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"Now, put 'em where I hold my hands inside corner... outside corner... again... inside now, low... another... a fast one over, now... high, inside. Oh, Peg, this ain't right. I ain't seein' straight. I think I'm dreamin'. Come on with 'em!" Fast and true Ken sped the balls into Worry's mitt. Seldom did the coach have to move his hands at all.
He drew a long breath, standing motionless, with all the significance of Worry's hope flashing before him, and then he whirled and delivered the ball. The batter struck at it after it had passed him, and it cracked in Dean's mitt. "Speed!" called the State captain. "Quick eye, there!" The batter growled some unintelligible reply. Then he fouled the second ball, missed the next, and was out.
It's too bad the old man couldn't live to hear that." Olsen gripped Kurt's hand and wrung it. "Boy, I reckon you ought to take that a little cheerfuller," he went on. "But well it's been a hard time.... The men are leavin' now. In two hours the last wagons will unload at the railroad. The wheat will all be in the warehouse. An' our worry's ended." "I I hope so," responded Kurt.
The ball seemed to diminish in size, it went so swiftly. Near the plate it took an upward jump, and it knocked Worry's mitt off his hand. Worry yelled out, then he looked carefully at Ken, but he made no effort to go after the ball or pick up the mitt. "Did I say for you to knock my block off?... Come here, Peg. You're only a youngster. Do you think you can keep that?
"But the worry's all over now, Henry." "What the worry's done ain't over." Sylvia began whimpering softly. "Oh, Henry, if you talk that way it will take away all my comfort! What do you suppose the property would mean to me without you?" Then Henry felt ashamed. "Lord, don't worry," he said, roughly. "A man can't say anything to you without upsetting you. I can't tell how long I'll live.
Hit!" yelled Homans to Blake. Blake hit safely over second, scoring Weir. Then Trace flied out to left field. "Three runs!" called Homans. "Boys, that's a start! Three more runs and this game's ours! Now, Peg, now!" Ken did not need that trenchant thrilling now. The look in Worry's eyes had been enough. He threw speed to Halloway, and on the third ball retired him, Raymond to McCord.
Ken tried manfully to entertain Worry's idea about it, but he was too dazed and weak to stand alone. He imagined he had broken every bone in his body. "Did I make the catch hang to the ball?" he asked. "No, Peg, you didn't," replied the coach, kindly. "But you made a grand try for it." He felt worse over failing to hold the ball than he felt over half killing himself against the bleachers.
Keep to yourselves. Your reward is comin'. It'll be great. Only wait!" And that was the last touch of fire which moulded Worry's players into a family of brothers. Close and warm and fine was the culmination of their friendship. On the field they were dominated by one impulse, almost savage in its intensity. When they were off the field the springs of youth burst forth to flood the hours with fun.
"Here I've been leaving this poor little bundle of nerves to fight this thing through all alone. I'd ought to have known she'd be scaring herself into a conniption." As a reaction from the severity with which she dealt with her own thoughtlessness, Persis' voice, in addressing Annabel was as tender and caressing as if she strove to soothe a troubled child. "Well, Mis' Sinclair, your worry's over.
Suddenly there came thumps upon the stairs, and Raymond appeared, jumping down three steps at a time. He dodged under Worry's arm and plunged at Ken to hold him with both hands. "Ken! You're all bloody!" he exclaimed, in great excitement. "He didn't lick you? Say he didn't! He's got to fight me, too! You're all bunged up!" "Wait till you see him!" muttered Ken. "A-huh!" said Worry.
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