed to have a share in the work which must be done within the four innings yet to be played. It was a marvelous thing too, that Tim should himself come and invite him to return to his place. It was true he was surly, and his countenance betrayed his feelings. The pressure of the nine and the crowd had been too strong for him to resist; and then, doubtless the advantage which the Burr nine had thus far won also had its influence, for no one more earnestly desired to win the game than did Tim Pickard.

Eager as Ward was, he still hesitated a moment. He well knew that Tim's anger would not cease if he should do well; while if he should fail in a time when so much was expected, his position in the school would be all the more trying.

Tim stood waiting before him and did not repeat his request.

In a moment Jack came running toward him, and as he came up, said: "Hurry up, Ward! Never mind the uniform. We won't stop for that. Just throw off your coat and come on. You can afford to spoil a dozen suits rather than let the Burrs win this game!"

Noticing the hesitation of his friend, Jack continued: "Oh, don't pull off now, Ward! all the school wants you. We've just got to have you, and that's all there is to it. Did you ever in your life see such work as Ripley made of it? I don't believe he could stop the moon if it was rolled at him by a baby. Come on, Ward, come on! Tim and I have got to go and bat, and we can't stay any longer. All the fellows want him, don't they, Tim?" he added, turning to the captain of the nine.

"That's what they say," growled Tim, and yet Ward could readily see that he was almost as eager for him to play as Jack was, only he could not bring himself to urge the boy whom he had abused in so many ways and hated with such a genuine hatred.

Just at this juncture Mr. Crane approached and touching Ward lightly upon the shoulder said in a low voice: "I should go in, Hill. You've nothing to lose and much to gain. Remember, you've had your Lexington and the Declaration of Independence and Trenton and Princeton, and now you're at Monmouth. Don't let the British or General Lee baffle you now. Besides, you must think of the school too."

Ward looked at the teacher in as great surprise as did Jack and Tim, and his hesitation was gone. He had no desire to appear unwilling or indifferent, for he certainly was not controlled by either feeling. He longed to enter the game and did not wish to be "coaxed" into it. All his hesitation had arisen from the fear that if he should not do well his position in the school would not be improved, and the enmity of Tim's special friends would only be intensified.

"I'll come in," he said gently, "and do the best I can."

"Good for you, Ward! good for you!" shouted Jack tossing his hat into the air and turning a somersault. "He'll take Ripley's place at the bat then, won't he, Tim?"

"I suppose so," replied Tim.

"Come on then, Ward. Maybe you'll get a chance this inning. Tim, you're next up," he added as he noticed who the batsman was, "and I follow you. We'll have to go now, Ward. Come up and take a seat on the players' bench."

"I'll be around in time," replied Ward quietly.

For several reasons he preferred to retain his place in the crowd for the present, unless his turn to bat should come.

Somehow fortune's wheel turned slightly in favor of the Weston boys, and although Ward's turn to bat did not come, the inning closed with two more runs scored by the nine.

"Six to three," shouted the boys as the players started for their places in the field.

Ward's heart was beating high as he slowly drew off his coat and handed it to Little Pond, who proudly received it, and then he started toward his old place in left field.

His appearance was at once noted by the crowd and received with a cheer. It was true it seemed to be wanting in the volume and heartiness of the old-time applause, but still it did Ward's heart good.

Striving to appear unmindful he looked away from the crowd as the game was now resumed. What had become of Ripley he did not know.

The inning was quickly ended, without a run being scored. Not a ball had come near him, and Ward was not grieved over the fact, for his nerves were in such a highly strung condition that he was fearful he would not have been able to do much had the opportunity presented itself.

He was the second at bat, however, and as he heard his name called he carefully selected his bat and then tried to collect his thoughts and appear calm, though he was far from feeling as he strove to appear.

Shackford, the pitcher of the Burr nine apparently was becoming somewhat nervous, for he gave the first batter his base on balls.

Ward grasped his bat and started resolutely toward the plate. The crowd was silent, but Ward realized how eager his friends were for him to do well. Even a goodly portion of Tim's sneer had disappeared, and Ward could not determine whether his stronger desire was now for the nine to win or for him to fail. The task before the lad, however, quickly banished all other thoughts from his mind. How eager he was and determined to do his best.

"One strike," called the umpire. "Two strikes," he repeated a moment later.

Shackford was doing his utmost to puzzle him and Ward began to fear that he would strike out. The next ball, however, came close in to him and before he could dodge it or step out of its way it struck the handle of his bat and dropped a little ways from the plate. In an instant Ward flung aside his bat and rushed at his swiftest pace for first base, the runner in advance of him of course having started for second.

The excitement and necessity for quick action apparently rattled the Burrs, for both Shackford and the catcher started together for the ball, and as no one called out who was to make the play, the consequence was that they came together in a sharp collision, and were both thrown to the ground.

Before they could recover Ward was safe at first, and the other runner had gained the second base.

Shackford now began to play more deliberately. Every move was carefully timed, and he guarded his nine well. In spite of all the efforts of the Weston boys, and the encouraging shouts of their friends among the spectators, they could succeed in getting but one man around the bases, Ward having been left on third.

"Six to four, and only two more innings to play," said Jack to Ward as they walked together out upon the field to resume their positions. "Not a very brilliant prospect for us."

"We'll not give up before the last man is out," said Ward. "There's nothing more uncertain in all the world than a game of ball, and it's never finished till the end has come."

He had done nothing to warrant any special praise thus far, but he was in high spirits nevertheless. The increasing excitement as the game drew toward its close was manifest among players and spectators alike, and Ward Hill, as we know, was ever one of the quickest to respond to his immediate surroundings.

Again the inning closed without the Burrs being able to score. The utmost they could do was to get a man as far as second base, but there he was left.

"We've got two turns at the bat and they've got one," said Jack, as they came in from the field. "We've got to make three runs to win the game."

The inning opened very promisingly for the Weston boys. Both Tim and Jack made hits, and were on third and second bases respectively. The next two batters were out however, and as they all realized that everything depended upon the efforts of the next man, the crowd followed his movements with almost breathless interest.

"One strike!" called the umpire, and the various feelings of the spectators were at once apparent in their responses. "One ball!" "Two balls!" quickly followed.

Suddenly the crowd rose from their seats and stood leaning forward in intense suspense as they followed the movements of the catcher, who had let the ball which Shackford had pitched somewhat wildly get by him. Tim started quickly from third, and was running as he had never run before. Shackford stood waiting on the plate with outstretched hands for the ball to be thrown by the catcher, who was doing his utmost to get it and return it before Tim could gain the plate. Every player was eagerly watching the movements, and not a sound could be heard from the spectators. Nearer and nearer came Tim, and now the catcher had grasped the rolling ball. With a quick movement he turned and threw it swiftly to Shackford, who caught it just as Tim gained the plate, and running into the player threw both heavily to the ground.

The crowd rushed in from their places eager to learn the decision of the umpire, who had been standing close to the boys as they came together. "He's out!" shouted the umpire as he waved his hand for the spectators to go back to their places. For a moment there was a scene of confusion. In their excitement many of the boys forgot what was expected of them, and the shouts and cheers of the schools were mingled with the groans and cries of those who took different views of the decision which had just been made.

Tim was thoroughly angry, and stood talking loudly with the umpire, claiming that he had cheated him out of a run and the nine from a score which it had justly won.

In a moment, however, several of the boys had surrounded the excited captain, and at last, after much persuasion, induced him to return to his place in the field.

"It was close," said Jack to Ward, "and I think we ought to have had it; but we can't help ourselves, and there's no use in kicking."

The excitement was now intense as the Burrs came to the bat for the last time. The score still stood two in their favor, and even if they did not succeed in adding to it, the advantage was still decidedly on their side. Every movement of the players was cheered now, and the nervous actions of the rival nines betrayed their own desires to win.

Tim Pickard was sending the balls in with a speed he had never had before. If his own exertions could win the game, then surely the Weston boys ought not to lose that day.

The first batsman struck out, and a fierce cheer arose from the Weston contingent as the player flung his bat on the ground and strode back to his place on the bench.

The next was struck by the first ball Tim threw in, and was evidently hurt, but in a moment he pluckily started toward first base, and the cheers of the spectators followed him.

His successor also struck out, and the din which arose was almost deafening. All depended now upon the efforts of the next batter, and the Weston boys' hearts sank when they saw that this was to be Shackford, the heaviest hitter on the opposing nine.

Shackford grasped his bat and stood calmly facing Tim, each realizing that it was now a battle royal. Tim was a trifle wild now, and the fears of his friends increased when the batter hit one or two long fouls that went far down the field, but luckily outside the lines. Again Shackford hit the ball, and sent it with tremendous force down the field directly toward the short stop. Jack made a desperate effort to stop it, but it was going so swiftly that it almost threw him backward, and he dropped the ball. In an instant, however, he recovered himself, and quickly picking up the ball threw it swiftly to the second baseman, who was waiting for it. He caught it just an instant before the runner gained the base, and the umpire shouted, "Out!"

The din on the field now increased. Most of the spectators were standing, and the boys were crowding close in to the lines. Each of the Weston players was cheered by name as he approached the plate and stood facing the calm and collected pitcher of the Burrs.

The first man was out, and a yell of delight arose from the supporters of the Burrs.

The second made a hit, and a louder shout arose from the friends of the Weston nine.

The third batter sent up a high foul, which was easily caught by the third baseman, and the uproar broke out again. Another gained his base, and now two men were out, two were on the bases, and two runs were required to tie the game, and three to win, and it was Ward Hill's turn to bat. Already some of the outer spectators were leaving the grounds, for the game seemed to be practically ended.

"Now do your duty, Ward Hill!" called Jack as Ward grasped his bat and started toward the plate. "Remember everything depends upon you."

Ward made no reply. Was it likely he could fail to realize how much depended upon him? He was dimly conscious of the applause which greeted him. Eager faces seemed to surround him, and the tension was intense.